Lord Heatherington turned to study Portia with a raised brow. "That makes a difference, dear lady. I adore anything or anyone fresh from the country...."

  Portia shuddered, reminded of the night before.

  Nerissa tapped his arm with her finger. "But being fresh and unspoiled, she has no taste for your flirtation, sirrah!"

  Lord Heatherington captured Portia's hand. "That is cruel of you, Miss St. Claire. If we do not flirt, we die."

  Portia tried to tug her hand free. "That is to be absurd, my lord."

  "But so is not to flirt." His grip on her hand was unbreakable, and he raised it to his lips, watching her closely, almost scrutinizing her. Then, he seemed to dismiss her from his mind entirely as he turned back to flirt with Nerissa.

  Portia was distressed by the incident, but even more distressed to realize that now she might as well not be there. She suspected that Lord Trelyn would not approve of this encounter. There was nothing unseemly about the conversation—it was all gossip and badinage—but the atmosphere was wicked.

  Was this just flirtation, or something worse?

  Portia was no guard, however, to object to Nerissa's choice of companion, so she just stood by until Lord Heatherington moved on.

  As they proceeded down the street, Nerissa said pettishly, "I do hope you will learn to play the game a little, Portia. You will be a figure of fun if you stiffen up every time a gentleman pays you a compliment."

  "I'm sorry. I just cannot find it comfortable."

  "What a prude you are. You will have to practice. How else will you find a husband?"

  "I do not want a husband, Nerissa, but if I ever have one, I would prefer a man who does not flirt."

  "He would have to be a dull dog."

  Then, catching Portia unawares, they encountered Bryght Malloren. He was in casual dress again, but without his dog. Portia half expected some dramatic change in him, some open acknowledgement of what had occurred between them, but he bowed as if they were the most casual of acquaintances and introduced his companion, Lord Andover.

  Lord Andover, a loose-limbed, handsome blond, seemed far too pleasant to be friend to such a man.

  Portia was so absorbed in her thoughts that her wits were wandering. She was caught off-guard when Nerissa said, "Lord Bryght! We have just been saying that Portia must learn to flirt. You are such a master of the art, why do you not teach her a little as we go?"

  Portia stared at her cousin, but Nerissa merely smiled, captured Lord Andover's arm, and turned to walk ahead. Portia had no choice but to follow with the man she most wished to avoid.

  Chapter 14

  "Relax, Hippolyta," he said softly. "You are surely safe in my company here."

  She turned sharply, intending to reproach him, but found herself silenced by something almost gentle in his expression.

  "So," he said, easily covering the moment, "Nerissa has taken you up. You are very fortunate."

  Portia hastily walked after her cousin. "After my shame, you mean."

  "No, I do not mean that," he said with an edge. "I mean that her standing and respectability are just what you need."

  "If you want thanks for having introduced me to my cousin, you may have them, my lord."

  "Your happiness is thanks enough, I assure you." He was keeping pace with her without difficulty.

  Portia knew good manners dictated that she make light conversation, but her mind was blank. How could she talk of the weather to a man with whom she had been so outrageously intimate?

  "I hope you are not too much distressed by your adventure," he said.

  The gall of the man! "We will forget it, if you please, my lord."

  "You are always telling me to forget our encounters," he said somewhat plaintively. "I find myself quite unable to do so."

  "Please, my lord...."

  "As you wish," he said lightly. "Then perhaps I should admit that I have skipped some important lessons during our encounters, and should now teach you how to flirt."

  Portia was dreadfully off-balance, teetering between the attraction she always felt for this man and her fear of its power. She speeded her pace, wanting to be closer to the others. "I do not think so, my lord."

  "Nerissa commands, and we should obey the Queen of Society."

  "I do not think it is your habit to obey."

  He captured her hand and slowed her pace. "You cannot totally repulse me, you know. Remember the terms of our wager."

  Portia knew her cheeks were scarlet. "My lord, I wish you would not speak of it."

  "Then humor me, and let us flirt and become acquainted."

  She looked at him then. "There is no purpose in it."

  "Why not?"

