COLIN PACED THE confines of his bedchamber. At the wall of windows, he pushed back the green brocade draperies to peer out into the night. The moon had not yet risen above the horizon, but he needed no light to discern the contours of his property. He knew every hill and valley, every field and hedgerow. His fierce pride in the land had its roots in his childhood, when he had wandered and explored at will.
Yet he would give it all away to have Portia in his bed.
His plan to seduce her had gone seriously awry. By now, they should have been naked between the sheets, coupling with unbridled passion. He had imagined it for so long, had been so certain of his persuasive abilities in winning her over, that her reaction to the abduction had been a slap of cold reality.
I won’t be bullied into marriage to you or to any other man, especially one who will squander my dowry at the gaming tables. In fact, you’ve done me a great service.
Yes, she would travel to India and labor the rest of her life as a lowly governess rather than wed him. She scorned him that much. Then she had thanked him—thanked him—for releasing her from her gilded cage.
With a curse, he let go of the draperies and stomped to the closed door. He stood there glowering at it, as he’d done several times since eating the evening meal alone in the formal dining room. Miss Crompton was feeling ill, Thurgood had informed him. She had requested a tray in her chamber.
Ill, like hell. She was avoiding him, that’s what. He hadn’t seen her since that interlude in the conservatory, when he had come within a hair breadth of revealing just how besotted he was with her.
My love.
What brainless stupidity had induced him to utter those words? He wasn’t one to spout sappy sentiments just to get underneath a woman’s skirts. Thankfully, the butler’s interruption had saved Colin from making an even bigger fool of himself.
But the damage had been done. Portia had become quiet and distant, regarding him as she might an escapee from Bedlam. It was a clear indication that she was appalled by the prospect of him falling in love with her.
Not, of course, that he was in love. Rather, he was suffering from an acute case of unremitting lust. There could be nothing more to it. Nothing at all.
Turning on his heel, he stalked to a sideboard and poured himself a brandy. He took a bracing swallow, welcoming the burn in his throat as a distraction. Her bedchamber lay only a few steps across the passageway. He ought to go straight over there and demand his due. It wouldn’t take much effort to awaken her desires since she was an amazingly sensual woman.
He put the brakes on another feverish fantasy. Seducing her was out of the question. She had stated in no uncertain terms that she would never wed a gambler and a reprobate. Which put them at an impasse since he was not at liberty to disavow her of those notions.
And now she intended to set out for foreign shores without him. That was all his rash ruination of her had accomplished. It had ensured he would never see her again. He took another long drink of brandy. Damn his folly. Surely he could have found a better way to stop her from marrying Albright—
A hesitant tapping echoed through the room. His attention jerked to the door. Portia?
Colin threw down his glass and knocked over a chair in his haste to get there. Taking half a second to compose himself, he swung open the dark wood panel. Then his gaze dropped.
Bane hovered in the shadows of the passageway. Hair tousled, he wore a wrinkled linen nightshirt that trailed down to his bare feet.
“What the devil are you doing here?”
The boy hung his head, seemingly fascinated by the sight of his toes digging into the carpet. “Dunno.”
Colin looked up and down the gloomy corridor. “How did you even know which room was mine?”
“Mr. Thurgood tole me t’ count six doors from there.” He pointed toward the darkened staircase used by the servants.
“I see. Well, then. Was there something you needed?”
By way of answer, Bane lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug. He sniffled a little, then scrubbed his nose across his sleeve.
Good God, was the boy crying? Flummoxed, Colin stood there in something of a fix, wondering what to do.
The door directly across the corridor opened. Portia emerged in the ivory satin nightdress that he had purchased for her. The one that clung lovingly to her shapely curves. The one he had imagined himself stripping off her, inch by slow inch.
And holy God, her hair was loose. It flowed in a rich, dark brown mass down her back. One lock had fallen forward to curl around her breasts.
“I heard voices,” she said, looking from him to Bane. “What’s wrong?”
His mouth was too dry to form words. Nevertheless, Colin managed to snap, “Nothing. Go back to bed.”
With me.
Oblivious to him—and his fantasies—she hastened to Bane and crouched down, the gown pooling around her feet. She placed her hands on his shoulders, gazing straight into his face. “What’s the matter, darling? Have you had a nightmare?”
Bane gave a little nod. “ ’Twas pirates,” he mumbled. “They was goin’ t’ slice me throat, then toss me t’ the sharks.”
Colin relaxed. “Well, now you’re awake and you know it didn’t happen.”
Portia flashed a glare up at him, then addressed the boy again. “You poor dear. I’m sure it all seemed very real. I would hate very much to have an awful dream like that.”
