Portia wasin her salon with Edwin when Riggs announced their visitor.
“Mr. Wolf Sutton, my lady.”
If the butler thought it odd that a gentleman was calling upon her at such an unfashionable hour of the evening, he gave no indication. And she was grateful for his steadfast loyalty. With Wolf’s help, she had discovered the tutor Granville had hired for her son and one of her grooms had been working at the behest of her brother to spy upon her. Both the odious Mr. Leslie and the groom had been dismissed.
When her brother had discovered the news, he had been predictably furious, but Portia had instructed Riggs to deny the marquess entrance. She had no notion how long her reprieve would last, and she could only hope Wolf’s plan meant she would never have to face Granville again on her own.
Thanks to Wolf, she trusted everyone in her household now.
And she was breathing a bit easier. However, her heart would not truly be free of the heavy weights resting upon it until Wolf told her how his plan to foil her brother had gone tonight.
“Please show him in, Riggs,” she said, impressed with herself for maintaining her calm instead of catching her gown in both hands and racing to where Wolf undoubtedly awaited them in the front hall.
She was afraid to hope he had been successful. Afraid to believe she could finally be free of living beneath her brother’s thumb. That she would never again need to fear losing her son. That she would never again be forced to endure a hand raised against her.
Riggs bowed and departed.
“Mama,” Edwin said into the silence, his eyes still firmly fixed upon his drawing, which was, of course, another dragon.
His tongue was planted firmly in the corner of his mouth, an adorable habit of his that told her when he was concentrating. His pastel crayon swept over the page as he worked on the dragon’s tail.
“Yes, darling?” she asked, moving to him and stroking his hair. It was growing rather long, she thought, and was soon in need of a trim. She leaned over him, examining his progress with his latest sketch. “This one is even more formidable than the last,” she observed.
“How do you think Mr. Sutton will like it?” Edwin asked fretfully. “I do hope he will be impressed. He told me the last one was bang up.”
Bang up.
She smiled. That sounded precisely like something Wolf would say. They had been meeting as often as possible over the past few days in clandestine locations, and he had encouraged her to bring Edwin along. They had rendezvoused at the park. A book shop. At his eldest brother’s town house. At Hattie’s. Everywhere they could find each other. Stolen moments. Wolf was always sweetly attentive to Edwin, and her son seemed to eat up the attention. It had not occurred to her just how starved he had been for a paternal figure until Wolf had begun a more consistent presence in her son’s life. The two of them had become fast friends, much to her heart’s relief.
“I am sure he will be impressed,” she assured her son.
“Who will be impressed?” asked a familiar, deep voice.
Portia looked up to find the tall, imposing figure of the man she loved at the threshold. “Wolf,” she said, searching his countenance for any indication that the evening’s efforts had been a success.
“Mr. Sutton!” exclaimed Edwin, rising from the chair at her writing desk and racing across the room with a complete disregard for his composure.
She did not bother to correct him, for the world would take away her son’s boyish exuberance and natural innocence soon enough. No need for her to admonish him. The unbridled joy he felt at seeing Wolf warmed her heart in a way nothing else could.
“If it isn’t my favorite lad,” Wolf said, bending down and opening his arms. Edwin rushed forward and into Wolf’s embrace. “It is good to see you too, son.”
Son.
The word made Portia’s heart swell with renewed hope.
“How did it go?” she asked, unable to wait a moment more, her throat thick with emotion.
“Well,” Wolf said, his hazel stare warm as it held hers. “It’s done.”
Done.
Another word that made her feel as if she were closer to being free. To being the woman she wanted to be. Not Lady Scandal. Not the Countess of Blakewell. But rather, Wolf Sutton’s wife. Edwin’s mother. Herself, full stop.
“You mean…” Her words faltered as she struggled to string them into a semblance of order, so strong was her reaction.
Also, she had done her utmost to keep the truth from Edwin. He was aware that his uncle was not a good man, but the rest could wait until he was old enough to understand. Wolf knew to be circumspect as well in the presence of her son.
“An understanding has been reached, and you needn’t worry any longer,” he said, elaborating just enough so that she would understand without a doubt that her brother had lost his Derbyshire estate at the tables, and that the Suttons were now holding it for ransom, in exchange for Edwin’s guardianship. Wolf straightened, then gave Edwin’s too-long hair an affectionate ruffle. “Your hair needs a trim, lad.”
“I like it long,” Edwin said shyly, touching the ends. “It looks like yours, sir.”
“Here now, no more of that sir business,” he told Edwin with a wink. “You must call me Wolf. And if it’s long hair you prefer, then I’m not one to quarrel.”
Portia could not tear her gaze away from him.
He was so handsome in his evening finery, dressed head to toe in black, save the crisp white of his shirt and cravat. But it was not just his arresting looks that held her in thrall. It was everything else about him too. His generosity of heart, his loyalty, his tenderness, his caring, his protective nature. Because of him, she had been able to find her brother again, and although she knew it would take some time to heal the old wounds between herself and Archer, she had every hope that she would one day have a relationship with her brother again. After all, Archer had been invaluable in their plot to save her from Granville. She was indebted to him as well.
“You look bang up to me,” Edwin told Wolf, tearing her from her thoughts.