Page 107 of The Viscount and the Vixen
Sophie rolled her eyes. “He was like a raging bull, wanting to know where you were. But as you didn’t tell me where you were going, I couldn’t tell him no matter how dire his threats.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
With a scoff, Sophie shrugged and laughed. “Sheridan would have killed him if he touched me and well he knew it. But recently I saw the announcement about your marriage in the paper. You married a lord!”
“And now I must divorce him.”
Clear concern mirrored in her expression, Sophie leaned toward her. “Why? You have a title, money, position. You have everything we ever dreamed of having, whenever we talked. Portia, why give it all up?”
Gently, she placed her hand on her belly. “What if it’s a boy? I can’t do that to him. I thought I could, but I can’t. His titles and estates should go to a son who carries his blood.”
“Oh, Lord, why?” Sophie hopped up and began to pace. “They don’t care about us. They’re spoiled and rotten. They think nothing of taking advantage because they consider us below them.” Spinning around, she grabbed the back of the chair. “We don’t owe them anything.”
“Nor do they owe us. He didn’t put this babe in my belly. It’s not his responsibility.”
“And how are you going to care for it?”
“I haven’t worked out the particulars yet. All of this came about rather suddenly.” Lifting her shoulders, she smiled self-consciously. “I’m very good at cleaning houses.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Sophie dropped back down into the chair. “It would be less exertion and far better benefits to find another lord to take you on.”
She shook her head. “That wouldn’t work for me.”
Sophie stared at her. “Oh, my God. You fell in love with him.”
“I did.”
“Well, that was a rather silly thing to do. That’s why you want a divorce.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Ironic, yes? I’m leaving him because I love him. I love him so much, Sophie. Ten, twenty... a hundred times more than I ever loved Beaumont. He married me to protect his father. He’s a good man.”
A knock sounded on the door, and a maid poked her head in. “His Lordship’s here, miss.”
Nodding, Sophie rose to her feet. “Thank you. Tell him I’ll be down in a moment.” Once the maid left, she looked at Portia. “I’m wanted.” Only she wasn’t, not really, not in the way Portia had felt wanted by Locksley. “Make yourself comfortable, get some rest, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Sophie. I shan’t linger.”
“You can stay as long as Sheridan doesn’t know you’re here. Good night.”
After she was gone, Portia set the tray aside, walked over to the bed, and stretched out on it. She should have packed some clothes, but she’d been worried about waking Locksley, and traveling with a trunk would have made it more difficult to move about quickly and unnoticed.
She’d ridden in a mail coach going north. At the first village, she’d disembarked and waited for a mail coach headed to London. She’d known the proprietress of the Peacock Inn had seen her climb into the mail coach, so she’d wanted to leave a confusing trail, just in case Locksley awoke early and searched for her. He’d either slept late or hadn’t come after her. Probably the latter, which was just as well. It would make things so much easier going forward.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t ease the pain of her broken heart.
Chapter25
He’d ridden like a madman all through the day and into the night in order to catch up with the mail coach. When he finally did reach it, he discovered she’d disembarked in the first village at which it had stopped. Naturally by the time he returned there, she was nowhere to be found.
So where the bloody hell had she gone?
She wasn’t going to return to Havisham. Of that he was fairly certain. In no mood to explain the situation to his father, he’d sent the coaches and servants back to London while he carried on to Fairings Cross. He thought it unlikely that she would seek out her parents for help, but he was hopeful they could shed some light on where she might seek refuge.
Having attended a couple of balls at Beaumont’s country estate, Locke was familiar with the area and sought out the parsonage near the church. After knocking on the door, he glanced around, his chest tightening as he studied the towering oak that brushed up against a window on the uppermost level. He imagined Portia—bold, brave, undeterred by the dangers—clambering down it. He did hope that wherever she was now, she was exercising more caution. When he caught up with her, he was going to sit her down and ask her a thousand questions so he knew every damned thing about her and she could never again elude him. He needed to know how she thought, where she might go, what she hoped to accomplish.
The door opened and a young maid looked up at him. “Yes, sir?”
He handed over a card. “Viscount Locksley to see Reverend Gadstone.”
