A Proper Taming (19 page)

He laughed at the image, his spirits lifting. Suddenly the thought of Hawkshurst being overrun with visitors was not so daunting, Connor realized as he escorted Portia down the hall.

In honor of the guests' first night at Hawkshurst, several members of the local gentry had been invited to dinner. Portia was relieved to see that Miss DeCamp had accepted her invitation. She was looking as lovely as ever in a modest gown of topaz satin, her dark-blonde hair gathered back in a love knot. When Portia complimented her on her toilet, the other girl flashed her a grateful smile.

"It is very kind of you to say so, Miss Haverall," she said, her brown eyes flicking wistfully toward Lady Margaret, who was dressed in a stunning gown of white silk festooned with pink rosebuds. "But I fear I may be a trifle undedressed."

Portia also gazed at the pretty brunette, thinking she looked more like a piece of confectionery than a real person. She was also flirting shamelessly with the earl, who, she noted sourly, was bearing up under the assault quite nicely.

"Her ladyship is young yet, and so we must forgive her her excesses," she said, keeping her voice pitched low so that the catty remark would not be overheard. "I am only surprised her mama allowed her to wear something so inappropriate."

Miss DeCamp's gaze flicked to the marchioness, who was occupying the seat of honor to Connor's left. "I'm not," she said, and then covered her mouth with her hand, sending Portia a horrified look.

"I cannot believe I said that," she whispered, her cheeks going pink with embarrassment. "I have never said anything so mean-spirited in all my life!"

"Posh!" Portia replied gruffly, feeling rather like a black-hearted sinner who had just corrupted an innocent. "If you could have heard the way her ladyship and her beauteous daughter were dishing up the cream with the other cats, you would not feel so guilty. Besides," she added, eyeing the jewel-bedecked marchioness with distaste, "it is nothing less than the truth."

"What are the two of you whispering about?" Lady Eliza demanded, her expression full of curiosity. "You have been sitting there with your heads together forever!"

"We were talking about York, my lady," Portia answered, uttering the falsehood without so much
as turning a hair. "Miss DeCamp was just telling me it also has several Roman ruins that might be of interest to our guests."

"You must be referring to the base of the minster and the old tower," the Honorable Keegan McLean replied calmly, giving both ladies an encouraging smile. "They are said to have been part of the
principia
."

"What is that?" Portia asked, grateful for his assistance. She had met him earlier that evening, and found him most charming. Despite his elegant looks he was surprisingly friendly, and she could see why the earl was so fond of him.

"The garrison headquarters. York was once the military capital of Britain," he supplied, his hazel eyes resting on Miss DeCamp. "I had no idea you were interested in the Romans, Miss DeCamp."

"There is much about me, sir, which you do not know," Miss DeCamp returned. "But yes, it is an interest of mine. As I believe it is an interest of yours, my lord?" she added, turning her shoulder on Mr. McLean as she gazed at Connor.

"As a matter of fact, it is," Connor replied with a smile.

"Perhaps we might all ride into town tomorrow and view these ruins," Lady Langwicke suggested, her expression stern as she frowned at her daughter, obviously annoyed she was allowing another young lady to be the center of so much masculine attention. "My daughter is equally fond of ruins, aren't you, dearest?"

Lady Margaret was quick to pick up on her mama's prodding. "Oh, yes," she gushed, flashing Connor a melting smile. "I quite adore them!"

"Are they haunted?" Miss Derwynn demanded from her place halfway down the table. "I am sure they must be! One of my favorite novels was set in
a ruined chapel, and it had the most evil spirit in it. I vow, I could scarcely bear to finish it!"

Her mention of novels reminded Portia of her conversation with Connor, and she risked meeting his eyes. As she expected, they were dancing with silent laughter, and for a moment they shared the private joke. When he turned his attention to Miss Derwynn, however, his mien was as somber as always.

"As to the presence of spirits, ma'am, I cannot say, but the minster is spectacular. If everyone is agreeable, I am sure we can arrange something."

