Her thoughts were interrupted by another knock at the door. Portia went warily to open it, but it was merely Mrs. Pinney in a belligerent mood.

  "Miss St. Claire," she said, tiny mouth pinched into a little bud. "Where is your brother? If, indeed, brother he is."

  Portia was taken aback by this unexpected attack. "Half-brother," she said. "He has had to leave for a few days, though I wonder how you know."

  "I know because he was seen to leave, sneaking away like a thief in the night!"

  Portia stiffened. "Our rent is paid well in advance, Mrs. Pinney. If my brother wishes to leave, he is free to do so."

  The woman backed away a little, her mouth softening in surprise at this attack. "Surely, miss. But he left the door unlocked again. We could all have been murdered in our beds!"

  Portia's outrage lessened. "I'm sorry...."

  "And gentlemen!" continued Mrs. Pinney, mouth pursing again. "My good neighbor across the street says you were brought home late at night by gentlemen, and that another gentleman left here at nearly dawn! What do you say to that, then?"

  "It's nonsense." Portia saw that her firm denial had impressed the woman, and added, "I was escorted home by the servants of... of a friend. My brother left to catch the early coach. There was nobody else here. Your neighbor must have been mistaken."

  "Um, perhaps," muttered the woman, eyes shifting. "She did speak of a monstrous creature, which seems unlikely."

  "A creature?" Portia wondered if she were still asleep and dreaming.

  "A huge black hound," the woman whispered, "that crept after the Prince of Darkness like a foul specter."

  "Really, Mrs. Pinney..." But the words stirred a memory for Portia. Then it struck her that when she had first seen Bryght Malloren she had thought of the Prince of Darkness, of Lucifer himself. And Bryght had a large dog.

  Could he have been here.

  Been in here?

  Mrs. Pinney was shaking her head. "Yes, it is as you think, Miss St. Claire. Gin. So sad. But," she added, with a return to her former belligerence, "there will be no more neglecting of the locks, or out you go! And your brother had best be back soon. I don't hold with young women living alone, particularly those who like to be abroad at night!"

  Portia bit back another protest. "Sir Oliver has gone to Dorset, Mrs. Pinney. He will be back within the week."

  "A week! That is a great time to leave a single lady unattended."

  Portia could have delivered a lecture on the question of who had been attending whom, but merely said, "Since I have nowhere else to go, and know of no one who would come here to attend me, there is nothing to be done about it."

  "I could put you on the street," the woman said. "This is a decent house, and I'll not have it otherwise."

  "Nor would I," Portia protested, "And you cannot evict me when the rent is paid."

  The woman was about to speak when her son raced up the stairs. "Ma! There's a grand coach at the door!"

  Portia's first thought was that it was Bryght Malloren come to seize her. But when she followed the landlady into the hall to look down the stairs, she saw Fort.

  He was dressed quite casually in dull blue and top boots, with his brown hair was simply tied, but it was certain this house had never seen his like. The two powdered footmen added splendidly to his ambience. He left the men at the door and mounted the stairs with eloquent disdain. Mrs. Pinney and her son melted out of his way and he ignored them.

  "Cousin Portia," he said with a friendly smile and extended hands. "How wonderful to find you in London."

  When she put her hands in his, he carried them to his lips and kissed each. "You look a little tired, which is hardly surprising given this dismal place. We must see what we can do."

  He shut the door on the gawking Pinneys and released her hands. Portia remembered then that Fort had been at Mirabelle's, had bid on her, diced for her, and according to Bryght, would not have been able to get her completely free.

  She had absolutely no idea what to say to him.

  He was as tall as Bryght and a little heavier in build. He made the small room shrink even further, but he was Fort with whom she'd run wild in Dorset years ago and his slanted smile was familiar. "I thought you'd given up madcap adventures, Portia."

  "I thought so too. Oh, Fort, thank you for helping us."

  "It was nothing," he said and eyed her warily. "I rather thought you'd ring a peal over me about the military."

  "I might have done, but I see now it may be for the best. But I do hope Oliver doesn't see much action."

