Too Wicked to Tame (The Derrings #2)(59)

He stopped and turned. Something flickered in his eyes. The pain that always lurked there, the knowledge of the bleak future waiting for him. “It will be an in-name-only marriage, naturally.

We’ll never repeat last night. The risk of getting you with child is too great.”

An in-name-only marriage. As she had suggested to him days ago. Except then she had not considered herself in the hapless role of wife. She had thought some poor creature that did not want much from life would accept such a marriage—and be glad for it.

“As flattering as your proposal is, I must decline.”

“Wake up, Portia. You haven’t the luxury to refuse. Not after last night.”

“I can, and I do,” she replied, loathing his superior attitude, loathing that he could refer to last night as if it were a horrible incident he wished to undo.

“I’m sure your family will disagree.”

Her family? Portia gave herself a hard mental shake. No. She felt certain Grandmother would never force her. Threaten, bully, cajole, and make life in general miserable, yes. But never force.

Bertram, however, was another matter. He saw her as a means to an end—little more than a prized ewe to be sold to the highest bidder. He would have forced her to marry long ago had Grandmother allowed him. If word reached him of this, Portia would have a battle on her hands.

“My family doesn’t decide my fate. This is between you and me,” she said tightly, looking him steadily in the eyes.

He shook his head, that mirthless smile fixed to his face again. Her fingers itched to wipe it clean. “There is no you and me, Portia. Never will be. We’ll simply wed and spend the rest of our lives learning to abide each other.”

With a heavy heart, she watched him open the door and stride from the room. Not once did he look back.

His words whirled in her head until her stomach grew queasy. No you and me.



Foolish perhaps, but she thought there had been.





Chapter 22


Heath poured himself a glass of brandy and downed it in one swallow. Never had he needed a drink more. He hadn’t made it as far as the stairs before he detoured to his office. The special license could wait until later. There were times when a man not only deserved a drink, but he needed one. Or in his case, a few.

“I thought you’d turn up here.”

Heath swung around and eyed his sister sitting primly on the sofa near the fire.

“Been waiting long?” he asked.

She raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Ever since you slammed into the library.” She nodded to the drink in his hand. “The kind of day you’ve had would drive anyone to drink.”

“Not you, Con,” Heath replied. “Nothing ruffles you. You’re the perfect little package of starch.”

Pain, raw and shining, flashed in his sister’s eyes and Heath felt a stab of guilt. It couldn’t be easy for her either. Thirty-one years old and no husband. No children. No life to speak of save visits to the orphanage and afternoons embroidering with their grandmother.

“Sorry,” he muttered beneath his breath, turning for a refill.

“I warned you, Heath.”

“Come to give an accounting of all my mistakes, Constance?”

“Unnecessary. You know where you erred.”

His lips hugged the edge of his glass as he racked his brain, trying to recall the precise moment he first erred in regard to Lady Portia. He laughed once, a short bark. It seemed he had misstepped from the start. He shook his head, marveling at his stupidity. He should have sent her packing the moment he learned her name.

“What are you going to do about her?”

Heath shrugged, downed his glass, and answered in matter-of-fact tones, “Marry her.”

Constance’s jaw dropped. “You jest.” Her eyes widened as she eyed Heath’s grim expression.

“You cannot mean to risk—”



“I’ll marry her, but I’ll not risk anything.” Heath’s voice vibrated with anger. The same anger he had felt upon discovering Portia, naked and ripe for him at the lodge. Never again would he take such a risk. Never again would he be that weak to succumb to the heaven he found in her arms.

To do that was a straight path to hell.

Constance gaped, the dark slashes of her brows raised high. “Oh, you’ve got to be the biggest fool I’ve ever met. You think you can marry her and not once touch her? I’ve seen the way you look at her. Even I recognize you have feelings for the girl.”

He shook his head fiercely. “On the contrary. I’m feeling quite indisposed to the chit. She’s a heartless, greedy little witch who has done nothing but lie to me since she arrived here. I’ll have no difficulty avoiding her bed. You’ll see. The curse will not carry on. Not through me at any rate.”

“Careful you don’t underestimate her. She’ll likely not accept the type of marriage you’re offering. Most women wouldn’t.”

“She’ll have no choice.”

Just then the door burst open and Mina rushed into the room, face flushed and eyes shooting sparks as she demanded, “What have you done to Portia?”

Ignoring that Mina had finally deigned to speak to him, he replied wryly, “Come crying to you, did she?”

“Of course not. She’s in her room packing.” Mina paused, as if to see if this statement impacted him in the least.