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Marcus laughed. “Of course I was.”
“And you’re wanting to see her again? I know that glazed look in your eyes, Marcus. Lust doesn’t become you. It’s time you considered taking a serious view of women and finding the right one to settle down with.”
Marcus’s grin was smug. “I do take women seriously. You ask any one of my women if she has not been taken very seriously indeed, and she’ll tell you she has. Thoroughly and rigorously. To both our satisfactions.”
“And who is your newest lady love? Tell me it isn’t another actress. Don’t you remember the histrionics you had to put up with when you said good-bye to the last one? Not to mention the blunt it cost to keep her happy.” Sebastian went on, listing his brother’s amours, and his own objections to them, but Marcus wasn’t listening.
He was thinking about the lady in scarlet.
He wished he could tell Sebastian all about it, if only so he could make a wager with him. Because he knew the odds were good that even though their arrangement was for one evening only, his goddess was going to ask to see him again. Women had a tendency to want to repeat the experience.
And he was going to accept.
Portia’s feet tapped their way briskly along the gallery toward her bedchamber. This morning she’d been a domestic whirlwind, finishing her tasks in record time. She even replied to several letters she’d been avoiding for a week, and tallied up the household accounts, one of those challenges she particularly loathed but no one else seemed able, or inclined, to do. Now she was going upstairs to change her clothes before ordering the carriage around so she could pay a scheduled visit to Victoria.
Hettie was waiting for her with a smile. “The gray satin, lieben, or the lavender crepe?”
Portia had only recently left off her widow’s black for half mourning in grays and lavenders and other subdued hues. She knew she should by rights have been returning to brighter colors after two years, but when she mentioned it to Victoria, the queen had looked so sorrowful and disapproving that she hadn’t broached the subject again.
“Thank you, Hettie, the gray will do, and I will wear the matching jacket. I doubt I will be staying for luncheon, but one never knows, so you will tell my mother where I am if I do not return?”
“Your mother is still in her rooms. She has the headache. It must be contagious,” Hettie stated in a level voice, but her eyes were quizzical.
Portia had not spoken of last night.
“My mother is getting worse. Yesterday she forgot my father’s name. Last week she couldn’t remember where she was born. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day she wakes up and doesn’t know who she is. Or who I am.”
“She is forgetful, that’s all,” Hettie soothed.
“I have mentioned her memory to Dr. Bryant but he is unconcerned, and I suppose I must listen to his advice,” Portia replied in a voice that said she didn’t entirely agree with the doctor. She knew her mother was not herself these days, that she had not been herself for some time. Her mind, once so sharp and acerbic, was now wreathed in clouds. The panic in her eyes was heartbreaking to see. When a word or a name eluded her, and she realized it was nowhere to be found, she would lose her temper rather than admit what had happened.
And what could be done? Dr. Bryant said it was a natural sign of aging and there was no cure. Portia, for all her wealth and position, was helpless to turn time around. They must just accept it, she’d decided.
“You are in fine looks today,” Hettie said quietly, but didn’t sound entirely happy about it.
Portia moved to the mirror and began to tidy her hair. Her reflection gazed back at her, and for a moment she was startled by what she saw. Could one night of physical excess really effect such an alteration? She was glowing, her skin fresh and healthy, her eyes a spectacularly bright blue. She looked as if she had been on a visit to Victoria’s beloved Scottish highlands.
“I am, aren’t I?”
“What will you say if Her Majesty asks you what you have been doing to improve your complexion?”
Portia giggled, and then, shocked, bit her lip. She hadn’t giggled since she was seventeen.
“My lady!” Hettie was horrified.
“I…I will be good now, Hettie, I promise you.”
She had fulfilled her darkest desire and gotten away with it, but she must never, never risk such a thing again.
Marcus.
Why had he told her his name? She hadn’t asked. She had preferred they remain strangers, in his eyes anyway. She didn’t want to be tempted to search for him or to ask for a encore. A second meeting would surely be a disappointment; it stood to reason that it could not possibly live up to the first.
No, she had no plans to risk a second time.
“That is for the best,” Hettie said, and Portia realized she had spoken aloud. “If you were to be discovered in such a place with such a man, lieben, the disgrace…”
Portia shuddered. “My mother would never forgive me.” Although then again, she would probably have forgotten after a week.
