A Touch of Passion (3 page)

“I shall see you to your coach.”

She held up a hand to stay him. Just as he was about to argue, a servant entered the passage further along the corridor. “You, my man, can you see me safely to my carriage?” she asked in desperation. She couldn’t bear to be in Grayson’s company a moment longer.

The servant eyed Grayson as if he could not reply without his authority. It irked her.

“You will see the lady”—and Grayson emphasized the word “lady”—“safely to her carriage or I shall make you wish you were never born. Do I make myself clear?” At the man’s nod, he added, “No one must see her leave.”

“Of course, my lord. I can escort her through the servants’ quarters.”

Grayson hesitated, as if he knew he should escort her, but it was obvious he wanted to be out of her presence as soon as possible. Gruffly he asked, “Will you be all right with this man?”

“Of course,” she responded without looking at him. She might never be able to look at him again. Satisfaction at how steady her voice sounded made her stand straighter.

Portia tucked her cloak around her, chiding herself all the way through the back passages of the servants’ quarters until she was safely in her coach. Only once she was alone in the darkened coach did she let her tears fall.

After her departure, Grayson stood in the deserted passageway cursing. Even as he swore, his blood would not cool. He could still taste Portia, and her scent of orange blossoms lingered on his clothes.

His erection would not subside. Not a problem at a ball such as this—it wouldn’t even be commented on when he rejoined the others—but the thought of being with one of these women after having such innocent yearning in his arms left him slightly nauseated.

How had he let things get so out of control with Portia Flagstaff, of all women? He’d been in serious danger of taking her, up against a wall, with her brother not far away. Only his name on her lips had brought him to his senses.

He’d been fighting his attraction for years. The situation was not helped by the fact that he’d grown up in her family—Robert’s father had taken him in at the age of fifteen when Grayson’s family perished—and still regularly visited with them. Robert was like a brother to him, and how did he repay that friendship? By seducing Portia in an empty corridor.

She was a captivating minx. Her fiery hair, auburn verging on flaming red, matched her temperament. She had a vividness about her that made her seem vibrant and alive. He closed his eyes, and his senses heightened. Her mouth had felt like sin, coupled with a luscious body he’d finally been able to see and feel, since she’d been wearing such a scandalous outfit.

Desire surged again at the sudden memory of exploring her soft warm flesh.

Portia was a woman a man could come to love, but he refused to contemplate that outcome. First, she was far too outspoken and flamboyant for his tastes. Those were not the qualities he looked for in a wife. Perhaps in a mistress—but he’d never dishonor Portia or her family, the family that had taken him in after he’d lost everyone he’d ever loved, by making her his mistress. Second, he refused to let any relationship develop to the point that his heart was engaged. He’d lost his parents and sister at fifteen, and he never wanted to feel such pain again. It was better to keep relationships casual. He wanted a marriage of convenience only.
His
convenience.

“Blast it,” he swore once again, and turned to reenter the ballroom. He’d find Robert and tell him he was going home. He had no appetite for a dalliance this evening.

When he entered the room and spied the beauties within, they did not stir him. One of the most notorious rakes in London had lost his desire for sins of the flesh. The devil must be controlling him, he thought fearfully, because he wanted only one woman: Portia. A woman he could not have.

You’d best douse your lust before you do something even more inappropriate with her
, he told himself sternly.

A dalliance with the desirable Lady Portia could lead to only one conclusion, which was marriage. The thought left him cold to his bones. They were totally unsuited, and yet she stirred something deep within him. She was wild and wanton and took risks, such as her scheme tonight. She sat at the edge of society, testing its limits daily.

She would more than likely bring the Blackwood name into disrepute if she were to become his wife. Even Robert knew they weren’t suited. Robert had told him on Portia’s twentieth birthday that he’d originally hoped for a match, but knowing both of them, he realized they would never make each other happy. Grayson held the honor of his family above all else, while Portia didn’t give a fig what society thought. She did what she wanted when she wanted, and to hell with the consequences.

