Page 56 of The Music of Love

Portia and Stacy were chatting with the Lawsons when a fine carriage rolled down the long drive. “Ah, Sir Stephen and Lady Watley,” the vicar said, confirming Portia’s suspicions. “We’ll move along and let you greet your guests.”

Portia watched with interest as her husband greeted the woman he’d once considered marrying. Penelope Watley was everything Portia was not: dainty, blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful. The green-eyed monster that always lurked close by growled menacingly as Stacy bowed over the other woman’s hand. He was as coolly friendly with the pretty blonde and her rather oafish-looking husband as he was with everyone else.

Sir Stephen tore his eyes away from her husband long enough to give Portia a look that made her skin crawl.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Harrington.” He leered, eying her from head to toe. “Aren’t you looking blooming this morning?”

His wife tittered and Portia just stared. This was the man Lady Watley preferred to Stacy?

They chatted for a few stilted moments before another set of guests arrived and the baronet and his wife moved along.

A short time later, when they were alone, Portia looked up at her extraordinarily beautiful husband and smiled. “I understand Lady Watley was once my rival?”

“There is nobody to rival you, Mrs. Harrington.” The words were low and intimate but his black lenses glinted and he looked implacable, remote, and cruel; nothing like the hot, tender lover she’d enjoyed several times last night. She realized that side of him—the passionate side—was only for her.

Heat pooled in her stomach and between her thighs and she shook her head, maddened by her desire for him. “It is just as well you are wearing those glasses today, Mr. Harrington.”

His lips curved into a slight smile and he was just about to say something when Frances approached. “Will you come and help with the selection of the croquet teams?”

He kissed Portia’s cheek. “Duty calls, my dear.”

Duty called for Portia, as well, and she greeted at least fifty people over the next half-hour. She was beginning to droop when a small break occurred in the procession of guests, so she slipped around the side of the house, to where tall box hedges offered some privacy from the milling crowds. She’d just slumped onto a stone bench and closed her eyes when voices approached.

“She’s not quite what I expected,” a female voice said.

A low masculine chuckle answered. “She’s certainly nothing to you, Penny. And Harrington? My God! The man is a freak of nature. I’ve seen him before, of course, but never so close up. He looks like a statue come to life.”

“Count yourself fortunate his eyes are covered, Stephen.”

Portia’s blood roared at their words and she stood, preparing to march around the hedge and give them both a nasty set-down. But the next words arrested her.

“I still can’t believe you saw him coming out of a brothel only last week,” Lady Watley said, her voice oozing with smugness.

Portia’s body froze.

“As bold as you please in broad daylight,” Sir Stephen confirmed. “Kitty Charring’s place over in Plymouth.”

“I don’t want to know how you learned of such a place, Stephen,” his wife chided, her voice growing faint as they moved away.

“Oh, Penny, you don’t need to worry about—”

Portia didn’t hear the rest of what he said but she’d already heard more than enough. Stacy had visited a bordello in Plymouth? She’d wondered why it took him almost four days to secure a marriage license.

She swallowed hard several times and it felt like crushed glass in her throat.

Yet another man who took lovers—even before they were married? How could this be happening to her all over again? How?

Portia avoided being alone with her husband for the remainder of the afternoon. She didn’t want to be near him until she managed, somehow, to get her ferocious temper under control. She hoped she hid her feelings, but later, when they played croquet, she couldn’t help the vicious triumph that surged through her when she hit his ball so hard it rolled almost into the woods.

Jeremy Lawson sidled up to her and whispered in her ear. “Marital discord already, my dear Portia?”

Portia had laughed, drawing a puzzled look from her husband before he went to look for his ball.

By the time the last of the guests were persuaded to leave it was past dark and Portia was exhausted. And more furious than ever.

They’d just waved off a final straggler and shut the door when Stacy turned to her. “You must be exhausted, my dear. Why don’t you go up to bed and I’ll have Cook send up a tray. You really should get some rest tonight.” He brushed his lips against her cheek and it was all she could do not to shove him away.

Portia smiled tightly. “Yes, I believe you are right—I am tired. Good night, Mr. Harrington.” She left him without waiting for a response, storming up the stairs to her chambers and flinging open the door to her room so hard it rattled her teeth and made Daisy jump.