Page 29 of The Music of Love

Portia groaned, pressing a pillow tightly over her face, as if that could block out the memory of what she’d said and done. The cool, aloof façade she’d cultivated so carefully destroyed in a moment. Well, several glorious moments, actually.

How would she be able to work with him after this?

Chapter Nine

The days passed in an uncomfortable blur.

Portia was stilted and correct around her employer—as if that might somehow make him forget she’d spread her legs and then scratched, bitten, and cursed at him—and it was awkward to communicate even the most innocent information.

Stacy—why not think of him that way after what she’d done—on the other hand, appeared as cool and unruffled as ever. His behavior was so normal she might have thought she’d imagined their tryst if she hadn’t woken up so deliciously sore the following morning.

Their first lesson had been the most trying. Portia stared at his face, lips, hands—everything—and hadn’t been able to stop remembering that evening. Look, he’d said, a fierce expression on his chiseled features while his body thrust deep into hers, over and over.

Portia simply couldn’t help herself; whenever she looked at him, she remembered how he’d looked when he’d come undone and filled her with his seed: his pale beauty fierce, cruel, and magnificent.

The only times they saw each were at lessons and dinner. Lessons were all business and dinner was pleasant conversation with his aunt present. When they weren’t in lessons she took care to avoid accidental encounters and suspected he did the same.

The nights, however, were far, far different. At night she welcomed his presence in her head as she lay in her big bed and allowed her imagination to run wild. At night he rode her with the same skill, passion, and confidence he’d shown during their oh-so-brief interlude.

The end of her trial period was only days away and Portia fully expected him to present her with a month’s pay and send her packing. It wasn’t that he treated her any differently than he had before their tryst, but their interactions were so stilted she couldn’t believe he wanted them to continue. Besides, he could easily hire another teacher for the money he was offering. The only reason she was here in the first place was because he thought he was hiring Ivo.

On the thirtieth day he came to her desk after he’d finished playing. She was making notes and recommendations for future work. She replaced the quill in the stand and looked up.

“I am very pleased with my progress and would like you to stay.”

Portia’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I will understand if you’d rather return to London. I will pay you two months’ wages and arrange your transportation.” His face was a rigid, emotionless mask—but surely he wouldn’t ask her to stay if he didn’t want her here? Perhaps he even liked her a little.

Her heart pounded foolishly hard at the thought and she ruthlessly shoved it aside. This was a second chance he was giving her and she would not make the same mistake again.

Portia ignored the mocking laughter in her head. “I would like to stay, Mr. Harrington,” she said, proud there was hardly a quaver in her voice. She opened her mouth, and then closed it.

“Yes?” he prodded.

“I hate to ask, but I’m afraid I left things rather unresolved in London.” She grimaced. “I didn’t know if I’d be staying in Cornwall or returning.” The both knew what she meant.

His expression was thoughtful. “A break would actually suit me as I have to take trips to Plymouth and Barnstaple. You’ll need at least ten days for your journey—or perhaps even two weeks.”

“Ten days will be sufficient.” It would mean a very short stay in London, but Portia could not justify a longer visit.

“Shall we finish out this week? Will that give you enough time to make travel arrangements?”

“Yes, thank you. Monday would do nicely.” Portia was so relieved it was difficult to think straight. She waited until the door closed behind him before dropping her head onto her arms and fighting back her tears of joy.

Thank God. She wouldn’t need to leave here. She wouldn’t need to leave him.

Portia couldn’t pay for her trip to London without an advance on her wages.

She decided to get the unpleasant task out of the way the following morning after breakfast and went in search of Soames. She found the butler supervising a trio of maids in the dining room.

“Could you tell me if I might speak to Mr. Harrington?”

“He is in the library with his steward.” Before she could answer he frowned at the maid who was scrubbing the blackened metal dogs in the fireplace. “No, no, Sally, you will need to use salt on that.” He turned back to Portia. “Should I tell him you’d like a word?”

“Don’t disturb him. I’ll try again later.”

“I’ll let him know once his steward leaves, ma’am.” The stiff butler actually gave her a smile. The Whitethorn servants had unbent toward her when they realized she didn’t add much work to their lives and had no plans to steal the silverware.