The topic of the proposed trip occupied the conversation for the rest of the meal, and by the time the ladies rose to leave the gentlemen to their port, everyone was in a surprisingly cordial mood. The ladies retired to the drawing room, enjoying a cozy gossip until the gentlemen rejoined them. Because so many of the guests had traveled a great distance, it was decided there would be no card playing that night, and the party soon broke up. Miss DeCamp and her cousin, who acted as her chaperone, also decided to return home, and a small battle of wills ensued when Mr. McLean insisted upon acting as her escort.

"You are very kind, sir," Miss DeCamp said, her frosty voice belying her polite words, "but it is unnecessary, I assure you. Mrs. Thorn and I managed to drive here without being attacked, and one may only assume we shall be able to make the return trip also unmolested."

"Then perhaps it is I who should seek protection from you," Mr. McLean returned, his eyes filled with lazy provocation as he grinned at her. "Besides, as we are both returning along the same road, it only makes sense that we travel together. Unless you object to my company?" He raised a mocking eyebrow at her.

Faced with so direct a challenge there was nothing Miss DeCamp could do but acquiesce, and after bidding her hosts and Portia a stiff good night, she left the room in a flurry of satin skirts. Portia stared at her, wondering what ailed the usually well-behaved young woman. Unfortunately, the squire and the Darlingtons were also busy taking their leave, and she was unable to satisfy her curiosity. Finally they were alone, and the countess collapsed against her chair with a sigh.

"Thank heavens that is over," she said, fanning herself and looking harried. "I cannot think what I was about to invite so many people here, and this is only
half
of them!"

"Are you all right, ma'am?" Connor asked, studying his mother with worry.

Lady Eliza took instant umbrage to his words. "Of course I am!" she snapped, drawing herself upright in her chair. "I am not so aged that a dinner party is enough to put me in my grave! Now, are you going into York tomorrow, or was that all talk to appease the ladies?"

Connor looked as if he were trying not to laugh at the sharp words. "I
was
planning a trip to York, although not necessarily tomorrow," he answered.

"Why not tomorrow?" the countess demanded. "Wasn't it that impertinent Franklin fellow who said that we should never leave until tomorrow that which we should do today? If it is good enough for an American, it ought to be good enough for you."

He accepted his defeat with a good-natured bow. "As you say, my lady. I will see what I can do."

"Good." The countess next turned her sharp gaze on Portia. "Will you be going with them?"

"I'd thought to, yes," Portia replied, enjoying
the sight of Connor being bear-led by his mama. "But if I am needed here—"

"Of course you are needed," the countess interrupted, "which is precisely why you must go. You've been working like a Trojan this past week, and a bit of exercise is just what you need to put some color back in your cheeks. Besides," she added as if in afterthought, "you can help act as duenna for the younger ladies."

Connor's indulgent smile became a frown. "Miss Haverall is our guest, Mother," he said in a reproving tone. "It hardly seems proper we should expect her to sing for her supper. I am sure Lady Langwicke and the other mamas will provide adequate protection."

Lady Eliza lifted her gaze heavenward as if in exasperation. "As you wish," she said in a weary voice. "I am sure you know what is best."

They spent the next quarter hour chatting idly, and the countess kept them entertained as she ruthlessly dissected each guest's foibles. Even Connor joined in, and his wry observations had Portia chuckling in delight. They continued talking even after the countess had taken her leave, and time slid silently away without either of them being aware of it. Portia was only gradually becoming aware of its passage when Connor startled her by suddenly leaning forward to capture her hand in his.

"I wish you would do me the honor of addressing me by my Christian name," he said, his tone serious as he met her gaze. "We have long since passed the need for such stuffy formalities."

Portia's heart leaped at his words and the feel of his hand cradling hers. "I . . . I would like that . . . Connor," she stammered, savoring the sound of his name on her lips. "And I also give you leave to make use of my given name, if you wish."

"I wish," he said, giving her hand a parting squeeze before leaning back in his chair. "And now that we are on such intimate terms, perhaps you will tell me what you and Miss DeCamp were really discussing at the dinner table. And don't attempt to feed me that fustian about York," he added at her incredulous look. "I saw your face, my dear, and I know you weren't discussing anything as prosaic as Roman ruins."

