Too Wicked to Tame (The Derrings #2)(15)

“Quickly, upstairs with her,” Grandmother commanded.

Heath readjusted Portia in his arms. Her head fell against his chest as he took the stairs two at a time, his grandmother and sisters fast behind, chattering nonstop.

He proceeded to the Rose room, knowing Grandmother would have sent her things to the most lavish guest chamber.

Mina jumped ahead to open the door.

A copper-haired woman froze amid unpacking luggage, demanding, “What have you done to her?”

Heath smiled wryly. The maid, he presumed.

“Your mistress has fainted,” he explained, laying her on the bed.

“Fainted?” The buxom maid murmured, suspicion in her voice as she eyed him up and down.

“She isn’t the swooning type.”

“I imagine not,” he replied, recalling her saucy manners from yesterday. “I rather suspect her fever has something to do with it.”

“Fever,” the maid exclaimed, wringing her hands. “Oh, the old dragon will have my head if she up and dies.”

“And that would be the real tragedy,” Mina commented, nodding in mock seriousness.



“She’s not going to die,” Heath growled, annoyed at the maid’s histrionics. Turning, he spied the house keeper hovering near the door. “Mrs. Crosby. Would you send someone to fetch Dr.

Manning?”

“Aye, my lord.”

As the house keeper bustled out of the room, he faced the maid again. “Can I trust you to see Lady Portia into her nightgown?” He motioned to her still form. “She’ll need out of her corset immediately.”

“Course,” the maid bobbed her head and moved toward the wardrobe.

Heath ignored his grandmother’s sniff of disapproval at his mention of a corset. Trust his grandmother to get her sensibilities offended at a time like this.

With one last look at the girl stretched out on the bed, he left the room so that the maid could attend Portia in private, and he could struggle to make sense of his spinning thoughts.

His grandmother followed fast on his heels, not about to let him escape so easily. “As soon as she awakens, I expect you to apologize,” she demanded.

Heath felt a flash of annoyance at her automatic assumption that Portia would awaken. People perished every year from fevers and agues. Her large blue eyes, her milky skin, her slimness…all hinted at frailty, weakness.

He stopped in the hall and swung around to confront his grandmother. “If anyone owes her an apology, it is you. You’re the one who dragged her halfway across the country. And for nothing.

You know my position. I will not marry. Ever. Accept it.”

Before she could respond, he whipped around and stormed off, too angered to abide the sight of her. For years, she had pestered him, tossing every eligible young lady in the district at him in the hopes that he would marry. But this? He shook his head. This time she went too far.

He wouldn’t be his grandmother’s pawn. No matter that he found the girl strangely compelling, no matter that she had lingered in his thoughts longer than she should have. Longer than any woman before.

He had responsibilities. Responsibilities that far outweighed his grandmother’s desires. Or his own.





Chapter 6


Portia opened her eyes and blinked against the invasion of light. She stretched her hands out at her sides, luxuriating in the feel of soft sheets. Looking up, she studied a swath of rich plum-colored damask above her and tried to sort her scattered thoughts. Slowly, she sat up, her gaze sweeping over a large chamber dappled in soft light.

“What are you doing? Back down with you.” Nettie pushed her back into the soft mattress.

“What happened?”

“You swooned.”

“I never swoon,” Portia denied, prepared to argue further, but stopped suddenly as memory flooded her.

Heath’s face swam before her like something out of a dream. Stark good looks. Eyes that glittered gray one moment and black the next. Hair dark as sin, long enough to tangle her fingers in—

Portia halted her wayward thoughts with a swift shake of her head. He should have stayed in her dreams. She had planned to keep the memory of him there—the wickedly handsome stranger who rode like Satan set loose, who knife-played for sport and climbed mountains in the dead of winter, who scandalized her with hot words whispered against her ear.

Only her dream had turned to the stuff of nightmares.

Her anonymous rescuer was none other than the earl her grandmother wanted her to wed. She shook her head, trying to chase away her ridiculous sense of betrayal.

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. Chasing him off wouldn’t be a problem. Not when he wanted her gone.

Sitting up again, she flung back the thick counterpane, humiliation stinging her cheeks as she recalled his wretched treatment of her. “Nettie, fetch my clothes.”

“I’ll do no such thing. The doctor said—”

“A physician was here?”

“Yes. He said you needed to stay abed until you’re well.”



Portia shook her head fiercely, an image of Heath’s hard features flashing in her mind. In no way would she stay a minute longer under his roof. “I feel better now. Let’s be on our way.”

Nettie opened her mouth, but Portia waved a hand to silence her. “I will not remain here. Not after the way that brute treated me. Can you imagine, Nettie?” She flattened a palm to her heart as if she bore a mortal wound. “He thinks I would want to marry him!”