Grayson wanted a demure, respectable woman who understood the dictates of her position. Not a fire-haired hellion who seemed to think the world was hers to mold and conquer. What he needed was a woman so boring she’d never engage his heart.

He required a woman like his mother, a woman who turned a blind eye to her husband’s indiscretions while being true to her wedding vows. Many might find his stance hypocritical, but he wanted to know his children were his own. The perfect woman would be a lady of breeding, someone who would do nothing to bring the Blackwood name into disrepute.

When he was fourteen and his father discussed what was required of him as the future viscount, he learned he was expected to marry the daughter of a duke or marquis. Just before she’d died in the carriage accident that had claimed his father and sister as well, his mother had suggested that he must choose his allegiance carefully. Her advice was to give his love to his mistresses, picking women who pleased him in bed. When choosing a wife he should look for a good breeder, and treat her with respect. That would keep the Blackwood house strong.

However, Grayson’s view had changed over his years in the Flagstaff household. It was obvious to all that Lord Cumberland, Robert’s father, had loved his wife a great deal. Grayson had watched Lady Cumberland fall to pieces after her husband died. He had come to the opinion that the joy of loving someone was not worth the pain when it inevitably ended. He was thankful that there were plenty of dutiful, respectful women who did not stir his heart.

Portia, on the other hand, more than stirred his heart. She stirred his body and soul too. Therein lay the danger.

Grayson cast Portia from his mind, and set out to find Robert and offer his apologies. A thought, forbidden and dangerous, made his heart still.
Admit it, man—you don’t want to give her up.

He’d been trying to deny the powerful and savage attraction for Portia for so long that he’d forgotten what a good night’s sleep was. Tonight had made the situation a hundred times worse. Now when he dreamed, he’d know exactly how she tasted, her scent would be swirling in his head, and he’d remember her soft, silken skin.

Perhaps it was just as well he was leaving to fight Napoleon in three days’ time. A battlefield could make his problem moot. He knew he shouldn’t go. He was the last of his family, but he would not let Robert go alone. He owed Lord Cumberland that much at least.

He must be the only man looking forward to war. Only then might he forget the red-haired vixen who haunted his dreams.

L
ONDON
,
TWO YEARS LATER
: D
ECEMBER
1815

“Don’t you dare get out of this carriage.”

Portia ignored Rose’s command, one of the few people who could. Not many denied the Duchess of Roxborough when she used that tone of voice. Instead, she continued to stare into the darkening night.

It wasn’t as if they were in the wilds of Scotland. The streets around the Thames and especially where the boats left to row to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens were teeming with people. Noise, smells, and a brisk breeze swirled around them in comforting normalness. What could possibly go wrong? She’d have her footman with her. Any apprehension churning in her stomach had more to do with whom she was meeting and what his summons meant.

Since Grayson’s return from Waterloo he had been a changed man. Robert’s death and the terrible injuries suffered by Grayson’s friend Lord Markham had destroyed the fun-loving rake. He blamed himself, and Portia knew that wasn’t fair.

Rose added, “I swear I’ll end our friendship. Going into this crowd is foolhardy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. As if I’d fall for that threat! Since the age of five, when we became friends, you’ve threatened to terminate our friendship too many times for me to take you seriously.”

“Women have been known to go missing from Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.” Rose pretended to shiver in the confines of Portia’s luxurious carriage. She pulled a fur throw over her knees for effect. “Perhaps I should accompany you?”

Portia would have taken Rose’s warning more seriously if it hadn’t been accompanied by a small giggle. “You’re just as eager as I am to understand why Grayson wants to meet me here of all places.”

“Exactly. Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens is no place for a lady to roam unescorted. I’m surprised Lord Blackwood suggested meeting here. Once you get on the rowboat with him you cannot turn back. Perhaps that is his plan.” She flashed Portia one of her wicked smiles. “I’m not sure I approve.”

Exasperation bubbled up inside her. “That’s not what you said over half an hour ago. You thought Grayson requesting me to meet him here was a sign he was finally interested. The beginning of a romantic liaison, you said.”