  "Our tastes differ too far."

  "Do they?" He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "I'm not well acquainted with your tastes, Miss St. Claire. Do you like roast lamb?" She snapped an exasperated look at him, and was trapped by a beguiling smile. "I wish you nothing but good, you know."

  "No." It was rejection of both him and his statement. And a rejection of the effect he could still have on her.

  He frowned slightly. "Then do you like chicken?"

  Portia found herself alarmingly tempted to laugh. "My lord, cease this!"

  "You do not care for food at all?"

  "Of course I do."

  "I thought so. I remember that you eat like a horse."

  Portia spoke between her teeth. "I simply do not care to discuss food with you."

  "Then let us talk sex."

  Portia came to a frozen halt, staring at him, her mouth half open.

  "Food or sex," he said pleasantly. "Which shall it be?"

  "Is that a threat?"

  He appeared genuinely startled. "'Struth, no. You can trust my discretion. It is, however, a topic of mutual interest, you will agree."

  Portia dragged her hand from his arm. "You are disgusting."

  "Devil a bit. I am just seeking a topic of conversation in which we both have an interest."

  "The Bible," said Portia icily and hurried to catch up to Nerissa and Lord Andover.

  She thought that would be the end of it, but he kept pace with her. "'How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince's daughter,'" he quoted. Then added, sotto voce, "Or without."

  Portia refused to rise to his tormenting. "Is that from the Bible, my lord? I don't recognize it."

  "Perhaps your Bible was carefully edited."

  "What nonsense. All I know is that my feet are not particularly beautiful, and I am not a prince's daughter."

  "But you are wearing shoes."

  She shook her head in exasperation. "That, my lord, I must admit."

  "Shall I go on?" In his deep, beautiful voice he said, "'The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. Thy navel is like a round goblet—'"

  "Stop it!" Portia swung to face him. "That is not from the Bible, my lord, and I am appalled that you would link such lewdness with the Holy Book."

  Unfortunately, her raised voice attracted Nerissa's attention, and the other couple turned back to join them.

  "Are you fighting, Portia?" asked Nerissa playfully. "I thought you were taking lessons in flirtation." Her eyes flickered avidly between them, seeking secrets.

  Portia kept her gaze fixed on the green-flecked eyes of her tormentor. "I do not care for lies."

  There was a silence and then Nerissa said, "It is not wise, Portia, to accuse a gentleman of lying."

  Portia knew she had gone farther than she should, but she raised her chin. "If I'm wrong, I will apologize."

  Perhaps there was anger in him, but he smiled. "If you are wrong, Miss St. Claire, you will have to do more than apologize. You will have to pay a forfeit, won't she, Lady Trelyn?"

  "That does seem fair, my lord," said Nerissa, dimpling at him, and enjoying every minute of this.

  Portia wished she could tell them both to go to Hades. "That would not be proper, my lord."

  "It is not proper to accuse a gentleman of lying," he pointed out. "Do you withdraw your accusation?"

  Portia felt cornered. She had once again allowed her impulsive nature to throw her into an awkward situation. She had studied her Bible long and well, however, and was confident that there was no such lewdness in the Holy Book.

  She called his bluff. "I do not withdraw, my lord. So, what forfeit will you pay when you admit your wickedness?"

  His eyes sparkled and she suddenly remembered their last wager. He had warned her then of the folly of believing she bet on a certainty. On the other hand, though she knew little about sexual intimacy, she knew her Bible very well.

  "What forfeit do you require, dear lady?" he asked. "A kiss, perhaps."

  Portia hissed in a breath. "I require freedom from you, my lord. Forever. Never to see you again. Never to hear your voice. Never to have you touch me in any way."

  Nerissa gasped, and Bryght's eyes widened in recognition. The amusement drained out of his features. "How rash you are," he murmured. "So be it. You will be hearing from me, Miss St. Claire, about our challenge, and about the settling of debts." His bow was somewhat abrupt, then he and Lord Andover moved away.

  Nerissa stared at Portia. "Whatever are you up to, you foolish creature? To avoid a Malloren is perhaps wise. To challenge one in public..."

