Too Wicked to Tame (The Derrings #2)(46)

She swallowed nervously. The memory of his kiss surged forward and made her lips burn. She sucked in a fast breath and pushed the memory out of her head.

“No. But that’s not to say I wouldn’t do so. I’ve simply not been tempted yet.” She grimaced, praying he would not call her out on the lie. He need merely fling her wanton behavior in the cellar to remind her that he tempted her. Shaking her head, she added, “It’s not my place to judge Mina’s behavior—although had it been a brother in the stall with a kitchen maid, I doubt we would be having this conversation.”

Heath opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand, stalling him. “Your sister is bored, lonely.” Her mind searched for the apt word. Arriving at it, she exclaimed with relish,

“Oppressed.”

“Oppressed?” His eyes flared wide, an unholy light gleaming at the center of his pupils.

Portia nodded. Who better than she understood such feelings, after all? She had felt oppressed ever since her grandmother pushed her through her first Season at the tender age of seventeen.

“I’m the great oppressor, I take it?” he demanded.



“Who else?”

“So you’re saying my sister will likely continue on this ruinous path until I give in and grant her a Season?” His jaw tensed, muscles knotting beneath the taut skin.

Her fingers twitched, itching at her sides to reach out and smooth the flesh into evenness. She laced her fingers together in front of her, locking her hands lest they betray her.

“All I’m saying is that you need to talk to your sister. Don’t bark commands. Don’t issue edicts.

Come to an understanding. She has to be allowed to pursue her desires to some degree or else her life is no better than a slave’s.”

“And what of you, Portia?”

She looked at him, feeling the skin of her brow knit in confusion.

“Come now, Portia,” he chided, his mocking voice grating. “Your family doesn’t permit you to pursue your desires, do they?”

She frowned, wondering if any member of her family even knew what it was that she desired.

Certainly no one had thought to ask.

His eyes drilled into hers, relentless, probing. Knowing. He already knew the answer to his infernal question. Still, he demanded to hear her response, demanded to hear her say that what she expected of him, her own family could not deliver.

Thrusting back her shoulders, she answered him. “No. My family has never taken my wishes into account.”

“Precisely,” he said in that exasperating, smug voice of his. “Most fathers and brothers do not.

Our world doesn’t work that way. Fathers and brothers make the decisions, and daughters dutifully obey.”

Obey. Never following her heart’s yearnings, never following her heart. Bearing no more freedom than a slave. Releasing her hands, she pressed her fingers to her temples, suddenly feeling a headache threaten.

Heath’s voice continued, a cold douse of reason. “Yet you expect me to be different.”

“Yes,” she shot back, a fire sparking deep in her chest, rising its way up her throat to inflame her tongue, “Because you are—you love your sister.”

His eyes softened for the barest moment before hard resolve filled them. “Love or not, if Mina desires a tumble in the hay, she’s not getting her way. In fact, she may find herself cloistered in a convent.”



“Then you’ll lose her,” she pronounced, saddened for Mina, for him, for herself who felt every bit as trapped as Heath’s foolish young sister.

Something that looked alarmingly close to pain flickered in his eyes. “I can live with her hatred if it means protecting her.” With that said, he turned and walked away.

She stared after him, feeling bewildered but mostly sad that no one could ever claim to love her that much.





Chapter 17


“Did I ever tell you about the time my brother forced me to ride through the park with Lord Melton?” Portia pulled a face. “Eighty-eight years old. Creaky joints. Wooden teeth. Smelled of mold.” She glanced at Mina, hoping to see some reaction in her implacable expression.

Mina did not so much as blink. The tight set of her mouth brought Heath to mind. Did they even know how alike they were? Stubborn fools.

Their mounts ambled along side by side at an easy gait. Clouds hung low overhead, large puffs of dirty wool. Portia tightened her fingers around her reins and tried again. “Or the time he forced me to dance with Lord Houghton, renowned for his lead feet? My toes still bear the scars.”

Mina stared ahead, her expression unaltered.

“And then there was Sir Lionel—”

“Enough. Point taken,” Mina finally burst out. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but nothing you say will make me forgive my brother. I shall never speak to him again.”

Portia nodded slowly. “Very well. You’re entitled to your anger…but, then, perhaps so is he.”

Mina shot her a mutinous look, her lips twisting.

“Do you love him?” Portia asked gently.

“Who?”

“Your young groom, of course.”

“Edgar?” Mina laughed awkwardly. “No. I mean, I find him attractive, but…” Her voice slid into a sigh. “No, I don’t love him. I hardly know him. Is that so horrible? I suppose I should have at least believed myself in love to permit such liberties.” Mina’s lips trembled. “I simply tire of no gentleman considering me good enough.”