Rose shrugged her delicate shoulders and pulled the fur higher up her body. “I was simply hoping for the best. He’s the reason you’ve reached four and twenty unmarried.”

Thank goodness the dim carriage hid the flush heating her face. “Grayson, along with every other rake in London, is the reason I remain unmarried.” She did not want to admit that the handsome and charismatic Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood, was the only man who made her heart long for more. “I may not wish to give up my freedom in marriage—I see no benefit at all in doing so—but that does not mean I wish to remain ignorant of the joys to be had in this life. You positively glow when a man is sharing your bed.”

“I’m allowed to glow. I’m a widow, remember? Society would unleash holy hell upon you if the unmarried Lady Portia Flagstaff were caught ‘experimenting’ with passion. They already frown upon your occupation with the cider mill, and that is the least of your black marks in their eyes. Don’t annoy the sleeping beast.”

Her cider mill had started as a hobby because she was bored. Now her Garden Cider was sought after in all the fine houses from Somerset to London. The money she made was funding a school for orphans near her family’s estate. Even though she ran the cider mill for charity, society still managed to frown on the fact she insisted on being involved in the day-to-day running of the business. The men did not like that a young woman could set up and run a successful business. They had tried to blacklist her cider; however, it was so good that people bought it anyway.

Portia stared back out into the night, nerves stretched taut. Swinging back to Rose, she said, “Unfair. Just because you married a man old enough to be your grandfather and he had the decency to die not long after, you’re free to enjoy life to the fullest. While I must toe the line of respectability, men can behave virtually however they wish. I wouldn’t even be allowed to run my business except for the fact that first Robert was the nominal head of the business, and since his death Philip has been.” She looked down her nose. “It allows men to pretend a woman has not succeeded in their world.”

Rose shook her beautifully coiffed head. “Sometimes I think it would have been kinder if your mother had borne six boys instead of five boys and you.”

Portia shrugged and said the one thing that would silence Rose. “But then you wouldn’t have met Philip.” She’d been wondering how to bring up the subject of Rose’s affair with her brother. “I hope you won’t hurt him. I can already see he’s fallen under your spell, as most men do, and I’d hate to lose you as a friend.”

“How long have you known?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve known you since I was five, and we’ve always shared every detail of our lives. When that gossipmonger Penelope Carthors took delight in informing me at Lady Skye’s ball that you had a new lover, and this was something you’d not shared with me, and I saw Philip slip away for the exact amount of time you took to tour the flower beds …” Her words petered out when she watched her friend’s face crumple.

“If anyone is likely to be hurt, it’s me. Now that he’s the earl … due to my reputation I am not considered marriage material.” Rose’s eyes filled with tears. “I love him. I’ve always loved him. I’ve loved him since I was fifteen.”

Portia moved to sit next to her friend, wrapping her in a fierce hug. “I know, silly. I’ve known about your feelings for Philip for years. However, I also knew why, at nineteen, you married that fossil Lord Thompson. When your father died, your mother’s financial situation was dire. I realize that was why you agreed to wed the walking dead, and so did Philip. Lord Thompson’s wife and only son died of scarlet fever and he needed an heir for the dukedom. Which you dutifully provided before he died. I certainly don’t begrudge you finding your happiness now. You deserve it as a reward for the two years you had to spend with him.”

Rose squeezed Portia’s hand and wiped her eyes. “Philip makes me happy. I’d marry him if he asked, but he never noticed me before I married, and now my reputation as the sensual widow precedes me. I’m totally unsuitable. I don’t think he takes me seriously. I’m a liaison to relieve his boredom. Hence I’m urging caution regarding Lord Blackwood’s invitation. If you destroy your reputation by having a love affair with Grayson, and then you meet a man who becomes your reason for living … men tend to want virginal, or at least respectable, brides.”

Portia just couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. How could she admit that Grayson, a man who seemed to think she caused nothing but trouble, a man who viewed her as an annoying sister, was the love of her life? However, if anyone could understand, it would be Rose. “You love Philip, and I love Grayson.”