Portia did not know what disconcerted her more, his casual use of the endearment or his acuity in gauging her expression. Evidently he was even more sharp-eyed than she knew, she decided, shooting him a resentful look from beneath her lashes.

"Actually, my lord," she began, making deliberate use of his title to indicate her displeasure, "we were discussing something even more prosaic than antiquities."

"And what might that have been?" he drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Fashion," Portia said, supplying the half-truth with a satisfied smile. "Miss DeCamp was afraid her toilet was inadequate for the occasion, and I was but reassuring her. Does that satisfy your curiosity, sir?"

"For the moment," he said, wondering what she would do if he were to kiss that defiant pout from her sweet mouth. The thought was one that had occupied his mind for more days than he could count, and suddenly he knew he could not live another day without learning the truth for himself. Setting aside the scruples he had spent a lifetime acquiring, he leaned forward, taking her hand and drawing her against him as he rose slowly to his feet.

"Connor!" Portia gasped, her hands fluttering to
his massive shoulders. "What on earth do you think you are doing?"

"Do you mean you do not know?" Her breathless question amused him. "Come, Portia, you cannot be
that
green."

Portia glanced up at him, a storm of emotion raging inside her as his arms slowly slid about her. She wasn't afraid, she told herself, and certainly desire could not account for the weakness threatening her to turn her knees to water. Fearing he was making a game of her, she pushed against his broad chest in an effort to secure her freedom.

"If you are trying to intimidate me into confessing, then you may think again!" she said, hiding her confusion behind a dark scowl. "I am not a school-miss to swoon at the sight of you!"

"I am glad to hear that." He laughed, ignoring her struggles and bending his head to catch the softness of her perfume. He could sense she was confused rather than genuinely afraid, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her.

Portia heard the amusement in his voice, and it made her burn with humiliation. She wanted to believe his desire for her was as real as hers was for him, and the realization made her weak with longing. To want him this badly and have him reject her would be as devastating as her father's final rejection, and she did not know if she could bear it.

"I mean it, Connor," she said, her voice trembling as she met his lambent gaze. "If you are trying to bully me . . ."

He gave a soft chuckle, his arms tightening about her slender waist and lifting her against him. "I am not trying to bully you," he denied, his lips hovering inches from hers. "I am trying to kiss
you." And with that he bent his head, closing the distance from his mouth to hers.

The first taste of her lips was all that he thought it would be. Sweet, so unbearably sweet, and ripe with the promise of the rapture yet to come. His body clenched with passion, and he longed to pull her even closer and allow his desires full rein. He had never wanted a woman more, and the thought of letting her go was enough to make him groan with frustration. Only the thought of his honor and her reputation kept him from deepening the kiss, and he was shaking with the need for control as he slowly drew back.

"I have been wanting to do that since I first awakened to find you standing over me with that bed warmer in your hand," he murmured in a rueful voice, brushing back a stray curl from her forehead. "You are a dangerous temptation, my sweet."

His soft words of praise made Portia's cheeks warm with delight. She supposed she should slap his face for such presumption, but she was too bemused to make the attempt. And too honest, she admitted, her color deepening as she remembered her response. She glanced away from him uncertainly, suddenly unable to hold his gaze.

"Connor, I—"

"No," he interrupted, resting his thumb on the underside of her jaw as he tipped her face up to his. "I know this should not have happened," he said, his thumb moving in a small circle against the heated flesh, "but I am not going to pretend that I regret it. I only hope you feel the same way. Do you?" He surveyed her anxiously.

Touched by his concern, she reached up and covered his hand with her own, pressing it to her cheek. "I regret nothing," she said softly, meeting his gaze with quiet conviction.

He let out the breath he had been holding. "Good," she said, his thumb moving over her soft lips. "I couldn't bear it if you regretted anything that happened between us." He replaced his thumb with his mouth, indulging in a quick kiss before stepping back again.

"Perhaps it would be best if we said good night," he said, his eyes burning in his face as he gave her one last look. "So will you be accompanying us tomorrow?"