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She made herself hard and cold and practical. Marcus might be handsome, he might make her body sing with desire whenever she came close to him, but that wasn’t enough. It must not be enough.
Then why were her eyes stinging with tears?
Out in the hall he spoke again, his words muffled and indistinct, and then she heard steps approaching. His steps. She recognized them. Despite all her resolutions, her breath quickened and her pulses began to pound.
The door opened and there he stood, rumpled, one of his sleeves torn, his hair messy, a bruise on his cheek, and his eyes blazing.
“Lady Ellerslie.” His voice was full of suppressed passion.
A lesser woman might have swooned.
But Portia was strong and determined. “Mr. Worthorne,” she said, beginning her rehearsed speech. “I came here to thank you for—”
“You could have sent a letter.” He was looking at her as if he’d like to throw her onto the rug in front of the fire and ravish her.
She regathered her defenses, knowing she was flushed, forgetting that he could not see her face through the veil.
“I wanted to see you…thank you, to your face. You were very kind and everyone assumed the worst.” She cleared her throat when he didn’t answer. “It was the least I could do.”
He still did not answer, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to meet his gaze, again overlooking that he could not see through her veil.
“Please, aren’t you going to sit down? Are you hurt? You look as if you might be? Marcus, please—”
He flung himself suddenly down into an armchair. “There’s nothing to concern yourself about. I’m a little bruised, that is all. How long have you been here?”
“An hour or two. Lady Worthorne has been very kind.”
“You must have been very eager to see me to wait so long. I wonder why?” He sounded angry.
“Marcus,” she said, clenching her hands together. “I think you know why. I wanted to persuade you…to convince you that whatever was between us truly is over. What happened today must never happen again.”
“Well I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you, my lady, by coming to your rescue.”
“You know what I mean. Why are you making this so difficult?”
“Why should I make it easy for you to tell me not to see you again? Have you found someone to replace me? Is that why you’re so determined to be rid of me? A handsome Coldstream Guard who can service you whenever you wish and will never touch your heart, or a member of the royal household under strict instructions to keep Lady Ellerslie happy and away from the likes of rakes like me?”
She flinched.
He shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face. “Forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m in a foul mood. Perhaps I’d be more amenable if I could see your face under that accursed veil.”
Portia lifted her veil and fixed it over the front of her bonnet, taking her time, trying to regain her sense of calm. His words had stung, but he was upset and she thought she could forgive him his bitter, hurtful tongue.
“I had to wear the veil,” she explained levelly. “I could not afford anyone seeing me entering your house.”
“Of course not. How terrible if the mob thought you cared about a man who was alive.”
Marcus moved restlessly in his seat. He knew he was being difficult and rude, but couldn’t seem to help it. Seeing her here, hiding her face, preparing to tell him yet again that he wasn’t to see her, had fired his already frayed temper to the breaking point.
Eyes narrowed, he watched her summoning up her polite public mask. God damn her, why would she not argue with him? He wanted to see her passion and her temper; he wanted to see that she cared.
“Your sister-in-law tells me you have been away. Did you know of the recent assassination attempt on the queen?” she said calmly.
“Yes, I’ve kept up with the news. Even Norfolk has some contact with the rest of the world.”
He could see that she wasn’t listening; understandably, she was focused on her own problems. But he wanted her to listen. He wanted to tell her about the things he’d done, the thoughts he’d had, and his plans and visions for the future. Because he now had a future, something that he’d never imagined the first time they came together, and he wanted her to hear about it. Ever since he gazed across the causeway at Duval Hall—his house—he’d had this burning urge to share everything with her.
And now she wasn’t even listening.
