Page 29 of Her Rogue to Ruin
He’d seen desire for him in her eyes, felt it with every touch, every kiss.
But, more, he’d known that they wouldn’t have the sort of arrangement he’d planned to have with Mrs. Grove. He didn’t want a transactional arrangement with Portia.
And that was where the doubt arose too.
Could he make love to Lady Portia Hastings and ever want anyone else?
His obligation to Lady Mary Howard always crept into his thoughts when attraction or desire arose for another woman. Then he’d curse his father and hate how much he still wanted to live up to the expectations the old devil had set for him. Letting Caroline marry a duke or allowing Louisa to marry his best friend—good grief, he still wasn’t sure about that one—were one thing. His sisters were his responsibility now. But he was the heir, and Lady Mary had been chosen to solidify their family’s bloodline. Hers was one of the oldest in England.
“Let me know when you return from wherever you’ve hied off to, will you?” Selkirk stood, fully clothed, in the dressing room of the fencing establishment.
Phin still stood in an unbuttoned shirt. “Forgive me. I’m in a bit of a muddle today.”
“That’s one way to describe it. I almost skewered you twice on that fencing strip, and your concentration never slips to this degree.” Selkirk flipped his pocket watch open. “I assume we’re dashing over to the Griffin Club.”
The club was only a few streets away, and they often retreated to the sumptuous establishment after wearing themselves out at the fencing salon or a nearby gymnasium.
“That sounds excellent.” Phin trusted no one as he did Selkirk, and he had something to ask of his friend that was best discussed in their private corner at the club.
Within a quarter of an hour, they were ensconced in the overstuffed leather chairs before a well-fed fire, each with a glass of their chosen libation in hand.
“So what has you so thunderstruck, my friend?” Selkirk settled in as if preparing for a good story.
Even after a few sips of good brandy, Phin wasn’t certain he could put it into words with any clarity. When it came to Portia, he was all feeling and his usual habit of retreating to logic and control was making very little headway.
That, if nothing else, highlighted the danger he was in.
But first things first.
“Will you convey a message for me?”
“Of course,” Selkirk replied instantly. “It’s becoming my habit.” His smile wasn’t chastising, only warm and slightly bemused. “What is it this time? Not Russell. Good God, tell me you haven’t heard from that wretch again.”
“Not Russell, no.” Phin pinned his friend with a speaking look. “This message will be for Mrs. Grove.”
“You can’t have a completed portrait for the woman yet.” Selkirk frowned.
“No, but I need you to let her know that no painting will be forthcoming. I can send a gift of another sort if you think it’s appropriate. A parting gift, if you will.”
“Parting? From a woman you’ve yet to lay a finger on?” Selkirk curled his hand on the arm of his chair. “Unless you’ve kept a great deal under your hat.”
“Not at all,” Phin assured his friend. “I have not seen or spoken to Mrs. Grove. And that’s just it. I don’t wish to. I’m withdrawing from the…competition.” Saying it felt ridiculous now. Why had he ever thought competing for a mistress made any sense whatsoever?
But, of course, he knew why. His father had instilled that drive to compete in him. A sense that Pembertons always needed to be better, win where others lost, succeed where others failed.
“Ah,” Selkirk said as if the whole thing had become clear in his mind. “So you’re actually going to go ahead with Lady Mary.”
“What? No.” Phin waved the thought away. Tried to wave the image of that lady away. Whenever he thought of her, an enormous wave of guilt swept in. The sense of obligation to her, to his father, hung over him like a sword of Damocles. He wondered if the poor lady felt the same.
“Alright,” Selkirk said with a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Then I’m still confused, and I’m a very clever fellow. So make it clear for me, please.”
“I no longer wish to compete for Mrs. Grove’s favors. I can write a letter if you prefer. But I’d still like you to deliver it. Handing it over to a footman feels indiscreet.”
“Oh, I have no problem with conveying whatever message you like. I suppose my question is why.”
Portia was why, but Phin couldn’t confess that. After kissing her, he’d taken one look at the painting she’d begun to work on and known that he needed to settle the matter with Mrs. Grove immediately. He wanted Portia, but he couldn’t touch her, kiss her, while allowing her to believe he still wanted to commission a nude portrait for another woman.
He’d let her finish the painting if she wished. Indeed, he hoped she would, but it would never go further than the two of them.
