Jo Beverley - [Malloren 02] (35 page)

"I'm not sure, but soon."

"Ah." There was a wealth of meaning in the word and the raised eyebrow that accompanied it.

Bryght felt damnably like a guilty schoolboy. "I haven't taken her virtue, Bey. Or not much of it."

"But enough, I gather. So be it. Honor above all. I suppose Elf should come to lend the girl credit."

"The 'girl' is twenty-five years old."

Rothgar's brows rose. "Is she indeed? She looks younger. She will still be in need of credit and support, and I doubt the Trelyns are an unfailing bulwark. Do you not want your sister at your wedding?"

Bryght was finding Rothgar's acceptance rather more abrasive than his opposition. "I would be delighted, of course. Why not the whole clan? Brand, Cyn and Chastity, Hilda and Steen and their family?"

"Cyn and Chastity are still newlyweds," said Rothgar blandly, "and it's too far for Hilda and her brood. Brand, Elf, and myself along with a few distant connections who are in town should form an adequate family presence. An aura of respectability."

"A massing of Mallorens is hardly likely to convey respectability."

"It will, at least, silence any troublesome tongues. What of Candleford?"

"No, thank you." Bryght could feel his jaw tighten.

"You will need a home." Rothgar's dark eyes were searching, which meant Bryght could not look away.

"We will not be welcome here and at the Abbey?"

"Of course you will."

"Then that is where we'll live until I can afford to buy a place of my own."

"How very bourgeois," drawled Rothgar.

Bryght rose and stalked out of the room, Zeno hurrying to catch up.

Bryght regretted within moments letting Rothgar catch him on the raw. It was unreasonable not to allow his brother to buy the property and give him the use of it. He received no special reward for his work, which had increased the family fortune immensely, just the normal portion allocated to all the younger Malloren men.

By rights nearly all the Malloren property was Rothgar's alone. Their father had left dowries for the girls, and the marriage portion of the second marchioness went to her three sons—Bryght, Brand, and Cyn. Her early death had meant it was sufficient to provide a start for them in whatever profession they chose to follow. It was not enough, however, to support them in idleness for the rest of their lives.

The bulk of the property had gone, of course, to the new Marquess of Rothgar.

Rothgar, however, had chosen not to use it solely for his own purposes. He had decided that the business of the marquessate would provide employment for all the Malloren men, and all would receive a handsome income from it.

He'd devised matters according to their talents. Bryght had been introduced to the delights of finance and investment. Brand, whose tastes were more practical, was in charge of the twenty or more estates that made up the marquessate. Cyn, the youngest, had been destined for the law.

Cyn, however, had rejected the plan and joined the army. Rothgar's one failure, and it had taught him something about people, thank God—that they could not always be shaped to his will.

Cyn had taken his portion from his mother but refused all further financial help. Even so, his part of the family profits was put aside for him. If he never touched it, it would go one day to his children.

Hilda and Elf also received small incomes.

Bryght found the arrangement agreeable on the whole, but he didn't like to feel that he was Rothgar's pensioner. It was his own damn fault that he did not have the ready funds to buy Candleford and he would have to live with it. He could hardly expect all his dreams to come true. To have Portia as his wife would be enough.

Bryght went up to his room to change for his appointment with Trelyn. He might as well do the thing with full honors. As his valet powdered him, he pondered an additional problem presented by the current situation.

As Portia's representative, Trelyn might feel entitled to enquire about Bryght's financial standing. Since it was a marriage of compulsion, Bryght decided, Trelyn wouldn't be able to insist. Bryght could agree to a respectable settlement for Portia, and that would have to satisfy everyone.

* * *

When Bryght presented himself at Trelyn House in full elegance of silk and powder it went much as he had expected. Once Trelyn realized he would not be allowed to pore over Bryght's circumstances, they settled the matter quickly enough.

When all was arranged, Trelyn offered claret and Bryght felt obliged to take it. He had nothing against Nerissa's husband except the man's patent antipathy to himself.

The earl raised his glass. "You have my congratulations, Malloren. Miss St. Claire is in most respects an admirable and sensible woman."

Bryght reflected that a sensible woman would not get herself into such predicaments, but merely said, "I think so."

Trelyn cleared his throat. "I... er... I do hope you intend well by her."

Bryght raised a brow. The dull stick was genuinely concerned. He was devilish anxious to see this match made—and Bryght could guess why, the poor fool—but his conscience was pricking him. "Why would I not?" asked Bryght blandly.

"Well, there is an... er... element of compulsion...."

"But I am delighted to marry Miss St. Claire."

Trelyn stared at him with a slight frown, clearly not believing a word of it.

"Or do you mean Miss St. Claire is under some compulsion?"

The touch of color in Trelyn's cheeks was answer enough.

Bryght said, "I must be assured that the lady is willing."

"Willing? Of course she's willing. She showed her partiality by her behavior, and why would a simple country miss not be delighted to marry so high?"

"Why indeed? The simplest way to ease my concern is for me to speak with Miss St. Claire."

They looked at one another for long moments, Bryght pleasantly implacable, Trelyn angry, but then the earl rose. "I will see to it."

