Sutton's Scoundrel (The Sinful Suttons 5)

Hattie had told her she would be pleased to receive correspondence on her behalf when Portia had managed to relay a portion of her tale to her friend earlier that evening. And Portia had to agree that her friend was right; messages from Wolf were best sent elsewhere. The duchess was aware of Granville’s control over Portia’s life, though Portia had not dared share her shame with anyone else.

Only Wolf knew she had been done violence.

He merely did not know who, and nor would he ever find out. Because he was not meant to become entangled in her sordid affairs. She would face her brother as she had been doing since Blakewell’s death: on her own.

“The Duchess of Montrose, eh?” Wolf frowned, stroking his jaw.

“Yes,” she said firmly, adding Hattie’s direction. Severing ties with him was necessary, and yet she loathed it with the ferocity of a thousand burning suns. She hesitated, wishing she could linger, but knowing she did not dare. With a sigh, she continued. “And now, I really must return to the ball before my absence is noted.”

Wolf raised a dark brow. “Of course you must. I’ll be escorting you to your carriage, Countess.”

Naturally. She already knew him well enough to understand that Wolf Sutton was a fiercely protective man, and those instincts seemed to have extended to herself almost from the first. There was no need to offer argument on the matter; he would not hear it. And she found herself grateful. She had not realized just how very wearying fighting all her battles alone had been until he had offered to take up the cudgels for her. Pity it was an offer she was destined to refuse.

But this, his accompaniment to the carriage, she could allow.

“Thank you, Wolf.” She would don her veil and in an unmarked carriage, no one would be the wiser that it was the widowed Countess of Blakewell who had been alone in a gaming hell.

Granville would never learn of her secrets. And if she could find her lost brother at last? Well, she would consider herself fortunate indeed for crossing paths with the man before her.

She rose, a heaviness in her breast, and he did as well, offering her his arm. Portia accepted it in silence, wishing for the hundredth time that her circumstances were different. Knowing there was nothing to be done.