Page 14 of At His Lady’s Command

If anything, Denham’s expression grew even grimmer, and he shoved the sheets away and swung his legs over the other side of the bed. “Never in my life have I wished to be a lord, for I cannot stand peers. Selfish scum, the lot of them. Today…I would give all for a title. To have the power and money to free you from his authority. But I have nothing.”

Portia stared at his back, frozen in shock. The depth of feeling in his words, the bitterness and anger toward peers spoke of a pain much older and wider than the annoyances of reporting to Halstead.

Who had hurt him so terribly?

Although many aristocrats held high ranks in the army, he rarely spoke unfavorably about any of them. And she knew he held Wellington in the highest esteem after serving under him in Mysore and Spain. A peer in his chain of command seemed unlikely to be at the heart of this. Perhaps someone before his army years? A landlord? An employer? Even…a distant relative?

Her mind awhirl with questions, Portia rose to her feet and padded around the bed to stand between his spread thighs.

“You insult me with this nothing foolishness,” she said, running her fingers through his hair and giving the short, silky strands a sharp tug to indicate her displeasure. “While you might wish for a title, I wish to be without one. For then I could make my own way in the world, have a handsome ex-soldier warming my bed each night because we choose to be lovers. We are both at the mercy of our birth. But we cannot change that. The only thing we can change is what happens in future.”

Denham sighed and rested his forehead on her breasts. “It’s going to be difficult. I wager Halstead will order Marie to accompany you everywhere, no matter what you say, as a chaperone. Or worse, Kitty or your stepmother.”

A snarl escaped her mouth. Indeed, she had no doubts Halstead had all manner of unpleasant surprises waiting for her in London. “They would do well to keep their distance from me.”

“My lady is fierce.”

“Do not forget that. Or that you are one of the few men I hold in the highest regard,” Portia replied, and unable to resist, she leaned down and kissed him lingeringly. “Now, if you would stand with your candelabra at this end of the passage until I am back in my chamber. I have no desire whatsoever to be trapped in the dusty dark and devoured by vengeful spiders.”

Denham nodded. After donning his nightshirt, he stoked the fireplace and added a piece of wood. When the flames rose high, he lit three candles and placed them in the candelabra, and also lit the single candle she had carried on her way here.

Her lips tight, for she had to put a brave face on this despite the staggering pain knifing through her heart, Portia tugged open the panel door.

“Hell, that’s narrow,” he said, peering down the passage. “And you navigated with a single candle. You are all that is brave.”

“And reckless,” Portia replied. “I shall see you downstairs later, then.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She desperately wanted to kiss him again, but they really didn’t have time; gray tendrils of impending dawn were already creeping through the curtains at his bedchamber window. Besides. She might be reckless, but not kissing while holding lit candles reckless. And she still had to conquer this bloody passage again. With Denham’s candelabra a reassuring glow behind her, Portia scampered down the confined space, ducking and weaving to avoid the worst cobwebs. Her panel door opened thankfully easily and soundlessly, and she hurried over to her looking glass to attend to any suspicious matter in her hair or on her clothing, before climbing into bed. The chill of the sheets made her whimper, and she huddled under her quilt with her arms wrapped around herself, shivering. Not less than ten minutes later came the brisk knock at her door that indicated Marie’s arrival.

“Good morning, my lady,” said her maid. “Here’s your tea and toast…my goodness. Your hair is a mess, and your cheeks are pale. Did you not sleep well?”

Portia shook her head. “Not at all. I believe the only cure to be a hot bath.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll tell the footmen to fill the copper tub,” Marie said, bustling away.

Shoulders drooping, Portia’s gaze roamed around her chamber. To think, this might be the last time she spent here. But she couldn’t waste time being melancholy or angry. A plan was needed to defeat her brother once and for all, regain her freedom, and keep her captain.

A woman of her wit and daring could think of something.

Surely.

Chapter 4

Cavendish Square, London

To assist in her ‘happiness’, Halstead had wasted no time whatsoever in shoving his sister onto the marriage auction block.

Barely concealing his disgust, Randall let his gaze travel the full and noisy ballroom in Butler House as more guests flooded in. The marquess had changed his mind, deciding that having a bodyguard raised the family prestige, and retained Randall’s services for a few more weeks. To remain close to Lady Portia, he had accepted.

But events like this were a security nightmare, for the cavernous space boasted many pillars and alcoves, several large street-facing windows, extra hired servants coming and going as they pleased, and four doorways to watch. Far more troubling, Lady Portia stood in the receiving line, her lovely face like stone. It seemed her family were determined to break her spirit, for her hair had been arranged in a fussy style of created loose curls, she wore a pale pink silk gown, and so many diamonds glittered at her throat and wrists that she resembled a damned chandelier. The unwed peers around her were salivating like a pack of hungry dogs, both at such an ostentatious display of available wealth, and at the thought of taming the notorious Pistol Portia. In his mind he had already inflicted broken jaws, blackened eyes, and more than a few dismemberments.

It had all begun two days ago, the morning after they arrived.

The dowager had presented her stepdaughter with the first of her schedules. As he’d feared, Lady Portia’s freedoms had been severely curtailed: her clothing had been replaced with a wardrobe selected for her, she had to be accompanied at all times by Marie, Kitty, or the dowager as well as himself, the bracing strolls she enjoyed so much were forbidden entirely, and she could only attend balls, soirees or musicales personally approved or hosted by her brother.

Randall was only able to touch her by way of assisting her in and out of a carriage, and he didn’t dare allow himself anything more than the briefest of finger squeezes to convey his support and affection. After the unforgettable evening in his Surrey bedchamber, the hot, rough fucking, the tender embraces, the shared laughter and open conversation…their present circumstances couldn’t be worse. It proved, as always, the power of bloody damned money. With it, you could rule the world. Without it…you just had to take the blows.