Page 88 of The Music of Love

She glared up at him. “That won’t be an easy task—not with the connecting door locked and you on the other side of it.” Portia wished she could bite off her tongue. The last thing in the world she wanted him to think was that she missed him in her bed, even if it was true. Especially because it was true.

He slid his glasses over his eyes. “If you lock the door you’d better expect it to be broken down,” he promised, striding from the room.

Portia threw her wash cloth at him but it missed him by several feet and smacked wetly against the wall. “It wasn’t me who locked it in the first place!” she yelled, not caring who heard.

His answer was to slam the door.

In spite of everyone’s urging, Portia went down to dinner that night. What was the point of lying around in her room when she was not injured? Besides, she did not feel like being alone. She hated to admit it, but she was horribly shaken by the episode.

Stacy came to her room just as Daisy was leaving. Neither of them spoke and the walk to the dining room seemed to take two hours. It was Stacy who finally broke the silence. “You look beautiful tonight, Portia.” He issued the compliment with an aloofness which annoyed her.

“Life-threatening situations must flatter me.”

She felt him turn to look at her but she refused to look up at twin reflections of her own face.

“Please tell me you will not make a habit of such situations.”

Portia stopped, yanked her hand from his arm, and spun to face him. “I am to tell you that I will not make a habit of being shot at?” She gave him no time to answer the question. “Hmm,” she said, taking her chin between thumb and forefinger, as if giving the matter serious consideration. “No,” she said. “No, I’m afraid I do not feel comfortable promising that.” She turned on her heel and strode down the hall.

“Portia.”

She refused to stop.

“Portia, you are going back the way we just came.” Even from twenty feet away she could hear the amusement in his voice. She wanted to scream and was sorely tempted to just keep walking. She would have kept going but she knew she’d never find her room. She stopped, too furious to turn. Instead, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. A light, warm, touch settled on her arm.

“Come, let us go to dinner before they send out men with dogs and torches. You must know I am not angry with you, Portia. I was merely very frightened.” Portia felt herself weakening toward him and took a breath to say something rude. But when she opened her mouth nothing came out.

“Yes?” His voice was close to her ear, his breath warm and ticklish.

She placed her hand on his arm and they resumed their trek. “Did they find anything in the woods?”

“Nothing. No doubt the poacher heard the commotion and hastened to get as far away from the scene as possible.”

That was what Portia had expected. It was probably some farmer with a failed crop trying to feed his starving children.

When they reached the drawing room, they found the entire family awaiting the arrival of the other dinner guests and Portia suddenly recalled this was the first dinner they would have with outsiders. She grimaced. Perhaps she should have stayed in her room.

Robert approached her without outstretched hands, his forehead furrowed with concern. “I am so sorry this happened to you, Portia, of all people.”

Portia laughed. “Well, I suppose there isn’t anyone here who would have enjoyed it, my lord.”

“You’re determined to be a good sport about it. That is what your husband said you would do.”

Portia shot a startled look at Stacy. The annoying man remained his usual impassive self.

“How is Honey faring? She is the true victim.”

“She will be fine, although minus the tip of her ear. No doubt it will lend her a certain gravitas among her fellows. Her bravery will be spoken of in the equine world for decades to come.”

Portia bit back a smile. “Perhaps she should append something to her name that proclaims her battle worthiness?”

Robert laughed. “Yes, did not the Vikings distinguish themselves in such a manner?”

“Perhaps something like Honey Cleft-Ear would be suitable,” Stacy suggested with a straight face.

The men laughed and Portia shook her finger in admonishment, hardly able to suppress her own laughter. “You are terrible to make fun of my valiant mount.”

They were making up additional, equally ludicrous, Viking names when Constance approached them. All Stacy’s sisters were shy but Constance was the most retiring.