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The carriage, an open affair, was being pulled by two strong horses. Marcus was seated in the back, and as the driver turned in at the gate and come to a halt beside them, he rose to his feet. He was smiling down at her. She found herself smiling up at him, seeing him silhouetted against the blue sky, tall and handsome and seemingly perfect.
My lover, she thought, with a wicked little shiver.
He jumped down, moving with his usual surety of foot.
“Mr. Worthorne,” she said, holding out her hand and seeing it trembling, and hoping he didn’t notice. “It is such a glorious day.”
“The day isn’t the only thing that’s glorious.” He took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips, and at the same time giving her a hot meaningful look.
Hettie sniffed.
“This is my maid and confidante, Hettie. I trust her completely,” Portia said. And unspoken: She knows everything but she will say nothing.
Marcus gave her a understanding look, then reached to take Hettie’s arm, moving her toward the carriage. “I’ll help you up beside Zac. He won’t bite,” he added, glancing toward his grinning driver. “Or would you rather wait for your mistress here at the station, Hettie?”
“No, I would not,” the maid said indignantly, not at all won over by his charm.
“Then up you go, fraulein.”
“Mein Gott!” Hettie gasped, clutching at her hamper with one hand and her bonnet with the other as she was lifted in his arms and planted onto the seat at Zac’s side.
Marcus turned back to Portia. For a moment she thought he might lift her up in his arms, too, and despite her attempts to be calm, her heart beat faster. Perhaps he read her thoughts because he murmured “Later” as he took her hand, assisting her with all propriety into the carriage, before he leapt up beside her. “There,” he said, as Zac flicked the reins, turning the equipage back into the lane. “We are all set.”
“I can’t quite believe I’ve done it,” Portia breathed, gazing around from beneath the shade of her new straw hat.
Marcus leaned back, his arm resting along the seat behind her, tilting his body so he could see her face. He was wearing his lazy, sensual look, and it caused all manner of unfamiliar sensations to take flight within her. Most prominent was an ache of desire, and if they’d been alone she might even have climbed onto his lap, cuddling close while she pressed her lips to his. Never mind, she thought, reminding herself that there would be time for that. Later. Anticipation would help make the moment when they finally came together all the more exciting.
“All the way here I kept thinking someone would stop us.” She could admit her inner fears now.
“You worry too much.” His gaze lingered on her mouth.
“You don’t worry enough,” she retorted, gently turning the parasol so that the red trim danced in the sunlight.
He observed her, his body completely relaxed, his eyes narrowed and sleepy against the sun. “Why waste time on something that may never happen? My motto has always been to enjoy today and let tomorrow take care of itself.”
“I’m sure Drake was thinking that when he gave up his game of bowls to sail out and defeat the Spanish Armada,” she teased. “Or Lord Ellerslie, when he was in his tent with his maps and his men, deciding on his military campaign to outmaneuver Napoleon.”
He grinned at her, unchastened. “Do you think of ‘us’ as a military campaign? What is your strategy for today, my lady? Are you going to make a bold frontal assault,” his voice dropped, “or take me by surprise?”
She couldn’t help herself, she had to touch him. She raised her hand, lightly stroking his strong, masculine jaw with her gloved fingertips. “I haven’t decided. Do you prefer long protracted battles, or brief ones?”
“Both.” Her fingers were still resting against his face, and he turned his head, took one of her gloved fingertips into his mouth and bit it gently between his strong white teeth. Then he reached up to capture her hand in his, turning it over to examine it with close attention. Her wrist was exposed between the fine pearl button of the glove and the lace trimming on her wide sleeve. A strip of fragile white skin with the veins close to the surface. He lifted her wrist to his mouth and pressed his warm lips to her, causing her to give an involuntary shiver of delight.
“There’s really no need for us to do battle,” he murmured against her skin.
“Oh?” she whispered.
“I surrender.”
He looked up at her as he said it. Just for a moment, she believed she read sincerity in his face, as if he truly meant it. But the next moment he was smiling again, that lazy teasing smile that could cause her stomach to curl with desire but certainly did not inspire her with trust. No, she would never have allowed Marcus to lead an army into battle, or dictate government policy. He was a lightweight when it came to the bigger issues in life. Handsome and desirable and fun to be with, oh yes, but a lightweight nonetheless.
Abruptly and unaccountably depressed, Portia turned away, primly restoring her hand to her lap. “What made you choose this place to come to today?”
“I knew it as child.” He straightened up, his teasing forgotten, and suddenly there was anticipation in every line of him. “Look!”
They had been climbing a gentle slope, and just as he spoke, they reached the summit. Portia, completely focused on Marcus, now noticed that the countryside had opened out. The hedges were gone and she could see across fields, with a marvelous view of wiry grass cliff tops dropping down into the calm, blue sea.
“Beautiful…” she breathed, wishing she could paint.
