He had been cruel in his youth, and he had grown into a cruel man. But telling him so would only earn her another slap. Perhaps worse.
She swallowed against the pride that told her to maintain her defiance. “Of course not, my lord.”
“I must do it, for your own sake and for the sake of your son.”
“Yes,” she agreed woodenly.
Numbly.
It was best to agree with Granville. She should have attended the ball as he had required of her. But she had been too flustered after her encounter that she had unwisely chosen to flee to the haven of her bed chamber.
“Now, tell me why you thought to find Father’s bastard at a gaming hell in the East End,” he said, instead of taking his leave as she had hoped he would.
She did not dare tell him the full truth, and neither did she have the courage to lie. If he knew she had gone to The Sinner’s Palace yesterday, then he likely also would have known about Mrs. Courteney’s call.
“Avery’s mother paid me a visit,” she said, carefully refraining from mentioning it had been because Portia had been seeking the woman, hoping she would have some information concerning her brother. “She told me that when last she heard from him, he had been working at a gaming hell, or so she believed. I… I went there believing I might find him.”
“You went to the rookeries instead of attending my ball.”
The threat in her brother’s voice was undeniable. It had been a risk, hastening to The Sinner’s Palace yesterday. However, she had been willing to take it, if she would be reunited with the only brother she had ever loved. The only brother who had loved her. She had not forgotten the sweet lad who had shown her how to fish and climb trees and throw a punch, the boy who had protected her from Granville’s wrath.
Until, one day, he had simply been gone. No explanation. No warning. Simply gone.
“I wished to find him with all haste,” she admitted softly now.
“Look at me when you are speaking,” Granville demanded.
Willing her tears to subside, she did as he asked, lifting her head and her gaze.
Her brother’s jaw was clenched, his expression murderous. “You will never again seek out Avery Tierney, do you understand?”
She nodded, but in her heart, she knew it for the lie it was. One of many, just like her apologies.
“I want to hear the words, sister,” he ground out.
If she did not comply, he would strike her again, she knew.
“I will never again seek out Avery Tierney,” she repeated.
“I shall inform the household that Mrs. Courteney is to be turned away,” he added coldly.
“Of course,” she agreed, as if it were the most logical assumption and she were in complete accord.
“You will join us for dinner soon,” her brother announced coolly. “Lady Granville was most displeased you failed to attend her ball. She will expect an apology.”
Yet another.
Her brother’s wife was a cold and cunning woman. Portia had often wondered if Granville resorted to violence with her, but such was their relationship that she did not trust to ask for fear she would go to Portia’s brother with the query.
“I will be pleased to join you and to offer my apologies to Lady Granville.”
“And you will not return to the rookeries,” he added.
“No.” Her traitorous mind thought again of the diabolically handsome man at The Sinner’s Palace, his kisses, his touch. Wolf. A feral name, inherently dangerous and yet, he had kissed and caressed her with deliberate tenderness. No man had ever shown her such care.
And then her heart gave a pang as she thought of Avery. Such a terrible risk she had taken, and then she had squandered it with her wanton ways. She was still no closer to finding her lost brother after fleeing from the gaming hell in a rush of thwarted longing and shame. Perhaps Granville was not wrong about her. Certainly, his loathing for her could not be eclipsed by her own self-disgust.
Oh Avery, what has become of you?
“If I discover you are lying to me again, I will take the boy from you,” Granville threatened coldly. “Do not think I won’t, Portia.”
It was the very real possibility he would take Edwin from her, deny her the right to see him and love him, far more than the presage of violence that instilled the most fear in her. Portia could not bear to lose her son. Every other pain was bearable save that one.
“I will not make the mistake again,” she promised Granville.
“See that you do not.” With a quick, civilized bow that made a mockery of the fury he had just unleashed in her happy little sitting room, her brother took his leave.