A Seduction in Scarlet (Aphrodite's Club 1)

“Arnold Gillingham, do you mean? Or the entire British nation? They probably both hate me equally.”

The awful thing was, she knew it to be true.

“There’s only one way out of this, Portia.”

He was fixing her with his intense look again.

“Marry me.”

He didn’t ask, it was more of an order.

“To save you from the gallows?”

He gave an impatient shrug. “Don’t do it for that, for God’s sake! Marry me because you want to, because you love me. Do you love me?”

“I do love you.”

He grinned. “Ah.”

“There are practical considerations.”

“I’m weary of being practical.” He glanced over his shoulder, and then drew into the bank, so that the bow was secure among the reeds, and fitted the oars carefully within the boat.

“I like you in that dress,” he said softly, crawling toward her over the seat. “It’s so white and pure. It makes you look like a debutante at her first ball. Fresh and untouched.”

“Instead of a jaded old woman?” she retorted, not sure whether she entirely trusted the expression in his eyes. She glanced behind her but there was nowhere to go but into the water, and she didn’t fancy plunging into the marsh.

“Oh no, never that,” he said, and took her into his arms. His mouth was hard and passionate, taking her breath.

It was no use struggling; besides, she didn’t want to. And it was no use listing the overwhelming odds against their chances of happiness, either, because he didn’t want to hear them.

But he seemed to have read her mind anyway.

“What is it you want from your life, Portia?” He was holding her close, his eyes on hers. “I’m not talking about your responsibilities to other people. I mean, what do you want?”

It was a long time since anyone had asked her such a question. Her life revolved around the needs and demands of others, and until she went to Aphrodite’s Club and met Marcus, she’d been content to allow it to remain so.

What did she want, truly, in her heart?

Suddenly it was all crystal clear.

She wanted a life of her own. She wanted a husband and children and a place where she was loved for who she was and not what she was. She did not want to stand in the glare of the public eye anymore and pretend. Such things had long ago grown tiresome. She was tired of it.

“My love?”

His voice drew her back. She opened her eyes; she had not realized they were closed. He was watching her. His handsomeness did not seem so refined here—there was a wildness about him, an untamed quality. His jaw was not so carefully shaved, his hair was shaggy, and there were shadows under his eyes. His clothes, too, were wrinkled and untidy. He looked less like the debonair Marcus Worthorne of her dreams and more like a real man. The man she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

“I want you,” she murmured. “I want to live here with you.”

His fingers trembled as he stroked her cheek. “Portia, my love.”

“I know you don’t want me to go back,” she added quietly, “but I have to make things right. There are people who depend on me, and I must see them settled. There are people who will be hurt by my change of heart, and I must do my best to explain. I do not think I can be happy with you unless I leave my past in as good an order as it is in my ability to do.”

“I know that.” He brushed her bottom lip with his thumb. “I can help you.”

“You can’t. I need to do it alone. I need to finish with my past and come to you free.” She smiled up at him. “If you still want me, that is.”

“I want you,” he whispered, bending to press his lips to hers.