Bryght looked thoughtfully at the door which the earl had closed behind himself. The fact that he had not simply summoned a footman was very revealing. What the devil was going on?

He was tempted to follow, to search the house until he found Portia and could be sure she was safe, but he assumed Trelyn would have to produce her. Then they'd have truth.

He sipped the excellent claret and reflected upon the fact that his beloved was probably not the least willing to marry him. Never mind. He did not dare let her escape this net.

Once they were wed he would prove to her that he was not such a bad bargain. And soon she would be able to judge by his actions.

A word with Heatherington had diminished the danger from that quarter, though Heather was not easily controlled. He would not make trouble, however, unless Portia exposed his relationship with Nerissa.

As for money, after a couple of nights at the tables, Bryght hoped to be able to assure Portia that her home was safe. Quite apart from covering Upcott's debt, he had a strong desire to pluck Prestonly to the skin.

He would get rid of Cuthbertson.

The door clicked open and Bryght turned, heart speeding a little. It was not Portia, however, but Lord Trelyn. "Miss St. Claire awaits you in the Laocoon Room, Lord Arcenbryght."

Bryght rose and followed across the classical hall to a small chamber—an alcove really—in which Portia awaited, with Nerissa nearby. Lord Trelyn left, and Bryght considered the situation.

Had this location been chosen with forethought? The room was small, but graced with three long windows. It had clearly been designed to display a magnificent set of Grecian marbles all addressing the theme of Laocoon, the Trojan priest killed, along with his sons, by a sea serpent. The sight of so many people writhing in monstrous toils was not merely symbolic, it was almost laughably heavy-handed.

He detected Nerissa's touch.

Bryght glanced at Portia, hoping to share amusement, but she was not even looking at him. She was pale and almost haggard.

Damnation.

Bryght turned to Nerissa, who appeared positively stuffed with contentment. "I hardly think we need a duenna, my lady."

"Do you not? But you both seem so governed by your passions. Lord Trelyn feels it best that you be accompanied. He is such a stickler for the proprieties."

"Indeed he is." He put a touch of threat behind it and saw Nerissa register it with a slight frown. She made no move to leave, however, and he decided the letter was a weapon best held for a more serious battle than this.

He went over and sat beside Portia on a cold marble bench. "I'm afraid you must have had a restless night, Miss St. Claire, but all is in order. You must not distress yourself."

She looked up at him then, but blankly. There were shadows as deep as bruises beneath her eyes. "I am not distressed, my lord."

"Are you not? You have stronger nerves than I, then. I am not at all distressed to be marrying you, my dear, but I cannot like the manner of it."

"You are very kind, my lord."

Bryght desperately wanted his Amazon back, not this limp doll. "I'm not at all kind," he said bracingly. "I'm intolerably selfish." When she did not react, he knew he could not force Portia to go through with this.

He took her chilly hand. "Miss St. Claire, I am not such a monster that I will pursue this marriage against your wishes. No serious harm was done, and if there is any scandal it will soon die down. If you do not wish to marry me, you must tell me so. I will ensure that there is no more said on the matter."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nerissa stir as if she would object. He could understand Trelyn's desire for the match—-the man had a genuine obsession with correct behavior, and also would like to see Bryght married. He wasn't sure why Nerissa would want to see her cousin married to him.

Yet again, Portia surprised him. "I am completely willing to marry you, my lord." It was said in a flat, unconvincing voice, but it was said.

What the devil?

He made appropriate remarks of delight and satisfaction, wondering all the while what was going on in her head. There was no point in lingering, however, for Nerissa clearly had no intention of giving them privacy. He took out the ring he had brought with him and slid it onto her chilly finger.

When he left, she was staring at it with a slight frown.

* * *

Portia considered the beautiful ring—a yellow stone surrounded by diamonds—and wished it symbolized more than a trap. She wondered where it had come from so quickly.

There was just a faint trace of a familiar perfume left in the air to tease at Portia's senses. Against her will, her hand slid over the bench to find the place still warm from him.

"There," said Nerissa complacently. "That was not too hard, was it? And really, I could almost envy you. He is quite deliciously handsome, and I can attest to his bed-skills. But then, so can you. Are you not eager to complete your education—"

"Oh, shut up!" Portia erupted to her feet and fled to her room.

The worst of it was that Nerissa was right. Her body had learned its first lessons and longed for more. Portia was tormented by the thought that perhaps there was escape, and she was blind to it.

That she was governed by her lust for Bryght Malloren.

Chapter 17

Bryght was thoughtful as he walked back to Marlborough Square.

It had all been a shock, he was sure, but that didn't explain Portia's state. He had given her the opportunity to escape and she had refused to take it. He had looked into her eyes and seen that she meant the words she said, but was deeply distressed.

He didn't understand it, but couldn't marry any woman so against her will.

When he arrived at Malloren House he went to the offices, hoping to drown concern in hard work. He could not concentrate, however. After listening to a clerk's explanation of wine imports and prices, and realizing that he hadn't taken in more than a tenth of it, he gave up the effort.

When he entered the hall, he encountered Rothgar in full Court magnificence, including his Orders.