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“But surely, Aunt, the most important thing in life is a good tailor?”
She threw her turban at him.
Portia was dreaming of swimming, but this time the sea was warm and soft as velvet as it brushed against her skin and she went diving into the green depths.
“Portia, my beautiful, beautiful Portia.”
His voice was like the silky water, and she turned toward him. The dream became real, his arms about her and his lips on hers. Marcus, the man and the dream, warm in her arms.
His body pressed to hers. “Marcus?”
“Yes, yes, it’s me.”
“I thought I was dreaming.” The old familiar dream back again. Teasing her, but never satisfying her.
“You’re not dreaming.”
She arched against him, feeling him inside her. Oh yes, this was real, real as her dreams had never been. He was moving against her, hard, passionate, as he did everything. She cried out softly, her face pressed to his shoulder, but he didn’t stop. The pleasure hit her solidly, making her want to scream.
He took her mouth, stifling her and reaching his own peak. It was perfect, as the dreams had never been, because they had never been real.
The waves took her, rolling her over and over, and she fell asleep in his arms.
The next morning, Portia was up and dressed and already waiting when Marcus came down to breakfast. She was impatient to get away, and after a fond good-bye to Minnie, there seemed nothing to keep them.
Portia knew she wouldn’t be able to completely relax until she was on the train to London. The ride in the carriage seemed so slow, Zac and Hettie sitting in silence in front, while Marcus seemed far too close to her in the back. His hand was resting behind her, and every time the vehicle swayed, he brushed her shoulder. Her nerves were so tightly strung it made her want to wriggle away. Or scream at him.
Or throw herself into his arms and kiss him.
But last night had been perfect, and she knew it would be impossible to improve on that.
“I should have thanked your aunt,” she said, to stop her thoughts.
“You did.”
“I should have thanked her again.”
He was silent. While she was highly strung, Marcus seemed almost sullen. There was a brooding quality about him, as if he was locked in his thoughts. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was thinking, but she was afraid of his answer and what it might lead into, so she closed it again. There wasn’t time for discussions about what had happened and why, and what might or might not happen in the future. She had a train to catch.
Suddenly, she saw the sea, blue and sparkling in the morning sun. An image came to her of Marcus in the water, tanned and sleek, smiling down at her in his arms, both of them as slippery as seals. Another memory to mull over at the next tedious dinner at the palace, she thought, stretching up to gaze at that little patch of blue until it disappeared behind the trees.
If he noticed, he said nothing, and it was in silence that they finally drew up at the station.
Just as the train whistle blew shrilly in the distance.
They hurried through the archway, and Portia could see that there was no one else on the platform. The stream from the locomotive was already rising into the sky, and although it was still some way off, they could hear its noisy chugging approach.
“It will stop, won’t it?” she asked, struck by the horrifying thought that the train might rattle right by her.
“I sent Zac down earlier to arrange with the station master for the train to stop,” Marcus said. “I thought there might be some difficulty, but it seems that your name was enough to sway matters.”
Portia gave a relieved sigh. “Thank you. You must think me a useless creature, but I’m not in the habit of making my own traveling arrangements.”
He gave her a little bow.
She supplied her own answer. No, I think you far from useless, I think you the most beautiful and fascinating woman I’ve ever known! She hadn’t been fishing for compliments, but still it wouldn’t hurt him to offer her one or two. Had he lost interest in her after last night? Had he decided she was too much bother?
“You’ll be home in time for luncheon,” he said, watching the train approach.
