Too Wicked to Tame (The Derrings #2)(76)

Never could he abuse her as his father hurt his mother. He’d cut his own heart out first. “Portia, I—”

“Portia? Are you awake?” A gentle knock sounded at the door and the two of them flew off the bed as if a red-hot poker prodded their backsides. Heath tossed her nightgown at her and made short work of straightening his clothing. He glanced at the thin line of light glowing beneath the bedroom door.

“Portia?” The woman at the door knocked again. “May I come in?”

Her small hands pushed wildly at his chest, shoving him in the direction of the balcony. It occurred to him that he could linger until that door opened and put an end to the question of their marrying. Yet he didn’t want her to agree to marry him because she’d been compelled. He wanted her to want to marry him.

His eyes searched the dark, desperate for a glimpse of her face, desperate to say—

“Go,” she hissed.

“Tomorrow,” he managed to say before stepping onto the balcony and plunging into the night.

Portia dove beneath the counterpane a mere moment before Astrid strode into the room. She took a gulp and tried to steady her breathing and the erratic thumping of her heart against her chest.

“You’re still awake?” Astrid asked, her expression surprised.

Her cheeks flamed. “Yes.”

Astrid motioned to the side table and the goblet sitting upon it. “Why did you not try the tonic I sent up for you earlier?”



Portia glanced at the goblet, having forgotten all about it. Leery of Astrid’s “tonics,” Portia wrinkled her nose.

“It’s my special tonic,” she chided. “Will do wonders for those bothersome wrinkles you’re starting to get at the corners of your eyes. One cup and you’ll look much improved.”

Portia picked up the goblet. Mostly to appease her sister-in-law, but also to distract Astrid from looking too closely at the rumpled bedcovers, or her mussed appearance, or to catch the lingering smell of sex, she downed the contents of the goblet. It tasted like wine but with an underlying bitterness that she puckered her lips against.

“Good girl.” Astrid smiled and patted her hand with far more solicitousness than she had ever displayed.

“Astrid,” Portia began as she settled against her pillows. “I know you’ve been angry with me—”

“Hush.” Astrid waved a hand, averting her eyes to arrange the covers around Portia. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Please believe me when I say that everything will be fine. You have my word.”

A vague smile played about Astrid’s lips. For some reason the sight made Portia’s stomach tighten. Unease settled between her shoulder blades, tensing her back.

“I know, Portia,” she murmured evenly. “I’m not angry anymore.”

Portia studied her closely, trying to gauge that smile of hers. The one that never reached her eyes, the one that Portia had seen her exhibit on countless social occasions. The one that hid something. Everything.

“Get some sleep.” Turning gracefully, Astrid strolled from the room. The door clicked shut and darkness shrouded her again.

Portia bounded from the bed, hoping Heath hadn’t left, that he lurked somewhere in the humming night outside her room. Standing on the balcony, she scanned the lawn below.

Gripping the stone railing, she risked a loud whisper. “Heath.”

Nothing. He had gone.

Deflated, she rubbed her arms for comfort and leaned upon the railing, the cool stone seeping through the thin cotton of her gown, chilling her.

A pleasant lethargy crept over her. Strange. Moments ago she had not even felt tired. Goose bumps broke over her flesh, but she still didn’t move. Her legs felt heavy, leaden. She glanced down as if she would see fetters about her ankles. Turning, she pushed from the railing, suddenly eager for the comfort of her bed.



She dragged herself forward, her hand seeking the balcony door for support. Her legs felt steady as rubber. Blood rushed to her ears—made her head feel stuffed full of cotton.

She grasped the door, clinging to it, her fingers digging into the wood. One of her nail’s splintered from the pressure as she tried to stop from sliding to the floor.

Her knees buckled and she fell, sliding down like a limp doll. She dropped to the floor, head whirling, spinning until black oblivion rolled in.





Chapter 28


Heath bowed low over Lady Astrid’s hand, slender and delicate. Her skin was pale as cream, the blue veins visible beneath.

“Lord Derring, how nice of you to call.” Her un-swerving gaze reflected no such frailty. Her eyes, a dark coffee brown, were a startling contrast with her fair hair and skin. They looked straight through him, direct as any man’s.

“My apology for not calling sooner, Your Grace. I’ve heard the Dowager is unwell.” He lowered himself into the chair across from her.

Lady Astrid inclined her head slightly. “That is true. Although she has improved markedly in the last few days.”

“I’m greatly relieved to hear that. I know my grandmother will be most distressed to learn she has been ill.” Unable to hold off any longer, he inquired, “And Lady Portia? Is she receiving today?”

“Portia?” Lady Astrid straightened where she sat, pulling her shoulders back as if preparing for something unpleasant. For half a second alarm flashed in her cool gaze. “You’ve come to call on Portia?”