She had looked at him and known him. Known him in a way that made no sense and yet she could not ignore. She felt comfortable in his embrace. Protected, even. There was nothing that should make her feel this way. She scarcely knew him aside from their heated exchanges, frantic kisses, and his teasing smiles and easy charm.
“Being familiar with you is a very bad idea.” She warned herself more than him. For she had much to lose.
Everything.
And he would return to his gaming hell, unaffected. No one could tear his life asunder. No one ruled over him with a damning fist.
“Tell me your name,” he said again, brushing his lips over hers in the barest hint of a kiss.
Scarcely any touch at all, and yet the surge of longing that accompanied the sweep of his sinful mouth took her breath.
“It is better if you do not know it,” she said, rubbing her lower lip along the seam of his. Unable to help herself. Unable to stop.
Because God, it felt good.
Betterthan good.
Wondrous, really.
And when was the last time she had allowed herself the luxury of simply feeling? Of indulging in something for herself, purely for the pleasure of it? She had been nothing more than wife and mother for so long that she could not recall. The latter role meant everything to her. But this sudden glimpse of a life beyond the drudgery and duty she had known these last years, a reminder that she had once been carefree and wild, that she had been able to pursue her own happiness and pleasure, was nothing short of tantalizing.
“Then tell me when I can see you again. Stolen kisses in a frippery store ain’t enough,” he growled, one of his hands leaving her waist to cup her cheek.
Like her, Wolf was wearing gloves. And when his leather-clad thumb rubbed over the bruise she had concealed, she could not suppress her wince, for it was new and tender.
He went still, frowning at her. “What the devil happened here?”
The hot coals of humiliation stung her. He must have uncovered the careful handiwork she had used to hide the evidence of her brother’s violence against her. Pear’s Almond Bloom had ever stood her in faithful service, but no one had ever touched her face save Portia herself. And now, Wolf had seen the bruise.
“It is nothing,” she lied hastily, accustomed to avoiding questions, mostly from her concerned lady’s maid who had seen more contusions than Portia would have liked to admit since Blakewell’s death and Granville’s dominion over her life.
“It ain’t nothing, Portia.” His jaw was rigid, his countenance thunderous. “You’re looking at a man who’s been in his share of fisticuffs. I know the look of that mark. You’ve been struck. Slapped, I’d wager.”
How was it that this stranger, whom she had only known for the span of two days, had already seen and understood more of her than almost everyone in her inner circle?
“It is nothing,” she repeated, for that was what it was.
She could not change the provisions of Blakewell’s will. Nor could she remove herself from beneath her brother’s thumb. Even in widowhood, she was trapped just as desperately and miserably as she had been in her marriage. The reminder was enough to make an icy chill of dread pass over her, chasing some of the ardor.
“Who hurt you?” he demanded, his voice curt and sharp.
The lash of anger in his tone was familiar but reassuring, for she knew that it was not directed at her. Rather, at Granville, where it belonged.
“No one.” She slipped from his embrace. “I bumped my cheek on a piece of furniture quite accidentally. But now I truly must go. Lingering here with you is a foolish mistake.”
Before he could offer further protest, she spun away from him, the stinging rush of shame bringing tears to her eyes, blurring her vision. Blindly, she fumbled for the latch on the door.
“Portia,” he said, his voice strained. “Don’t go.”
But she had to.
The door opened, and she raced out, doing her best to pass through the haberdashery department without drawing undue attention to herself. The shopkeeper and his questions were not her concern. What she needed to do was put some necessary distance between herself and Wolf.
And hope she would never see him again.
As she rushed from the store into the drab world outside, a cold drizzle had begun to fall. It seemed a fitting accompaniment to the ice dwelling within her heart.