CHAPTER4
Wolf could not seem to wrest his mystery lady from his mind.
Portia.
He had lain awake the night before, hand on his hard cock, stroking himself off to the memory of her hot, silken quim.
Clearing his throat, he shifted on the leather squabs of the carriage, attempting to ease his discomfort and his suddenly aching groin. It would not do to sport a cockstand for which there was no cure whilst he waited for his sister Lily to emerge from Bellingham and Co. He did not particularly appreciate being made to play the chaperone this afternoon. Shopping excursions held about as much interest to him as drinking a steaming cup of horse piss, which was to say none at all.
However, Lily had recently managed to find herself in a dangerous scrape, which had led to Wolf and his siblings deciding their youngest sister required accompaniment aside from the guards at the hell. Along with Hart’s betrothed, Lady Emma, Lily had nearly been robbed or worse. That had ultimately led to the discovery that the intrepid Lily had been gallivanting all over London, sometimes alone.
Today was Wolf’s duty. And he would have been grateful for the distraction and the chance to escape the sometimes suffocating walls of The Sinner’s Palace, except that watching over Lily meant sitting in this bleeding carriage with nothing better to do than think about the last woman he ought to be thinking of.
A lady he would most certainly never see again.
Which was for the best, because he had matters of far greater import to attend, such as why the devil their brother Logan had disappeared, only to reappear in the East End calling himself Mr. Martin and working alongside the devil’s own moneylender, Archer Tierney, doing only Christ knew what. The discovery was yet new, and they were each attempting to make sense of the realization in their own way. While Wolf’s initial inclination had been to storm Tierney’s establishment demanding answers, Jasper, the eldest and leader of the family, had recommended they proceed with caution, getting their answers through more subtle means.
Wolf sighed and shifted again on the seat. His arse was beginning to get sore from all this damned waiting he was doing. Floating hell, what was Lily buying inside the massive brick shop all the quality was atwitter over? Every damned scrap of lace and each bloody feather? His dark mood heightening along with his restlessness, Wolf stared out the window, searching for his sister.
And that was when he saw her.
His Siren from the day before.
He would recognize that tall, shapely form in his sleep after he’d had it beneath his eager hands. Her face was visible in profile, the brim of her bonnet once again keeping him from admiring the full glory of her chestnut hair. It was deuced difficult to believe she was here, almost within reach when he had been so certain their paths would never cross again. And she was going into Bellingham and Co. where Lily was.
He watched as Portia was welcomed when she approached the front façade of the shop. But then, she disappeared within.
Wolf was moving before he had even managed to give the matter coherent thought. He sprang out of the carriage, eating up the distance between himself and his mystery woman with long-legged strides. Thankfully, he had dressed the part of a gentleman today. Whilst he would sooner drown himself in the Thames than be trussed up like a dandy, he could, on occasion, dress with care and affect the airs of his betters.
He was welcomed by an obsequious cove inside the door, who was wondering if he would care to investigate the furs and fans Bellingham and Co. had to offer.
Wolf made a swift choice, flashing the man a smooth smile. “I am seeking my wife. I believe she just passed through the door a few moments before. She was wearing a pale-blue gown with matching bonnet.”
There was a chance the man before him would know who Portia was, that he would know she was a widow. But Wolf was in the mood to be bold and take a risk.
“I do believe your wife passed into the haberdashery department,” the helpful cove said.
Wolf’s grin deepened. “Excellent. If you would direct me there, please?”
The man gestured straight ahead. “That department is to be found just through the first partition, sir.”
Once more, his legs were moving. Taking him to her. He had the presence of mind to cast his gaze about in search of Lily, but his sister was nowhere to be seen. He had no notion of what he intended to do when he found Portia. All he knew was that she was near. Her presence at the same shop, at the same time, was too fortuitous to be ignored.
Recklessness had never been one of his traits. And yet, here he was, stalking through Bellingham and Co. on Pall Mall, intent upon finding a woman he knew by first name alone. He spied her immediately upon crossing through the partition into the haberdashery department. Lace, silks, and muslin adorned the walls in an impressive array of wares.
But all Wolf saw was her.
From the periphery of her gaze, she must have taken note of his deliberate movement in her direction, for her head turned. Her green eyes went wide, recognition flaring in their lustrous depths, her lush lips parting on the barest hint of sound.
His name, he thought.
She remembered.
Of course she did.
He reached her side and offered as elegant a bow as he could muster, before proffering his arm. “My lady.”
She stared at him in astonishment, not accepting his escort. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Shopping. What are you doing here?”
Her brows snapped together. “Have you followed me?”
A suspicious wench, wasn’t she? He wondered why she would instantly guess he might have nefarious motives. Was it because he was a rookeries-born commoner, or was it because something else in her life gave her cause to question? Wolf did not like either notion, but he found he would prefer the former to the latter. Fine ladies who looked down their noses at culls of his ilk were no surprise.
“Why would I do that?” he asked mildly, allowing his gaze to rove over her face and drink her in.
She was achingly lovely. Every bit as beautiful as he had recalled, if not more so. Her emerald eyes were bright, more vibrant than the first grass of spring, or so he fancied. Wasn’t much grass to be seen in the rookeries.
“I have no notion,” she said coolly, alarm creeping into her voice.