  "Don't be foolish. The only way to keep him out of trouble is to keep him in the thick of things. It's a damned shame the war's about over. You have almost mothered him to disaster."

  "Are you going to put it all at my door, then? That seems unfair."

  "Not all of it. Your mother and pouting Pru have done their part. Let him go."

  She pulled a face. "It seems I have no choice. At least I am able to manage Overstead while he's gone. I assure you you will be repaid in full in not too many years."

  "It is nothing," he said again, and Portia found it rather irritating. It was doubtless true that five thousand guineas was nothing to the Earl of Walgrave. It had nearly ruined her.

  "In fact," she said, "we can pay off a good part of it immediately, for Bryght Malloren gave me the proceeds of his wager last night." There. She was rather proud of the cool way she had referred to it.

  "Did he, by gad? Twelve hundred? I suppose he owed you something since you must have helped him win." His lip curled. "Rather a dishonorable bet, if one thinks about it."

  "No more dishonorable than auctioning children!"

  He shrugged carelessly. "The main thing is to see what can be done with you until Oliver returns."

  "I can stay here now your visit has covered me with glittering respectability." But then she remembered that Bryght Malloren might have been here and shuddered.

  "You see it is not proper," Fort said. "I could offer you refuge at my house, but it's a bachelor establishment at the moment and you are not a relative...."

  "I don't expect you to house me, Fort."

  "Do you not have any acquaintance or connection in Town?"

  "No. We have only been here for a few days. Oliver has friends, but..."

  "But, no," he completed with a raised brow.

  "There's Nerissa, I suppose."

  He looked a question.

  "Nerissa Trelyn. She is apparently my cousin." Portia laughed. "I was supposed to dine there tonight."

  A strange flash of humor touched his eyes. "But that is the perfect solution. Explain your plight—say Oliver was called out of town on urgent business. Lady Trelyn will be bound to take you in."

  "Oh, I couldn't..."

  "She will insist. Trelyn—dull dog that he is—is a stickler for family responsibilities. You will be secure in the highest levels of Society."

  Secure. It was a delicious word. Portia remembered how charming Nerissa had been and the decorum that had surrounded the Trelyns in the park. In that circle there would be no risk of being importuned by a rakish gamester. "Do you really think it the thing to do?"

  "Assuredly." And yet something in his tone made Portia's instinct twitch a warning.

  "I don't like to impose."

  "It will not be an imposition. Now, do you have ready funds? You should travel by chair."

  "I have been used to walking about the town."

  "I don't recommend it. I would take you, but Trelyn looks askance at any sort of wild living and I've done my share. My escort wouldn't add to your consequence. If we truly were cousins, it would be different." He smiled with genuine affection. "I do feel a family connection, Portia, and I will look out for your welfare."

  "Thank you, Fort." She went into his arms. "It means so much to have someone to help me."

  He hugged her. "Everything is going to work out well for you, I promise. But please stop fighting every battle. I know you too well for my sanity. The thought of you loose on London will turn me gray."

  She laughed. "You weren't used to be so cautious. I'll try to act a decorous lady, but I do hate to give in without a struggle."

  "I know it. Give in on this little thing, though. Promise you will take a chair wherever you go."

  She smiled up at him. "Very well."

  "And send word to me when you're settled. If Lady Trelyn fails you, I'll arrange something else. We really can't have you here like this."

  She impulsively rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

  He kissed her back, lightly on the lips. "I thought you past the age of being so foolish by now."

  "So did I," she said wistfully, her thoughts all of Bryght Malloren.

  Portia admitted then that it was not just her rooms that were insecure, but her heart. Bryght had invaded, and with very little effort could conquer. She needed stronger defenses.

  So, as soon as Fort had left, she put on her hat and prepared to set out to visit the Trelyns. She found Mrs. Pinney hovering.

  "A fine gentleman, your cousin," the woman said in a blend of awe and suspicion.

  "The Earl of Walgrave?" Portia queried, smoothing her leather gloves.

  The woman's eyes went wide. "The one they call the Incorruptible?"

