“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said against her hair.
“Yes.”
“We will live here, you and I.” It wasn’t a question.
“Marcus…”
He tilted up her chin so that he could see her face. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t think your husband did, not like this. No one will ever love you like this. Why can’t you trust me to take care of you?”
“I do trust you,” she murmured.
“Do you?” Startled, he searched her eyes in the moonlight, seeking the truth.
“Of course. I went to St. Tristan when you asked. I went to Aphrodite’s Club. I have risked being discovered time after time. Marcus, I trust you.”
He seemed touchingly pleased with her answer.
“It’s other people I don’t trust,” she added.
“Let me worry about ‘other people.’”
She didn’t want to say something that might spoil this precious moment, so instead she stretched up and kissed him. Their kisses grew deeper and more passionate, and with a groan he swung her up into his arms and carried her back to bed.
Marcus woke early, as he always did at Duval Hall. He saddled his horse and set off across his land, enjoying the mist swirling around him and the smell of the sea. London seemed far away, and he did not miss it at all.
Last night had been perfect. Portia trusted him; she’d said so. The magic of this place, of being here together, was winding its spell around her. He only needed a little longer and she would agree to stay with him forever. Surely a few more weeks of peace and solitude with the woman he loved was not too much to ask?
Despite what she seemed to believe, he was not being willfully blind or naïve when it came to the future. He knew there could be a scandal, and a bad one, but they would weather it out, just as they would weather out the storms that blew in from the sea. Matters might be difficult for a while, but Portia placed too much importance on what might be happening in London. The people around here weren’t interested in that. They would look at him and Portia, see that they were honest and true, and accept them for what they were.
Later on, when the gossip died down or was replaced by some other juicy tidbit, they could begin to resume their lives farther afield. Time was the thing, and he had more than enough of that. He would lock his gate against the outside world, retreat behind his walls and prepare for a siege.
But when he turned his horse for home and came in sight of the hall, he saw that the outside world had already reached inside his kingdom. There was a stranger’s mount in the cobbled courtyard, still steaming from its journey, and his heart sank.
“More trouble,” he muttered as he dismounted.
The groom came to take his reins.
“Who is it?” Marcus demanded, jerking his head toward the other horse.
“Said he were a friend of yours, master. Mercy took him indoors to give him some breakfast. He said he’d ridden hard all the way from London.”
London. Maybe it wasn’t as far away as he’d thought. Marcus strode toward the house, determined to send his visitor back as soon as possible. Thank God Portia wasn’t up and about, and he’d warned the servants not to gossip.
It wasn’t until he was almost upon them that he recognized the voice. Unceremoniously, he thrust the door open on the cozy parlor.
“What the blazes are you doing here?”
Portia heard the voices as she reached the turn in the stairs. Marcus and another man. The light shining through the window was glorious this morning, and she couldn’t help but look up at the figure in the scarlet dress with a wistful smile.
I love him, she thought. I thought I loved him when I was a young girl but that was nothing to what I feel now. I will love him until I die. But I cannot let him throw away his life for me. I cannot allow that to happen to this wonderful man who has so much to give. As much as I would like to stay here, in his arms, hidden from the world, I know that eventually it will find me.
“…You have sent a storm through Westminster, all the way up to Buckingham Palace. Not to mention the rabid newspaper headlines. To date, people have claimed to see Lady Ellerslie from Land’s End to John o’Groat’s. Don’t think this is going to go away. They’re after blood, and it’s only a matter of time before they catch your scent and find you.”
“Seb, I know what I’m doing.”
“Francesca is worried about you, brother, and I won’t have her worried.” He sounded as if he meant it.
By now Portia had recognized the second man as Sebastian, the Earl of Worthorne and Marcus’s brother. The fact that he was here at all was worrying, she thought, as she stole down the stairs toward them.