Page 44 of Her Rogue to Ruin
“Great wisdom in it, I’m sure, Lady Pemberton.” Selkirk offered her a little bow.
She seemed mollified and gave him an amused smile.
“Phineas, may I have a word?”
Selkirk hied off, and Phin offered his mother the chair his friend had vacated.
“There’s no time for sitting, I’m afraid,” she said. “Your fiancé is inbound today, and I’ve just overheard you quote my philosophy about love.” Her gaze softened as she studied him. “I know you can’t be referring to Lady Mary, and I needn’t be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that you’ve lost your heart to a certain widowed artist.”
“I have, Mama. And I won’t deny my feelings anymore.”
She closed her eyes, pressed a hand to her chest as she always did when worry was upon her, and then looked up at him. He read only love and concern in her gaze.
“Very well. Let’s decide how to do this with minimum scandal or social ruin.”
CHAPTER10
Portia feltno regret about the night she’d spent with Phin. But in the morning light, even with the delicious memories and the soreness in her body in all the right places, her mind could no longer lose itself in bliss. She was practical by nature, and, yes, she liked to plan ahead, even when she acknowledged that life might divert her from the best laid plans.
Last night, making love to Phin had seemed as vital and necessary as taking her next breath. And in his arms, she’d known that, somehow, they’d been meant to find each other.
What she didn’t know is if that meant they were fated for something more than a single night.
And, in truth, she wasn’t certain what she wanted between them. They were lovers now, but she couldn’t imagine continuing an affair with him if he proceeded with is betrothal. She couldn’t do that to another woman.
Already, she feared that the more time she spent with him, the more often they made love, the more she’d want. The more she’d come to need him. And needing any man came with a thread of fear.
She loved the independence she’d built for herself. Could she have Phin and her own autonomy too?
What she needed most was time to think. Because she knew the moment she saw him again, she’d simply get lost in how much she craved him.
After dressing, she’d asked a maid to direct her to a means of existing the house while avoiding the main rooms, especially the dining room where she understood a breakfast spread had been laid out.
The maid assisted her, and she’d slipped out a rear door onto a veranda and then out into lush green fields dotted with trees. She’d been walking for a good quarter of an hour, and she closed her eyes to breathe in the sea air. Louisa told her that from the upper floors and the roof of Seastow Hall, one could actually get a glimpse of the sea stretching out against the horizon. Portia loved the idea of going up to paint the view with her watercolors.
As she walked, the ground began to rise and then dip precipitously, and she stopped to admire the deep grassy bowl in the earth. She decided to descend and then spotted another figure perched on a knoll on the opposite edge. A lady in profile, staring out at the sunrise.
Portia hesitated, not wishing to disturb her, and yet she had to be a guest at Seastow. Or perhaps a servant. Unless she’d walked for quite a distance. There were no other residences nearby for miles.
As she considered going back, the lady spotted her and immediately sprang to her feet.
“I’m not lost, I assure you,” she said in a strong voice with a hint of a Scottish brogue. She wore spectacles that glinted in the morning sun. “Have you come to search for me?”
“No, I was just going for a walk.” Portia drew closer and noted that the young woman was close to her age. “I’m Lady Portia Hastings. I’m a guest at Seastow.”
“Yes, I guessed as much.” The lady swept her with an assessing gaze. “I know I’ve been rude, and I’ll apologize to our hostess when I return.”
After studying her a moment or two, the lady approached. “Lady Mary Howard,” she said with a nod. “How do you do?”
Portia’s heart dropped into her boots. She swallowed against the lump that formed when she attempted a reply. And she fought a wave of guilt and sadness that threatened to drown her.
“After that carriage ride, I needed a moment. Does that sound dreadful?”
“Not at all.” Portia noticed that the lady was pale and a light sheen of sweat lay on her brow. The air was pleasant but cool. Perhaps the journey had brought on travel sickness. “Do you feel unwell?”
“Yes,” Lady Mary replied instantly. “But not for the reasons you might think. Not true sickness. Nerves, I believe.” She clasped her ungloved hands together until her knuckles whitened. “I have dreaded this day nearly all my life. Not, that’s not right. Notthisday precisely. Though today is a first step in a dreaded march that will seal my fate.”
“A march?”