She gathered him into her arms. Bane stood there stiffly for a moment, then buried his face in her neck. Cuddling him close, she cooed and stroked his hair.
Standing forgotten in the doorway, Colin scowled down at them. He wanted to be the one clasped to her lush bosom, dammit. How pathetic was that, envying a frightened little boy?
“Was your room too dark?” Portia asked. “Perhaps you’d like to have a candle. I’m sure his lordship wouldn’t mind.”
Bane gave a quick, wordless nod.
She looked up at Colin, sending him a warning not to disagree. “Then you shall have one. And his lordship and I will walk you back upstairs.”
She vanished into her bedchamber and returned a moment later with a lighted taper in a pewter holder. Meanwhile, Colin fetched another from his room, for they would need illumination to find their way back through the darkened house.
Portia held Bane’s hand, and Colin found himself doing likewise on the boy’s other side. As they headed down the corridor, his full awareness was captivated by her. How had she known what to do to calm Bane’s fears?
Another question eclipsed that one. Did she have any notion of the torture Colin endured in her presence? With every breath, he could smell the light feminine fragrance of her skin. With every glance, he found himself eyeing the fullness of her breasts and the curve of her hips. He sternly reminded himself that he had no right to take her virginity. No right to get her with child.
Because she would never marry him.
The truth of that left him moody and frustrated. Damn it, he needed to take a plunge in cold water. Maybe after he saw her back to her chamber, he’d head down to the nearest stream. A brisk swim ought to cool his loins and restore his equilibrium.
He released Bane’s small hand so they could go single file up the narrow flight of stairs that led to the servants’ quarters in the attic. Bane led them to his tiny room under the eaves of the house. He scrambled into the narrow iron bedstead while Portia put the candle on a nearby table and then arranged the blankets securely around him. Her hair swinging loose, she bent down and pressed a kiss to his brow.
Colin watched them obsessively. A strange pang struck him, the keen wish to see her tuck their own child into bed.
It would never happen.
To deny the wrench in his chest, he sought asylum in lust. He wondered what she would do if he came up from behind and pulled her flush against him, while his hands cupped her breasts. The erotic image was so powerful, he was startled when she touched his arm and motioned him out of the room. Glancing back, he saw that Bane was curled up beneath the covers, his eyes already closed.
The house was silent as they made their way back downstairs. Carrying the candle, he preceded her down the flight of stairs. As they walked down the corridor lined with bedchambers, the casement clock down in the entrance hall bonged ten times in a distant, mournful echo.
He halted in between her chamber and his. She was so gorgeously feminine, it took a supreme effort of willpower to keep his hands to himself. “Thank you for the assistance,” he said gruffly. “I confess, I didn’t know what to do with Bane.”
“I was happy to help. I was merely in bed reading.”
He had an instant vision of her in his bed. She wouldn’t have the time—or the inclination—to read if he was lying there with her.
They stared at each other. An enigmatic expression on her face, she made no move to return to her bedchamber, just stood watching him. He tried not to stare as she sank her teeth into her lower lip. She looked uncertain, as if something weighed on her mind.
He certainly had something on his mind—something that placed her virginity in grave peril.
Why the devil didn’t she go? Damn it, could she not sense the danger of lingering in his presence? They were both barely clad, and modesty alone should have sent her scuttling for cover.
Colin forced himself to bow. “Well, then. I’ll bid you good night.”
He stalked toward his door. Without warning, she darted after him, blocking his passage. She slid her hands up his chest and inside the collar of his shirt, her fingers caressing the hot flesh of his neck. In a throaty voice, she murmured, “Please, Ratcliffe. Won’t you … invite me in?”
He nearly dropped the candle. All the blood left his brain on a downward race to his groin. She was too naïve to realize what could happen. “No. That’s hardly prudent.” Curse it, he sounded like a maiden aunt. But he didn’t dare speak otherwise. “It’ll lead to … things you shouldn’t know about.”
She took a deep breath as if for courage. Then she smiled up at him from beneath the screen of her lashes. “I certainly hope so.”
Her provocative manner nearly did him in. It took an effort to make his tongue work. “My God, Portia. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know what I want. And what I want is you.”
When she ran her fingertip over his lips, Colin promptly forgot all the reasons why he had no right to seduce an innocent who had refused his offer of marriage. The torment of the past hours and days and weeks went up in smoke. By God, she was granting him a dream come true. In return, he would give her a night to remember.
He caught her hand and brushed a kiss to the back. “Then come inside at once, my lady.”