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She was kissing him desperately. He returned to his ministrations, using all his skill, leaning away from her so he could watch her face. The mask was gone now, well and truly.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured into her ear, “I won’t stop. Not until…” One last firm stroke and she reached her peak. Her body clenched, spasming, and then she went limp, her breasts rising and falling beneath the tightly buttoned bodice.
He sat back on his haunches to look at her, ignoring the ache in his groin and the obvious effect she was having on his anatomy. She looked adorable, flushed and replete, her half-closed eyes drowsy and dazed. She sighed and her mouth curved into a smile.
“Let’s say good-bye properly,” he said evenly. “At Aphrodite’s Club. One last time.” He’d taken advantage of her weakness. He’d played her perfectly. She couldn’t deny him.
“We’ve said good-bye, Marcus.”
He laughed. “You’re not serious? Portia—”
“I am serious.”
The flushed, sleepy expression was swiftly replaced with one he knew all too well.
“I know you want me. I want you.”
“I won’t deny that. I can’t.” She turned her face away. “But we cannot continue to meet, Marcus.”
“I’m not suggesting we do. I’ll be returning to Norfolk, my lady, and you’ll never see me again.”
Ah, he had her attention now.
“You’re going away?” Doubt filled her eyes. “But…I don’t believe you.”
“Do you want me to promise?” he mocked. “Well, I will. My life is in Norfolk now, and that is where I will stay. If I do visit London, I doubt I will be moving in the same circles as you, Portia.”
“You really are leaving for good?”
“Yes.” The lies fell easily from his lips; he reminded himself that they were in a good cause. “So you see, this really will be our last good-bye and then we will part forever. That is what you want, isn’t it, Portia? Never to see me again?”
“Yes.” She stared at him a moment more, and he could see the raging doubt and longing in her face, warring with each other. Then she spoke quickly, as if afraid of changing her mind. “Very well, Marcus. One last time. One final good-bye.”
He hid his smile of triumph and bent to kiss her fingers.
“One final good-bye, Portia. Let us make it something to remember, hmm?”
She flipped her black net back over her face and rose to her feet. “I look forward to it,” she said, as if arranging to take tea and scones. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she screamed and struck at him, as she had that time in the Campaign Room, but instead he bowed politely and watched her go.
There would be time yet to make her see sense, and he did not intend to give up.
Chapter 18
Hettie stood irresolute in Curzon Street, looking up at the Gillingham residence. They were home. She had seen them return from some outing or other and go inside. Perhaps they were preparing to retire? She shouldn’t interrupt them. She’d come back in the morning.
But Hettie knew she had to do something to save her beloved mistress from herself. She was at Aphrodite’s Club right now, losing her soul and everything else to that wicked man. And Arnold had told her to come to him if she was ever in need of his help.
She’d truly thought she could extract Portia from her mess, but matters had gone beyond her ability to mend them. She was sorry she ever agreed to be her mistress’s accomplice—she had actively encouraged her!—by arranging that first visit to the club. Since then Portia had fallen more and more under the spell of Marcus Worthorne, and no matter how often she said it was over between them—“This time it really is, I promise!”—she kept going back to him.
Hettie felt sick with guilt. She was, in a sense, betraying her mistress, but what else could she do? She cared deeply for Portia and was desperately worried about her. If Portia were found out, she’d be ruined, her life in tatters. Hettie couldn’t have that. For it all to end in scandal and ignominy? No, that would never do.
And, a little voice whispered in her ear, what will happen to you, Fraulein Hettie?
It was true, she wasn’t getting any younger. Soon it would be time to step aside for someone more spry, someone more up-to-date with the fashionable changing world Portia lived in. Hettie knew she also had to think of herself and her own retirement. She would not allow herself to consider this as a betrayal; it was a practical solution.
The Gillingham’s housekeeper gave her a superior look, but she recognized Hettie and didn’t quite dare send her away. After leaving her waiting a moment in the kitchen, she returned. “Mrs. Gillingham will see you.”
“But I wanted to talk to Mister Gillingham,” Hettie protested.
