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Marcus Worthorne.
Her heart began to beat wildly. She slowed her steps, wondering whether he would stop today and speak to her, and what she would say. Perhaps her throat would dry up and she would become dumb, as she did sometimes when he glanced at her in church. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen and she knew she would love him forever.
His horse was slowing. He was going to stop after all.
She could see him now. Dark hair a little wild, his jaw unshaven, his eyes narrowed. He wasn’t wearing a neckcloth and she could see the vee of his chest beneath the white linen shirt. Her hands tightened on the basket.
“Miss Stroud, isn’t it?” he said in his lazy drawl.
“Yes, sir.”
“Off on your good works, are you?”
“Yes, I—I have a family to visit down the lane.”
He smiled. “You are to be commended.”
“I do my best, sir.”
He glanced behind him. “There’s a Gypsy camp down there, by the way. You don’t want to take chances with those fellows. I think it would be best if I accompanied you. Here, take my hand.”
Dazed, she stared up at him.
He wriggled his fingers impatiently. “Come on. Stand on that log there, that’s it.”
Portia stepped up onto the log and slowly, as if reaching for the holy grail, placed her fingers in his. He heaved her up onto his horse, in front of him. It was a scramble and not at all elegant, but she was actually in his arms. She felt breathless and excited, and jumped when he leaned against her back.
His breath in her ear made her shiver. “I think we should take the long way past the Gypsy camp, Miss Stroud.”
“Is it safer that way, sir?”
“I wouldn’t say that. No. But you’ll find it well worth it, my innocent beauty. I have something to show you that you won’t forget.”
And he kicked his heels into his mount and set off at a gallop.
Portia picked a leaf out of her hair and sighed. Beside her, Marcus lay half asleep, his big warm body pressed to hers. She glanced at him and he gave her a lazy smile.
“I don’t remember you being quite so lecherous,” she said.
“Oh, believe me, I was lecherous. You were just too innocent to know it.” He stroked her bare thigh. “I enjoyed that, my love. You’ll have to tell me another of your dreams.”
“I will.” She smoothed his hair out of his eyes, gazing at him with all the love in her heart. “As soon as we’re back at Duval Hall—when they’ve finished the redecorations.”
“There is always Aphrodite’s Club. She has let it be known, through Francesca, that she is very pleased with the way things turned out.”
“The courtesan turns matchmaker,” Portia said with a smile.
He propped himself up on one elbow. “You don’t regret it? Marrying me? Not being the famous Lady Ellerslie anymore, the angel in widow’s weeds?”
“Not one bit. I’d much rather be plain Mrs. Worthorne.”
He grinned. “Good.” His fingers grew bolder. “We don’t have to go back yet, do we? There’s plenty of time before Seb and Francesca are up for breakfast.”
“Plenty of time,” she murmured as he pressed her down into the leaves once more.
