Page 3 of Her Rogue to Ruin
“Is there a reason to rush?”
The girl swallowed hard as if she fought a lump in her throat and turned to glance out the window.
“We’re expecting a visitor soon,” she said, trying for her usual brightness, though her voice wobbled on the wordvisitor.
“And you wish for this visitor to see your finished portrait?”
She nodded eagerly. “Especially if you can make me look beautiful.”
Miss Pemberton fidgeted with the fan in her hands, and Portia busied herself laying down the main blocks of color for her cream-colored gown.
Louisa seemed to realize she’d fallen out of her pose and returned to it.
When she settled again, Portia asked quietly, “When is he due?” It was presumptuous to assume the visitor was ahe, but she suspected her guess was right.
“Next week.” Louisa gestured in a sweeping motion to encompass her brother’s study. “Though he’s coming to see Phin. Not me.”
“I’ll do what I can in that time.”
Louisa offered a single nod. “I’m sorry, Lady Hastings. I’m being a silly goose. You needn’t rush. Take your time and make it perfect.”
“I shall do my best.”
“Oh, your paintings are always marvel—“
Before the girl could finish the compliment, the study door slammed open, bouncing off the wall behind it, and Lord Pemberton strode in.
“Bloody rotting hell.” He tossed a folded piece of paper on his desk and then reached up to wrench his tie from his neck.
Portia and Louisa swung their gazes toward the man they’d both vowed to ignore.
Anger vibrated off of him, and he kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot so forcefully that Portia’s easel wobbled.
“That conniving bast—”
“Phin!” At Louisa’s high-pitched shout, the viscount froze.
Then he turned slowly, taking them both in. All the color drained from his handsome face, and he blinked as if confused by the sight of them.
“I’m so sorry, Lady Hastings,” Louisa whispered and then climbed down from the bow window, making her way toward Portia with tears welling in her eyes.
“It’s alright, Miss Pemberton.” Portia reached out toward the debutante in a soothing gesture.
In response, Louisa stepped closer, and Portia lifted one arm to keep her messy paint palette away from the girl’s expensive frock. Louisa managed to capture one of her hands, and Portia prayed there weren’t any stray drops of paint on her fingers.
“Please say you’ll finish my painting,” she beseeched with a thread of desperation in her voice.
“Yes, of course, I will.” Portia vowed to herself to work as quickly as she could for Louisa Pemberton, so that this visitor she cared so much about could see her completed painting.
With a single nod, Louisa released her and drew in a deep breath. Then she turned to her brother.
He’d yet to say a word and still stood looking dumbstruck to have found the two of them in his domain.
“You must apologize,” Louisa said quietly to him as she made her way toward the door.
The viscount softened the moment he looked at his sister. “Fear not, Lou. I’ll take care of it.” He spoke in the smooth baritone that always sounded musical to Portia’s ears, all of his anger of a moment ago seemingly extinguished. “Go and change for luncheon. Mama has invited the Wilcoxes, and it would be insufferable without you there.”
Louisa stared at him a moment, glanced fretfully back at Portia, and then exited the study, pulling the door shut behind her with a soft snick.
