Page 75 of The Music of Love

“Stupido! Why would you sneak up behind me in such a manner?” Portia dropped to her knees and groped in the weeds for her candle and holder. She found both and stood, stepping back when she realized how close he’d come.

“I knew you would come tonight. I could sense it.” His voice was caressing and smug and Portia wanted to slap him.

“I’ve brought your money.”

He crouched to dribble wax on a rotting log and fix the candle stub in it. When he stood, the light was far dimmer but she caught a flash of teeth as he stepped closer. “I’ve learned a lot about you while I’ve been living in my little hovel.”

Portia refused to think about what he’d learned or who he’d learned it from. “When are you leaving?”

“So hasty!”

Portia dearly wished she had something to hit him with.

He chuckled. “As soon as I receive the money, I will pack my few possessions and be gone.”

“You will leave tomorrow?”

There was a pause and then, “I will leave tomorrow.”

His finger grazed her cheek and she jumped, swatting at his hand. “Stop it.”

Again he laughed.

“I did not come here to play foolish games with you. This is the only money you shall ever get from me—I give you my word on that.”

“Calm yourself, cara. You can trust me. I will take my money and be gone from your life forever.”

“How will you leave the woods without drawing notice? You have no horse.” She paused. “How did you get here to begin with?” She raised her hand palm out. “Never mind, I do not wish to know.”

He reached for her hand, touching her lightly before she could snatch it away. “Do not vex yourself, my dove. I shall be gone with nobody the wiser.” He could not hide the thread of weariness beneath his soothing tone. His life in the woods would not have been pleasant. She took the leather bag from her voluminous cloak pocket and shoved it at him. “It’s all there. You must take notes as anything else would have been prohibitively heavy.”

“Oh, banknotes shall do very well indeed, mia bella.” He paused. “I think—” he stopped and she squinted through the gloom at his face; his full lips were strangely flat.

“You think what, Ivo?” she asked, not bothering to hide her own weariness. Weary of him, weary of this deception, weary of lying to her husband.

He shook his head. “It is nothing, cara. I was only going to caution you to take care of yourself. People are not always who you think they are and you’ve always been far too trusting. Watch out for those who would take advantage of you.”

Portia snorted. “People like you?” She turned away before he could answer and pushed a foot ahead of her before fishing around in her cloak pocket for the flint. “I never want to see you again, Ivo,” she called over her shoulder.

The only answer was the rustle of trees. Portia sighed and took a moment to light her candle before picking her way through the woods. When she got to the path she ran until she was breathless. She extinguished the flame before she reached the edge of the trees and slowed her pace. Now there was only the jewelry to replace and her nightmare would be over.

Stacy reached out for Portia and found the bed beside him empty. He sighed and turned onto his back, blinking into the darkness. It was difficult to sleep without her. He threw back the blankets, pulled on his robe, and went toward the connecting door to check on her—but not disturb her. He opened the door and squinted into the darkness. The covers had been thrown back and Portia was not in her bed.

Perhaps she had gone to the kitchen for something to eat, not wishing to disturb the servants. She’d barely eaten anything for dinner. He would go find her and they could have a late-night feast—he smiled, his body stirring—and perhaps some dessert after.

He pulled open the drapes, preferring to get dressed by starlight rather than light a candle. He was about to turn away from the window when a flicker of light caught his attention: somebody was coming from the woods. Stacy leaned closer to the glass and squinted; he knew who it was even before he saw her face.

What the devil was she doing? He stared without breathing, as if the sound might frighten her. As she got closer, he saw she was moving at a brisk pace, her head down. She went around the corner of the house and he lost sight of her. She must be heading toward the sunroom, an entrance she favored.

Stacy snatched up his robe, but donned no slippers, moving silently on bare feet. He reached the bottom of the stairs just in time to see her walk past the music room and open the library door, not bothering to close it behind her. He went toward the library, fully intending to let her know he was there without frightening the wits out of her. But when he looked inside, he saw she’d gone directly to the painting that hid the wall safe. He paused and something sour twisted in his stomach as he watched her stealthy movements.

She opened the safe with an ease that told him this wasn’t the first time. Next, she removed the marquetry box that held the pearl set, placed it on the desk, and then opened her bag and slid something into the box. She rearranged the contents, closed the box, and replaced it in the safe. She took out the second box, the larger jewel case that held the rest of his mother’s jewelry and returned what seemed to be most of the jewels to the box. When she was finished, she shut the safe door and re-hung the painting.

Stacy returned to the foyer and waited at the base of the stairs. He ignored the rabid pounding of his heart. He was sure she had a good reason for what he’d just seen. He was sure of it. She would tell him about it and they would chuckle and spend the night in each other’s arms.

Chapter Twenty-One

Portia’s palms were damp and her heart was pounding so loud it deafened her.