Page 74 of The Music of Love

You’ve never told her about Kitty, have you . . . ?

He opened his mouth to tell her it was none of his concern but her voice stopped him.

“He struck me when we argued and he found himself on the losing side, which was frequently, I’m afraid. He pushed me down a short flight of stairs and I had my miscarriage soon afterward.” She turned on her side, as if she wanted to see his reaction to her heartbreaking revelation. “Our marriage began badly. I did not come to his bed intact.” She ran one finger slowly around his nipple.

Anger, shock, and arousal roiled in his gut and Stacy was more than a little uneasy that she would tell him such dreadful things while stroking him. But he could not find it in himself to stop her. He kept his eyes on her face while her distracting finger danced across his body.

“My first lover is the one who . . .” She stopped and gave him a shy smile. “Well, he taught me about bed sport.” She blushed wildly, which made his cock twitch. She glanced down at his half-hard shaft and smiled before continuing her story.

“He was uninhibited and passionate and I thought that is how all men were in bed. On my wedding night I learned differently.” She cut him a quick glance. “I was not promiscuous—I loved Benedict, my first lover, but he died and I thought my heart would break. Then I met Ivo. I was swept away by his talent, just like everyone who heard him play. He singled me out among all the girls who were trying to capture his attention. After my father died, I was lonely and Ivo’s future was so bright I was blinded by what I thought was love. He showed the same passion for me as he did his playing, at least until he made me his wife. He believed me to be a chaste virgin and did no more than kiss my hand before we wed. When he learned otherwise, on our wedding night, he never forgave me.”

A serpent wended its way from his stomach to his chest, tightening around his heart. Stacy fought no small amount of jealousy—for two dead men. The thought of Portia with another man made him want to break something or hurt someone. A reaction that was both foreign and distasteful.

“It was not a happy marriage. Ivo took lovers from the beginning and he made no effort to conceal it. He believed it was his right because I had dishonored and tricked him. There were many fights, a few instances of tempestuous rapprochement, and ever-increasing estrangement.” Her hand moved across his chest until she held the side of his waist, her fingers digging into the corded muscles hard enough to hurt. “I’ve never been this happy before, Stacy. Ever.”

Her words sucked the air from his lungs, from the room, even. He stared into her eyes as her hand slipped lower.

“I want to be with you all the time. I want you on top of me, around me, inside me.” She rolled onto her back and spread her thighs for him, opening like a butterfly.

Stacy knelt between her open legs and slid into her eager, welcoming body. She was heaven to him and she became more important every day. He thought of his child growing inside her body and plunged into her harder, deeper, faster. She shuddered beneath him again and again and again. And still he rode her, like a man pursued by demons. Like a man who was desperately trying to outrun the nagging fear that nothing this good could ever last.

The Plymouth trip taught Portia two things. First, she was in love with Stacy. Second, she would do anything to protect their marriage.

The first realization left her both joyous and terrified. He was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her and she refused to lose him. She knew he cared for her and might even come to love her if they had enough time. But that could only happen if Ivo was out of their lives forever.

After the Plymouth trip Stacy was more adamant than ever that Daisy accompany Portia wherever she went. The only time she could get away was at night and there were precious few nights left to get the money to Ivo before he came looking for it.

Two days after they returned from Plymouth she feigned a headache. Portia hated to rouse Stacy’s concern but it was the only way she could think of to be alone. She waited until after dinner, when they were both sitting in the library reading.

She put her book down on the table beside her and reached up to massage her temples. “I am developing something of a headache.”

He took off his spectacles. “I know a woman who has a cure for that very thing.” His suggestive half-smile caused a pulsing between her thighs.

God, how she loved everything about him.

The realization crushed her like a brutal, relentless fist and the pained smile Portia gave him was not contrived. “I’m afraid even that cure won’t work tonight. I’ve had this type of headache in the past. The only relief comes from quiet, darkness, and rest.”

His smile disappeared, replaced by concern. “Is there nothing you can take for it?”

“I’ve never found any draughts helpful and I don’t care for laudanum.”

He took her hands in his and lifted them to his mouth, his beautiful eyes worried.

“You needn’t look so troubled; it is not a serious malady. I shall be right as rain in the morning, I promise.”

Yes. Tomorrow everything would be better; it had to be.

Shortly after two o’clock Portia donned a dark brown gown, heavy cloak, and black gloves before wrapping a dark scarf around her head. She took the pouch of money and jewels from where she’d hidden them inside an old pillowcase and put a candle and flint into the bag. She was tempted to see if Stacy was sleeping but didn’t want to risk waking him. The house was as quiet as a tomb when she opened the door to the hall.

First, she would take Ivo his money. If she ran out of time she could always return the jewels to the safe tomorrow night. Portia left the bag of jewelry just inside the sunroom door and took only the money and candleholder with her.

When she could no longer see the house, she lit the candle. It cast abundant light for the path and she could only hope it would be sufficient to find the place where she would need to cut into the woods.

It turned out she needn’t have worried. The trail from the path toward the old cottage looked as if a herd of cattle had been trampling it. She cursed Ivo’s stupidity under her breath. He might as well have erected a sign with an arrow. People were bound to notice such a well-trod pathway if they hadn’t already. Portia picked her way through the woods, resisting the urge to hurry. She could just imagine the fix she’d be in if she twisted her ankle.

She was almost to the cottage when something touched her shoulder. She shrieked, jumped, and flung the candleholder.

“Sh, cara, it’s only me.” A small flare of light illuminated the darkness as he lighted his own candle.