Too Wicked to Tame (The Derrings #2)(62)

Her sister-in-law eased herself onto the chaise with a natural elegance that Portia had always envied. She watched as Astrid carefully positioned the pillows at her back. Finally she looked up, saying with the mildness of one remarking on the weather, “Your brother has left.”

“Left?” Portia felt herself frown. “Left for where? When will he be back?”

“Perhaps I am not being clear.” Smoothing both hands over her striped muslin skirts, she straightened her spine. “He has left us.” Another pause. “Abandoned us, to be accurate.”

Portia sank onto the chaise, mouth working in bewilderment before she choked, “How can that be?”



Astrid looked out the window. “He absconded with the jewelry. Mine, your grandmother’s, even the little he found in your room. He should be well out of the country by now.”

Portia shook her head. It didn’t make sense. True, they were well in the dun, but why would Bertram wish to leave all the privileges of his rank for life abroad? Here, at least, he had a roof over his head. Creditors here couldn’t lay claim to their property and would grant him much more latitude than those on foreign soil.

Even if they couldn’t afford to outfit their own pantries, there would always be parties where he could eat his fill of lobster bisque and salmon pas-ties.

“It would seem his only choice,” Astrid added coolly, as if she could read any one of the dozen questions whirling around Portia’s head.

Portia looked more carefully at Astrid’s face, searching beyond the neutral mien, the remote gaze. There, beneath the calm fa?ade, lurked a bone-deep sorrow. The type of pain one couldn’t hide, no matter how hard they tried. Bertram’s abandonment had cut deeply. No mistake about it.

“He’s not coming back. To do so, he must face the House of Lords on felony charges. Lord Ashton paid me a visit yesterday morning and apprised me of the situation.” Astrid’s upper lip curled ever so faintly. “Your brother didn’t even have the courtesy to leave me a note. I had to hear it from someone else.”

“What did Lord Ashton say?”

Astrid gave her head a small shake. Composed again, she continued. “Apparently, Lord Ashton and several others in the House of Lords suggested to Bertram that he quietly depart.” Her lips curved humorlessly. “You can’t hang someone if he’s not in the country, after all.”

“Hanging? For what offense?”

“It seems we cannot ever accuse your brother of being unenterprising.” Astrid smiled coldly.

“Bertram got mixed up in forging bank notes. I suspected something was amiss. He was still losing at the tables.” She snorted. “Everyone knew that. Yet he always had the blunt for the hells.”

“Forgery,” Portia breathed. A hanging offense. No wonder her brother ran. His peers would feel pressured to mete out the same sentence they had so uncomprisingly been issuing of late given the recent rise of forgery.

Recalling Astrid’s guest, she queried, “Who is Mr. Oliver? How is he involved in all this?”

“He’s the lender to which most of Bertram’s debt is due.”

“We cannot be held accountable for Bertram’s debts.”



“True, but neither can we feed and attire ourselves. And it’s not as though we’ve anything to sell.

Bertram already sold off everything that isn’t entailed.”

“So what does this Oliver fellow want?” Portia asked, unable to forget the man or his measuring gaze.

“Simon Oliver is a socially ambitious man. He wishes to move in more elevated circles.”

And no circle was more elevated than that of Astrid and her friends. Simon Oliver could do no better than gaining acceptance among Astrid’s august set.

“And that is all he wants? An introduction to the ton’s drawing rooms?” Portia snorted and crossed her arms, unable to forget the sight of his large hand on Astrid, unsightly against the pale glow of her skin. “I don’t think so. Out with it, Astrid.”

Almost instantly, the ice queen vanished. Bright splotches broke out over Astrid’s fair skin, a rare display of emotion for her taciturn sister-in-law.

“And what is it to you?” Her nostrils quivered. “Why am I even explaining any of this to you?

As I recall, you’ve bigger plans. Shouldn’t you be off arranging a grand reunion with your mother?” she mocked. “Oh, that’s right. You haven’t heard from her in what? Two years?”

“Twenty months,” Portia automatically corrected.

“Yes, well. Perhaps you’ll run across your brother in your travels. Send him my regards, would you?”

“Astrid—”

“No,” Astrid broke in. “You care only for yourself. Selfish. Like your brother. What a pair you are.”

Portia winced. No one had ever laid that particular accusation at her feet. She had never thought it possible. Yet to be compared to her brother…Her stomach rolled, rebelling at the thought.

Portia had long grown accustomed to her family’s rebukes and criticisms. She could have expected Astrid to hurl almost anything upon her head. Yet not this.

“I am selfish?” she demanded, her temper taking over whether she willed it or not. And along with her temper came weariness. Weariness of the expectations, of being relied upon to save the family from the mess her brother had created.