  "He lied," said Portia, frowning after Bryght Malloren. Lud, but even angry he had a grace and style that made other men look clumsy.

  "I rather doubt it. What did he lie about?"

  Portia dragged her wanton mind away from the wretch and concentrated on deflecting Nerissa's curiosity. She did not even want to recall the words he had quoted, or the memories they stirred of the previous night. They could not possibly be in the Bible. "A foolish matter," she said briskly. "One thing is sure. Lord Bryght will not now be able to pester me."

  Nerissa just shook her head and led the way back to the carriage.

  As soon as Portia was home, she flicked through her well-worn copy of the Bible, paying particular attention to the sections she read less often. After a while she relaxed. The shocking words were not there.

  She had won at last, and was safe from Bryght Malloren forever.

  * * *

  That evening the Trelyns dined at home. Though Portia's best blue silk gown could not possibly compete with Nerissa's confection of cream brocade and lace, it seemed adequate for the occasion. Nerissa's maid had dressed Portia's hair in an elaborately attractive style and set some white roses in it. Portia felt she had no need to blush.

  In fact, she was feeling in good spirits. Her encounter with Bryght Malloren had settled matters once and for all. In addition, even if he were wicked enough to break the terms of their wager, she was as safe at Trelyn House as if in the Tower.

  After dinner, however, as they drank tea in the drawing room, Nerissa pleaded prettily that they attend the Willoughby soiree.

  "My dear," said Lord Trelyn, "I do not wish you to exhaust yourself."

  "Trelyn, I am likely to exhaust myself with tedium!"

  "That is not very polite to your guest."

  Nerissa flushed, but said prettily, "But it is Portia I am thinking of, Trelyn. You know I want to introduce her to Society. How are we to do that if we stay at home?"

  Portia protested that she was happy to live quietly, but Nerissa over-rode her with pouting pleas. A flutter of panic began in Portia's stomach. She did not want to go anywhere where she might meet a certain man, and she was terrified that someone might recognize Hippolyta.

  She pinned her hopes on Lord Trelyn, but in the end he said, "As you wish, my dear."

  Portia wished he had more resolution.

  "And if we are to go out," Nerissa said happily, "we really should pass through the Debenhams' rout."

  "Perhaps I should stay at home," Portia said. "My gown—"

  "Is charming." Nerissa's tone allowed no argument. "I will lend you my pearls."

  "I would not mind remaining at home," Portia said desperately.

  Nerissa's smile was sweetly implacable. "But you are my companion, Cousin."

  And so Portia allowed the maid to arrange glowing pearls around her neck and wrist, in a brooch, and in an aigrette for her hair. The mirror assured her that the jewelry raised the quality of her gown a good few notches. Nerissa even lent her a fan—a precious item of mother-of-pearl and gold.

  Portia rippled it open and shielded her worried face. If she had to do this, she was pleased to be doing it in style.

  When the maid suggested paint and plumpers, however, Portia refused with a shudder.

  "You are rather pale," said Nerissa doubtfully.

  "I am as I am."

  Nerissa laughed. "How strange you are!"

  As they turned to leave the room, Portia said, "Nerissa, what sort of events are these? Whom shall we meet there?"

  Nerissa waved a beringed hand. "Everyone who is anyone! Well no. Perhaps not. The Willoughbys' affair will be extremely proper, with music of the highest order. That means," she said with a rueful smile, "that the more lively members of London Society will disport themselves elsewhere."

  Portia relaxed a little. She should have realized that Lord Trelyn would not attend a wild affair. And Bryght Malloren would surely not waste an evening on proper behavior and excellent music.

  That being the case, Portia determined to enjoy herself. Tonight would be her first grand London entertainment, and probably also one of her last. In years to come she would have one brilliant night to remember.

  Or two, she thought wistfully, thinking of brilliance of an entirely different order.

  * * *

  Soon they were in a carriage in a queue of carriages and sedan-chairs waiting to disgorge their glittering occupants at the door to the Debenham mansion. As this house was on the next street to the Trelyn's house, the carriage seemed absurd to Portia, but Nerissa assured her that it was unthinkable to attend these affairs on foot.

