“I shall.” And if Avery had changed his name and was involved in something dangerous, then she would have no choice but to accept it. Just as she had no choice but to accept that Granville had complete control over her present and future.
A subtle knock at the salon door intruded before either of them could say more.
“Portia?” called a familiar female voice from the opposite side of the door. “It is Hattie. May I enter?”
She understood why her friend was giving her the courtesy of a warning rather than simply entering a chamber within her own household. She knew that Portia and Wolf had other reasons for wishing to be alone, aside from the matter of Portia’s missing half brother. Her cheeks went hot as she smoothed her gown and tentatively patted her hair, making certain nothing was out of place.
She cast a glance toward Wolf to make certain he was ready for Hattie’s arrival, and he straightened his coat, nodding. They were as composed as they could possibly be after being in each other’s arms.
Portia turned to the door. “Of course you may.”
The door opened, and the duchess swept forward, lovely and elegant as ever in a pale gown that did its best to hide the swell of her belly, for Hattie was expecting another child. In her arms, she held a fat, white cat whose name was, of all things, Sir Toby Belch.
Wolf bowed. “Your Grace.”
And heavens, how elegant and courtly he could be when he tried. He quite stole Portia’s breath. But she forced herself to dip into a curtsy in deference to her friend, though she knew the formality an unnecessary one.
A welcoming smile crossed Hattie’s lovely countenance. “You need not stand on ceremony with me. Goodness knows I am hardly an adherent to rules. Indeed, I can hardly tolerate them myself.”
Her friend’s unconventional nature was refreshing to Portia. Fortunately, being friends with a duchess, regardless of how little care she paid to society’s strictures, was good enough for Granville. He encouraged her friendship with Hattie and never took issue with the calls Portia paid her.
“I reckon we have intruded upon your fine salon long enough,” Wolf said wryly. “Thank you, Duchess, for your generosity.”
His words sent a fresh ache through Portia, a pang of a different sort.
Because parting ways was the last thing she wished to do, though she knew they must.
Hattie scratched Sir Toby’s head. “You are more than welcome. I am always eager to aid friends, and Portia is a dear one.”
“You know I feel the same,” Portia said. “I am very grateful for your discretion.”
Having a trusted friend she could rely upon was proving an immeasurable gift, especially since Hattie was willing to facilitate these clandestine meetings with Wolf.
“Whatever you need, my dear.” Hattie smiled.
If only.
Portia knew that what she needed—truly needed—was not what she could have.
As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, Wolf’s gaze met hers. “I’ll be in contact with you soon, Lady Blakewell. If you will excuse me, Your Grace, my lady. I must take my leave.”
As she watched the man she loved walking away from her, Portia could not repress the miserable aching in her heart.