  "No, his son," said Portia crisply. "I am about to visit a relative to see if I can stay with her during my brother's absence. Please call me a chair."

  "Very wise." Mrs. Pinney was almost groveling now. "A young woman can never be too careful of her reputation, my dear."

  This struck Portia as funny, but she managed not to laugh.

  She waited while Simon ran to a nearby stand for a chair, and fretted about Bryght. Why on earth would such a man be creeping about Clerkenwell in the middle of the night? Perhaps the gin-sodden neighbor had imagined the whole.

  She pressed her hands to her head, fighting to remember something of last night after she had drifted off to sleep.

  Nothing. There was nothing, except that dream of a tall man carrying her, and kissing her brow. Fort. She had dreamed of Fort. But Portia suspected that when Bryght Malloren took off his shoes, he put them neatly side by side beneath the bed.

  She shivered at the thought, but held onto sanity. Clearly nothing terrible had happened. Whatever Bryght had been up to—if his presence wasn't all a construct of gin and fear—nothing too terrible had happened.

  But she couldn't stay here. She'd never sleep in peace again. She needed refuge, and surely Nerissa Trelyn would offer it.

  Two men trotted up the street between the poles of a sedan chair, and put it down so Portia could enter. In moments, she was swaying on her way to Trelyn House.

  Chapter 13

  The Trelyn mansion boasted a massive pillared portico and was separated from the street by a railed courtyard. Portia suffered some qualms for it seemed the height of presumption to ask to live in such an imposing residence. The chairmen trotted up to the gate in the railings without hesitation, however, and the gatekeeper let them in without so much as asking Portia's business. Her nervousness abated a little. For all its grandeur, this wasn't a royal palace. The men carried her across the neatly swept flagstones and up the wide steps to the massive double doors.

  There they lowered the chair and opened the door so she could alight. There was a box here, rather like a sentry box, and a man in it, guarding the portal.

  Portia, keeper of the door...

  Portia shivered. She must keep Bryght Malloren out of her mind.

  This doorkeeper did demand her name and business, but upon hearing it immediately passed her on to a footman inside the house. Portia hesitated long enough to pay her chairmen then entered Trelyn House.

  She paused, arrested by the grandeur of the tiled circular entrance hall lined with niches each containing a classical statue. Before her, a pale marble staircase curved gracefully up between white iron banisters, bathed with cold light from a circular window high above. It was perfection but it was hardly welcoming. One nearby anteroom appeared to be full of marble statues of writhing serpents with people in their toils.

  In fact, this was more like a classic temple than a home, and it was both silent and very cold. Portia was rapidly losing her nerve at the idea of throwing herself on Nerissa's charity.

  She gave the footman her name, quite expecting to be told that Nerissa was not at home. Instead she was taken to a small but perfect reception room. She supposed the name St. Claire must command some respect here.

  The reception room had a fire in the grate and the air was not cold, but the effect of the decor was still cool. The walls were covered in silver-gray paper painted with tiny bluebirds. Pale blue silk brocade curtains hung at the narrow window, and the four white chairs were covered in blue and gray striped silk.

  Portia did not sit, but paced anxiously. If Nerissa refused her she wasn't sure what to do next. Mrs. Pinney would have to allow her to stay since the rent was paid, but she wouldn't feel safe. What if Bryght Malloren returned?

  She reminded herself that she was under the protection of the Earl of Walgrave, hard though it was to think of Fort by that mighty title.

  The footman returned. Instead of showing Portia the door into sunlight he led her up the pristine stairs, along an elegant, pale-carpeted corridor, to milady's intimate boudoir.

  This room was in complete contrast to the rest of the house. It was an ornate confection of silk draperies and hand-painted wallpaper in shades of pink and cream, all over-heated by a huge fire. Portia didn't have time to take it in, for she was immediately engulfed in a perfumed embrace.

  "My dearest cousin! I have been scolding myself for not appointing a sooner meeting, and here you are, hours before expected."

