She felt the same. Her heart was heavy as she reached for him then, taking him in her arms for one last embrace. “Nor shall I.”
A sob threatened to rise up her throat, but she tamped it down, telling herself it was silly. That she could not possibly feel such a depth of affection for a man she had scarcely grown to know over the course of two days. And yet, she could not deny that there was something about him that felt so unbearably right.
He returned her embrace, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, his hand sweeping up and down her bare spine. The bedclothes had fallen to her waist, but she hadn’t a care for modesty. She burrowed into the warm strength of his bare chest and wished she could remain there. Instead, she inhaled deeply of his scent, holding it in her lungs as if she could forever keep it.
“I have to go, Portia,” he said quietly. “Too much longer, and someone could see.”
He was right, of course. She could not spend all night clinging to him, refusing to let him leave. She swallowed down the emotions welling, torturous emotions she had no right to feel in regards to this East End stranger.
He released her and slipped from the bed, moving in the shadows with the ease of a man who was accustomed to stalking through the night in darkness. Portia hugged herself as she watched him calmly don his garments. Subtle movements, the slide of fabric, the shifting of his long limbs. It seemed to her that he had just begun when he stilled, apparently having finished completing his dress.
“Until we meet again,” he whispered.
Portia watched his shadow move through her chamber, crossing to the door, before disappearing.
She did not have the heart to tell him there would be no meeting again.