A Seduction in Scarlet (Aphrodite's Club 1)

He gave her a hug. “I’m fine, Fran. The police were most hospitable. And Seb pulled some strings, apparently, which he’ll never let me forget.”

Francesca glanced lovingly across at her husband, who was removing his hat and gloves.

“We were so worried. I could hardly keep still, and Lady Ellerslie kept peeping at the mantel clock whenever there was a lull in the conversation—”

“Lady Ellerslie?” He cut her short, his gaze focused hard on hers.

“Didn’t you tell him?” Francesca turned to Sebastian in surprise.

“Tell me what?” Impatiently, Marcus looked from one of them to the other.

“That Lady Ellerslie is waiting to see you in the library,” Francesca answered, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Marcus looked toward the library door.

“She’s in disguise,” Francesca added with a little smile. “Incognito. In case anyone sees her. Sebastian will try and play everything down, say you hardly know each other, that you just happened to be in the crowd when you saw her faint and so on. A misunderstanding now happily put to rights. He says you’ll be forgotten by tomorrow.”

“Back to being a nobody,” Marcus said levelly.

“Marcus, you know you could never be that!”

“Francesca, don’t encourage him,” Sebastian growled. “And as for you…” He shot his brother a penetrating look. “Go and speak to Lady Ellerslie, and stay out of trouble.”

Portia was staring at the first edition copy of Clarissa she’d discovered in the bookshelves and trying to settle her nerves, but the heroine’s willingness to die rather than live with shame had begun to grate on her. Besides, she had so much to think about.

Marcus’s brother, the Earl of Worthorne, had persuaded her to let him handle matters and told her he was well qualified to do so. He’d inspired trust in her and a sense of confidence; both of which she found sadly lacking in his brother. And yet they were very alike.

“I must see Marcus,” she’d said to him, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice, assuming her usual calm poise with difficulty. The incident on the dais had rattled her—she was still light-headed and shaky.

“Do you think that’s a good idea, my lady?” Sebastian’s dark eyes were remarkably penetrating.

“There are things that must be said.”

The earl had looked at her a moment with an expression that was almost pity, then bowed his head in acquiesce. “My brother has a remarkable ability to attract ladies. I wouldn’t want you to think…”

I wouldn’t want you to think you are the only one.

Portia managed a little smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t let my partiality for him blind me to his faults. I have more to lose than him.”

Sebastian seemed to want to say more but changed his mind. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure.”

She’d waved her hand vaguely. “I could send a hired coach perhaps? Or take a room incognito at a waterside inn?”

Sebastian smiled. “A hired coach at midnight by the river? You and my brother are well matched, my lady, when it comes to romantic fantasies. No, I think it would be best if you came to my house and waited there. My wife Francesca will keep you company until I can bring Marcus home.”

Nervously, Portia had agreed, but she’d worn a bonnet with a thick black mourning veil to disguise her identity. The press already knew about Marcus’s arrest, and although they weren’t suggesting there was anything romantic between them, she didn’t want the possibility to occur.

Portia closed the book with a snap. Clarissa lacked courage, she decided; Minnie could have taught her a thing or two. She set the book aside just as she heard his voice out in the hall.

She was about to jump up and wrench open the door when she stopped, reining herself in. And then what? Fling herself into his arms? Declare to the world that she was completely lost to good sense?

No, no, that would never do. It was over and she was there to tell him so.

He mustn’t know how many hours she had spent torn between conflicting emotions. She was a grown woman of poise and experience, yet her life was ruled by the opinions of others.

Put like that, she sounded as weak as Clarissa, but when you considered who those people were—Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, the population of London—it was never as simple as it sounded. She had made her choice long ago to shoulder the responsibilities that the title Lady Ellerslie gave to her. To throw that all away for a man who had so little to recommend him would be the act of an imbecile.