Page 76 of The Music of Love

You’re almost done. The nightmare is almost over, the voice in her head reminded her as she replaced the painting and tucked the pillowcase into the pocket of her cloak.

The worry of the past few weeks suddenly hit her, turning her legs to jelly. She wanted to collapse at Stacy’s desk and weep with relief, but she kept moving, closing the library door and heading toward the stairs. Maybe she would surprise Stacy and slip in beside him while he was sleeping. Her lips pulled into a smile as she imagined it.

Portia was so preoccupied with the amorous visions in her head that she collided with the man himself at the bottom of the stairs.

“Stacy! What are you doing?” It was too dark to see his face and only the outline of his body was visible in the gloom.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Where were you?” He sounded . . . perturbed. What had he seen?

Portia blurted out the first lie that came to mind. “I was hungry. I didn’t eat much at dinner.”

“You need your cloak for a journey to the kitchen?”

She bit her lip. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I was full after eating so I took a walk. It’s lovely out. You enjoy this time of night, do you not?” The only sound in the big foyer was the pounding of her blood in her ears.

He finally spoke. “You are returning to your room?”

“I was hoping to return to your room.” She let more than a hint of suggestion into her voice. The silence drew out until Portia’s face burned. His lack of response was far more insulting than any words could have been. She opened her mouth to ask him if anything was amiss but his voice stopped her.

“I believe you need your rest. We wouldn’t want you to suffer a relapse of your dreadful headache.” His voice was colder than an arctic wind.

Portia was still trying to think of something to say when she saw a flicker of white moving up the stairs. She ran up after him, fast enough to leave her breathless, reaching the third floor just in time to see a flash of ivory silk and hear the soft but distinctive click of a door.

Her knees buckled and she leaned against the wall.

What had he seen?

The five days that followed her meeting in the woods were some of the worst in Portia’s life. It was even worse than the bad times with Ivo—the times when she could not leave the house without a veil after one of their more violent confrontations. Not that Stacy had laid a hand on her—in any way.

He was pleasant to her in the same way he was pleasant to his servants. He never raised his voice or said anything rude or cutting but his well-modulated kindness was more painful than a whip or fist. He knew she’d lied and he was furious. He’d told her that first day he abhorred lying. And Portia was most certainly a liar.

After a dinner spent discussing pleasantries they retired to the library and he worked on some project while she pretended to read but really watched him. After a few hours he put away his papers, rose from his chair, and bid her a polite good night. When he didn’t come to her bed that first night, she checked the connecting door to his room and found it locked. The message was more painful than a slap in the face; she didn’t try the door again.

By the fifth day she was nearly ill with despair. She sat in the breakfast room and pushed a piece of toast around her plate. Even their lessons, which they’d both been thrilled to continue after their marriage, passed as bloodless transactions between polite strangers.

Portia had resolved to tell him the truth today; she could not continue to live this way. Besides, she knew in her heart that Ivo would be back. Blackmailers always returned to the source of their money; every fool knew that. She would tell Stacy the truth and make him believe her. Eventually he would forgive her for lying and the next time Ivo came they would face him together.

Oh yes, that is exactly what will happen, the dry voice jeered.

Portia shoved away her uneaten food and stood just as the door to the breakfast room opened and Stacy entered. He wore his black glasses and was dressed for riding.

“Ah, you are finished with your breakfast, Portia?”

She lowered herself back into her chair. “I would have another cup of coffee if you would not mind the company.” She would tell him after he ate. They would go to the library and she would tell him everything.

“I always enjoy your company, my dear.” The words were spoken absently, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Portia turned to the footman. “Would you please bring a fresh pot of coffee?”

Stacy served himself from the sideboard and sat down at the far end of the table.

“I saw you leave on Geist hours ago.”

“Yes. I went into Bude, to the Elephant and Castle,” he cut a piece of ham and raised it to his mouth. She could not see his eyes but she could feel the weight of his stare.

“Did you?” Although he’d begun to go out in public with increasing regularity after their marriage, he still did not go into town very often.

He took a bite of food, chewed, and swallowed, a vision of unruffled poise.