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THE ONE THING COLIN was certain of was that he didn’t want to share a room with Portia. He certainly didn’t want to share a bed.
He’d been in this house before, and he knew how the rooms were decorated: with romantic flourishes. Though Vernon had never seemed a likely candidate to give way to sentimental urges and displays when Colin had known him—dash it, the man had even run his own gaming hell—it was obvious time had changed him. Charlotte had changed him.
The duchess rang for the housekeeper, and a red-headed woman with warm brown eyes appeared. “Mrs. James will show you to your room.”
“We also brought my manservant and my—er—bride’s maid,” Colin said.
“They can sleep in the servants’ quarters,” Charlotte said. “We still have beds for them, don’t we, Mrs. James?”
“We do indeed,” Mrs. James said. “I’ll take them there after their meal.”
“We’re having our dinner at seven,” Vernon said. “Though if you would like something sent up beforehand—”
Colin glanced at the grandfather clock in the room. “Seven is fine.”
“I’ll send your servants up to help you dress.”
“Splendid,” Colin said, even though there was nothing particularly splendid about any of this.
He extended his elbow to Portia, and she slipped her fingers through the crook. Energy pulsed through him at her touch, but he ignored it.
This woman desired to marry another man. She was in love with someone whom she couldn’t marry...because of him. It was a wonder she smiled at him at all. The woman must possess immeasurable strength.
The housekeeper led them to a set of sweeping, curved marble stairs. No doubt, this was also the work of Vernon’s brother. Colin had a sudden urge to see his own family.
He sighed and strode up the steps, conscious of Portia beside him. She emitted a pleasant vanilla scent that made him want to get even nearer to her.
That would only be bad though.
She’d made her feelings about a marriage between the two of them clear.
Mirrors dotted the steps, reflecting light. The housekeeper turned onto a new corridor Colin was unfamiliar with. He’d visited before with some of his friends, and evidently a male wing had been arranged for them. He strode over the carpet. Children’s voices sounded, and Colin experienced an odd pang.
Perhaps he’d been hasty when he’d said he didn’t require children. He simply hadn’t imagined any of the women the matchmaking mamas and proud papas pushed toward him would make him happier than he could make himself on his own. He hadn’t enjoyed the stilted conversations about his estate and the even more stilted conversation about current events. No one, after all, was likely to express any sorrow that Bonaparte had been defeated, and he’d been tired of people stating the same thoughts they’d read from the same newspapers. Perhaps he hadn’t given them the chance they deserved. Or perhaps...
He glanced at Portia and smiled. She was the only woman he knew who would take it upon herself to sail to Guernsey to elope, and she was certainly the only person who would propose to a practical stranger, not giving up on her happiness. He liked that quality. It was one he was not accustomed to seeing.
Mrs. James turned toward them and gave a bright smile. “Your room is right here, Your Graces.”
“Thank you so much,” Portia murmured, and stepped into a red room.
Colin followed her and did his best to avert his gaze away from her now-scarfless neck, did his best to focus on the room’s furnishings, and not the way the light played across her bare skin.
“The bell pull is there if you require anything.” Mrs. James gestured to a long piece of pink and gold braided fabric. “And of course the wardrobes are there, and I’m certain you spotted the bed.”
“Oh, yes.”
The bed was unmistakable. It sat in the center of the room. Pink damask panels dangled from its four-poster frame.
“Isn’t it pretty?” Mrs. James asked. “I think it’s the most romantic bed here. The duchess’s sister doesn’t find the rug practical—too much white, as she has three children, but I like it.”
Colin resisted the temptation to ask Mrs. James if she might switch places with him tonight. He didn’t want to lie beside so much temptation. He didn’t want to think about soft curves and a slender waist. He didn’t want to imagine whispering to her, and imagining the manner in which she would quietly laugh.
He turned to Mrs. James. “I—er—tend to get cold in the night. Do you by any chance have any extra bedding?”
Mrs. James shot him a worried look, perhaps going through her bedding supply in her head and finding no good answer. “Well, that’s a bit tricky, since the house is full. But I can be certain to put extra hot bricks in your bed.”
He gritted his teeth. “Thank you.”
“If you get cold, perhaps you would like to wear something warmer,” Mrs. James continued.
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
“Very well, Your Grace. I’ll send your servants up here.”
“Quite nice.”
She smiled, then left the room.
Portia and he were alone.
Though they’d had conversations alone, they’d never been truly without any company. Even on the ship, there’d been sailors about them, and even Niles and Jonesie could see them. Now, there were no witnesses, and Colin’s heart raced.
Portia gestured to the window, distracting him from the sudden awkwardness. Plump snowflakes drifted from the sky. “I suppose it’s good we’re not in the ocean amidst all of this.”
“Yes.”
Portia frowned. “Weren’t the Duke and Duchess of Vernon once in a shipwreck?”
“Coming back from Guernsey after their elopement.”
“Oh.” Portia averted her eyes, and Colin’s heart ached. No doubt, she didn’t want to give any indication anything similar could have happened between them. Perhaps she was musing about the honorable Mr. Rupert Andrews, a man who didn’t steal tickets from other passengers.
“I’m awfully sorry about everything,” he said.
She shook her head. “It couldn’t be helped.”
Then Portia tilted her head. Light glowed over her glossy brunette locks, and his fingers longed to touch it. He turned away, lest Portia notice his gaze. The last thing she would want was to think he lusted over her.
Finally, steps sounded and Niles and Jonesie appeared. They dressed quickly, making use of the screen in the room.
“I suspect you are grateful for my premonition that you would require evening dress.” Niles held Colin’s trunk.
“Er—yes,” Colin said.
Portia glanced at Niles. “Are there any other premonitions you would like to share?”
“Oh, I do hope you’re not nervous about the dinner,” Jonesie said.
Jonesie and Niles glanced at each other.
“I care to limit my premonitions about the future to attire,” Niles said.
“Well, I suppose that is your expertise,” Portia said.
Niles raised his head. “In my experience, not everyone is prepared to learn about the future, however true it is.”
Niles was giving him a knowing look that Colin did not appreciate. He cleared his throat. “Well, make me handsome, Niles.”
“Ah, I like when you say that. I’m glad I’m getting all the credit. Don’t you find the duke is already naturally very handsome, Miss?”
Portia’s cheeks flushed, and she averted her gaze.
Colin’s heart sank. No doubt she was thinking about that blasted Mr. Rupert Andrews and knew it was impolite to say that Colin’s features were of little interest to her.
“I’ll just change behind the screen,” Colin said, following Niles to a corner of the room. “We won’t be able to see you.”
“Thank you,” she said, but her voice was at an unusually high pitch, and his heart tumbled even farther.
Evidently, Portia was uncomfortable by his very presence, and Colin was silent as Niles helped him dress for dinner. This wasn’t the time for his customary jests, and when he tried to smile, even his lips felt rigid.