  Portia looked out of the window at the queue ahead, and the queue behind. "Goodness. The whole world must be trying to get in."

  "Only the elite," said Lord Trelyn, and Portia could tell he enjoyed counting himself of that number. She suspected he even enjoyed the people lining the streets to watch the carriages go past. Some of the gawkers seemed to recognize Nerissa for they called out her name. She inclined her head just a fraction in gracious acknowledgement and the famous Trelyn diamonds shot fire. The Queen of Society indeed.

  Was this why Nerissa had married Lord Trelyn?

  Portia decided it was mean-spirited to be dissecting her hosts' intimate affairs, and put it out of her mind. Instead, she pressed to one side to look down the queue. "People seem to be leaving as enthusiastically as they are entering. I fear the event must be a disappointment."

  "You dear ninny!" laughed Nerissa. "It would be the worst of bad taste to stay long, for then how would other people get in? Everyone is on his way elsewhere, as we are. We will just greet our hosts and move through the rooms, commenting to our friends what a terrible crush it is."

  "And then what?"

  "And then we will leave. It is just that extracting ourselves will take even longer than getting in." She gave a twinkling smile. "It is all quite ridiculous, but one must."

  Why? Portia wanted to ask, but she knew the answer. It was the way of the world.

  It proved to be just as Nerissa said. They arrived at the double-fronted house to find every window lit, with the blinds drawn back. They joined a queue of gorgeously dressed men and women waiting to mount the central staircase to greet their hosts. Portia's eyes began to hurt from the glare of gold lace and jewelry.

  The heat from bodies and candles was appalling. She saw a few women and one man faint and be carried away, and prayed she would not similarly disgrace herself.

  Eventually they had the opportunity to greet Lord and Lady Debenham and move into the rooms. No question here of sitting to talk, for all the furniture had been removed.

  Despite the crush, Nerissa was in her element, greeting and being greeted by all. She charted a course through the crowded rooms like the expert captain of a vessel—always heading forward, but tacking from one group to another. Portia and Lord Trelyn floated behind like bum-boats.

  Portia was introduced to so many people her head was swimming. Lord Trelyn stood by his wife like someone showing off a prize possession. Or guarding one.

  Then a tall man in black velvet and rubies approached and made a bow. Nerissa extended her hand and the man's lips passed the correct distance over it, but the sudden coolness could be felt.

  "Lord Rothgar," said Nerissa, and Portia snapped to attention.

  There was not a great resemblance between the marquess and his brother except in height and aura. Lord Rothgar's hair was powdered, but she fancied it was pure black underneath. His features could be called handsome, but they would make no one think of an angel, not even a devilish one.

  Upon introduction, he bowed over Portia's hand with exquisite grace. "Another St. Claire. London is blessed."

  She dropped a curtsy. "I cannot compare to Lady Trelyn in beauty, my lord."

  "One such beauty is enough for any world, Miss St. Claire. Perhaps you should seek instead to rival her in virtue."

  He contrived to make it seem an insult. Apparently all Mallorens were alike in that at least.

  She met his eyes. "Surely everyone should aspire to virtue, my lord."

  His lips twitched in a dismissive smile. "What an extraordinary notion." With a bow to Lord Trelyn, he moved on.

  Portia hissed in annoyance and would very much have liked to continue the debate.

  Nerissa gave a nervous laugh and fanned herself rather rapidly. "So you are willing to take on Rothgar, too! I confess, you are bolder than I. The marquess disturbs me."

  "He cannot hurt you, my dear," said Lord Trelyn, but he gave Portia a curious look. She feared she would have to endure another inquisition later.

  Nerissa smiled at her husband. "Of course he cannot hurt me, Trelyn. He would not dare. He is so strange, though, and they do say his mother was mad."

  "Mad?" Portia asked in surprise.

  "'Tis said she killed her child—a younger one than the marquess, of course—and then herself. There is bad blood in the Mallorens."

 

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