  Despite this effusive greeting, Portia gained an impression of guardedness from Nerissa. It was not surprising, but did not augur well. She took the seat indicated on a chaise, and was poured chocolate from a silver pot by Nerissa's own plump, pale hands.

  Her hostess was as lushly beautiful as her boudoir. Her shimmering golden hair hung in waves down her back. Her loose undress gown was of cream silk embroidered with roses, and trimmed with deep borders of the finest lace. It rested at the very edge of her shoulders and dipped to expose the swell of her full breasts.

  "Now tell me, Portia, why are you calling so early?"

  Portia realized with a start that it was abnormally early to pay a social call. There was no point in dissembling. "I am in a predicament."

  "I guessed it. You must tell me, dearest cousin. I will help if I can." But again, the expression in Nerissa's big brown eyes was at odds with her warm tone. Portia feared that Nerissa would not care to have anyone else's troubles thrust upon her.

  "My brother has been called away..." she started.

  "And left you here alone?" asked Nerissa in astonishment.

  "Yes. It was a matter of some urgency."

  "Even so, he should not have left you unprotected. What will you do now?"

  It clearly was not leaping to Nerissa's mind that she invite Portia to visit her.

  "I don't know."

  Nerissa was sipping chocolate, considering Portia with surprising shrewdness. "Do you know many people here in London?"

  "No. I'm afraid not."

  "But what of Bryght Malloren?"

  Portia almost spilled her chocolate. "What do you mean?" Did the whole world know the truth?

  "In the park," said Nerissa. "You seemed to know each other so well, then. Many people noted it."

  Portia could have wept with relief. She steadied her hands and hoped she could lie convincingly. "He is an acquaintance of my brother's only."

  "That surprises me. What could they have in common?"

  Portia tired of deception. "Gaming."

  "Ah." Nerissa leaned back, but her eyes were sharp. "I think you do not approve."

  If Nerissa wanted assurance that Portia was not afflicted with gaming-fever, she could have it. "I loathe gaming. And now, thank heaven, Oliver has seen the error of his ways."

  "How fortunate. Many are not so wise. I fear Lord Bryght is a notorious gamester."

  "So I understand."

  Nerissa picked up a small biscuit and nibbled at it. "But handsome, you must admit."

  Portia was assailed by a vision of a naked torso and wild hair. "I suppose he is," she admitted, for to deny it would be ludicrous. "But handsome is as handsome does."

  "You must not be so harsh about a man who is a mere acquaintance." But the words were not a reproach. "Why do you dislike him so?"

  Portia could not mention her recent grievances, so she turned to older ones. "Lord Bryght encouraged Oliver to play. I'm not sure he didn't tease him on with small winnings so that he would lose more."

  Nerissa's brows rose sharply. "But, my dear, you are accusing him of being a hawk!"

  "Yes, I suppose I am." But Portia was suddenly puzzled by the fact that it was Cuthbertson who had won in the end, not Bryght. Could there be a connection between Bryght and Cuthbertson? It seemed unlikely.

  Nerissa was gurgling with laughter. "Please do not call Bryght a hawk to his face. Trelyn hates disturbances."

  "Do you not think Lord Bryght capable of such deeds?"

  Nerissa's expression cooled almost to petulance. "I think Bryght Malloren capable of anything, but if he is a hawk, I cannot imagine him hunting field mice." She eyed Portia thoughtfully. "If you think he tried to injure your brother, however, perhaps you want revenge."

  The mood in the room had suddenly changed, and Portia didn't know how to take Nerissa anymore. "I couldn't get revenge against such a man," Portia said, "nor do I wish to. I just want to avoid him."

  Nerissa's expression reminded Portia of a stalking cat. Not a wild animal, but a sleek house cat out after mice for sport. "Women generally find Lord Bryght very attractive," she purred.

  "I do not deny that he is handsome."

  "Attractive for more than his appearance. Rumor says he is a skillful lover."

  Portia felt her face flame. "I know nothing of such things, Nerissa."

  "My dear! I speak only of flirtation in your case. Has he not flirted with you? In the park, for example?"

 

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