Page 18 of Her Rogue to Ruin
“Perhaps we should claim a spot.” She took his arm and allowed Berwick to guide her toward the ballroom, but as they crossed the hallway, she heard another familiar voice.
“Thank you so much for the invitation, Lady Granford.” Lady Pemberton spoke in her usual warm tone as she greeted their hostess.
Portia hadn’t known Fiona had invited the viscountess, but it wasn’t a surprise either. Lady Pemberton had been invited to join their widows’ club, and Fiona was keen to have her as a member.
When she glanced in the viscountess’s direction, Portia’s her heart dropped into her boots. Lord Pemberton stood next to his mother, and he cast his gaze around the room as if searching for someone.
Portia stilled and held her breath.
“We will miss the first dance, Lady Hastings,” Berwick urged, sounding peeved.
The moment Lord Pemberton spotted her, his eyes widened and gaslight painted them in shades of gold. Half of her wanted to approach him, some other part of her wanted to flee. She pulled her arm from Berwick’s hold, trying to decide.
Pemberton didn’t give her much time to choose. After greeting Fiona, he beelined straight toward Portia.
“It’s good to see you, Lady Hastings,” he said when he was close enough for her to touch.
“We last saw each other a few hours ago, Lord Pemberton.” Portia didn’t intend the teasing tone, but the man seemed to inspire it.
A hint of a smile curved his lips. “It’s good to see youagain.”
“Come along, Lady Hastings.” Berwick reached out and had the audacity to place a hand at her back, as if he’d nudge her along if she wouldn’t come willingly.
“I think I’ll sit this first dance out,” Portia told him, half-stepping away from his touch.
“You’ve changed your mind rather quickly.” Berwick glared at Lord Pemberton and then turned an only slightly less chilly gaze her way. “In that case, may I have a word with you, Lady Hastings?” He arched a brow at Pemberton and then at Portia. “Privately?”
Pemberton leaned in. So close Portia could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.
“I want to dance with you when you’re done with him,” he whispered.
When he pulled back, he ignored Berwick entirely but offered a little nod of leave-taking for Portia’s sake.
“Shall we?” Berwick indicated the Granford sitting room where only a few other guests lingered.
Portia strode into the room ahead of him. She was curious whether he truly had something personal to impart or if he only intended to keep her away from Lord Pemberton.
“What is it, Lord Berwick? You seem troubled.”
“Well, I’m worried about you, Portia.”
She didn’t like his use of her given name, and yet she’d once allowed it. The man had been at her wedding and spent weeks at their country house parties year after year.
“I’m quite well. You needn’t worry about me.” The last thing Portia needed was the overbearing interest of another of her husband’s friends.
He leaned a bit closer. “This widows’ club business, and you flogging yourself as a painter to whoever will give you a few coins. It’s unseemly.”
“No,” Portia said emphatically. “Those are my choices. My life. I am not interested in your judgment or your opinion, Reginald.” Portia turned to walk away. She didn’t mind giving offense any more than he’d been considerate of her feelings.
But then she found she had one last thing to say.
“I’d remind you that the widows’ club you referenced was founded by tonight’s hostess. You won’t win her favor by disparaging her ideas.”
“I don’t recall you being so brazen,” he called as Portia walked away from him.
Two ladies chatting on a settee shot him a quelling glare that Portia offered a smile of thanks for as she departed. Across the hall, the first dance was underway, and couples swirled under the gaslit chandelier.
Portia caught Lord Pemberton’s profile as he and his partner swept past, and she changed course.
