by Anna Bradley
Had she been wrong about him after all? Could Rose have been mistaken about Daventry’s address, or was the woman playing at matchmaking?
Shaking off these random thoughts, Portia smiled brightly and replied, “If that is the case, my lord, I hope it warms us a little. The cold has been intense these last two days.” Portia tried not to shiver so noticeably. “I do hope we shall be able to enjoy the delights of the park without freezing.”
Both gentlemen chuckled.
“Just through here, ladies.” Lord Daventry nodded to the hotel entrance as he and Aunt Phoebe took the lead. “Where had you planned to walk first, Benberry?” He paid the entrance fee and they sauntered through the hotel, both she and Aunt Phoebe admiring the rooms gaily decked with evergreens.
At the end of the salon, Portia happened to glance up and spied a bough of mistletoe, its unmistakable white berries gleaming in the sunlight above the rear doorway. Her throat dried instantly. She and Lord Benberry would have to pass directly underneath that bough when they left the building. Would he take that opportunity to steal a kiss from her?
Several ladies walking together stopped to cast wistful glances at Portia, which she understood all too well. Stealing a look up at Lord Benberry’s finely etched profile only confirmed that she was in the company of one of the most handsome and well-mannered gentlemen in Bath. Another time she would’ve wished with all her might for him to kiss her. But, gracious, if he did catch her out under the mistletoe, it would be for all the world to see. She swallowed and her throat seemed to stick together.
The object of her interest smiled down at her, seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil and the presence of the mistletoe bough, for he continued to lead her on, straight out the back doorway, chatting easily about the park’s myriad attractions.
That gauntlet passed, Portia relaxed and made an actual effort to keep up with the conversation.
“Would you like to visit the Cascade, or the Labyrinth, or Merlin’s Swing first?” Lord Benberry asked solicitously. “Although, you must wind your way through the Labyrinth to get to Merlin’s Swing. So really there are only two choices for what to do first.”
“Which do you propose we should visit first, Lord Daventry? Lord Benberry and I are in a quandary about which would be the best plan.” She hadn’t meant to deflect the honor Lord Benberry had given her in asking for her opinion. However, she did wish to note Daventry’s reaction. From what she’d gleaned about “D,” he would choose the most adventurous path, and therefore the Labyrinth.
“I have yet another idea.” Lord Daventry grinned at all their startled faces. “Follow me, if you please. There actually is a third possible choice for an activity.” Tucking her aunt’s arm through his, Daventry walked briskly down the center path that seemed to bisect the entirety of the gardens.
“Have you any idea what your friend is up to, my lord?” Portia didn’t know what to think now. Something out of the ordinary would surely be the exact thing her “Devil” would propose.
“I am all astonishment. Daventry hasn’t let on anything to me about another entertainment here in the gardens.” He gripped her arm and her cheeks flushed at the intimate contact. “We shall have to discover it together when he decides to reveal it.”
As they neared the rear of the gardens, they slowed. High hedges running in a curve were interrupted at several places by what looked like… “Are those bridges?”
“Yes, they are.” Lord Benberry frowned. “That is the Kennet and Avon Canal.”
Whoops of laughter drifted up from beneath the bridges.
“Is this your entertainment, Daventry?” Lord Benberry frowned.
“Yes, it is.” Daventry led Aunt Phoebe out onto one of the bridges. “Come see if you approve.”
Exchanging a quizzical look with her escort, Portia nodded, and they ventured out onto the snow-swept iron bridge, where Portia gasped in delight.
Below them, droves of people had lashed on ice skates and were gliding gracefully across the solidly frozen waters. Several young boys were racing one another back and forth across the canal, a party of young ladies skated timidly near the shore, and everywhere, couples, old and young, were enjoying the day, with hands clasped, their breaths making little circles of fog around their heads.
Grinning like a fool, Portia giggled and turned to Lord Daventry. “I quite approve of your choice, my lord. I’ve loved to skate ever since I was a child.” Oh, yes. This gentleman could definitely be her Devil. She continued to smile as she looked at Lord Benberry, who hadn’t yet commented on the scene below. “Do you skate, Lord Benberry?”
His tense face relaxed, his lips curling into a smile. “I do indeed, Miss Willingham.” He cut his gaze toward his friend, a puckered cast to his lips. “But why did you not mention this to me, Daventry? I would’ve suggested bringing skates.”
Portia’s high spirits fell. What could’ve been a lovely afternoon of gliding on the ice, holding hands with either of these handsome gentlemen, had lost its luster. To be a mere spectator when one wanted to participate with all one’s heart—
“Two steps ahead of you, old chap.” Lord Daventry glanced about then hailed a tall, liveried footman who’d just appeared with a large cloth sack. “Voila, Miss Willingham.” He took the bag from the servant, reached inside, and pulled out a pair of skates. “You may skate to your heart’s content.”
Beaming at him, Portia clapped her hands. “Oh, thank you, my lord.”
“Benberry? Will you skate as well?” His friend pulled out another pair and offered them, his eyes twinkling in merriment.
“Thank you, Daventry.” Benberry’s lips turned up in a rueful smirk. “I believe I will keep Miss Willingham company on the ice if she so desires.”
“Oh, yes.” The breathy words slipped out before Portia could school herself. It would not do for Lord Benberry to know of her interest in him after so short an acquaintance. Especially since she was still so confused by D. He was the very devil, whether he was Lord Daventry or not.
“Will you skate with us as well, Mrs. Peterson?” Lord Daventry turned next to Portia’s chaperone.
Aunt Phoebe’s hands flew up. “Heavens no, my lord. I’ve not set foot in a skate since I was a girl.” She glanced at her niece. “I will leave this folderol to the young people and content myself with watching you from the bridge.”
“Then who will you skate with, my lord?” Portia asked Lord Daventry. Perhaps she should offer to skate with him instead, or propose they skate as a group.
“I believe my partner is now approaching.” Smiling widely, Lord Daventry nodded to Lady Sylvia Montgomery, attired in a very pretty pink gown and pelisse, who almost broke into a run crossing the bridge when she saw them.
“I say, I am here, Daventry, just on time.” Lady Sylvia bounded up to them, clutching her bonnet as though it might fly off her head.
Portia had met Lady Sylvia on Monday night and curtsied to her as she approached. “Good afternoon, Lady Sylvia.”
“Oh, good afternoon, Miss Willingham. I was so thrilled when Lord Daventry said you were to be part of the party. I am just now come to Bath and know very few people, so I’m glad I know you.” She clasped Portia’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m ever so keen to learn how to skate, so when Lord Daventry asked me to attend, I jolly well couldn’t refuse.”
The young lady’s exuberant personality made Portia smile. And she wasn’t the only one.
Lord Daventry’s face had lit up like a firework at Lady Sylvia’s approach. Now he held out another pair of skates. “I’m so pleased you could join us, Lady Sylvia.” His brows dipped as he looked past her. “Is your chaperone—”
“Oh, my mother was being ever so pokey, so I ran on ahead. There she is.” The lady inclined her head toward the older woman in a dark blue coat just now arriving at the foot of the bridge.
Lady Kenniston stopped to speak to Aunt Phoebe then called to her daughter. “Sylvia, you must allow me to keep up with you. You will come t
o mischief if you continue to outstrip me like this.”
“I have not come to mischief so far, Mamma,” Lady Sylvia called back then giggled. “Shall we put on our skates and begin the lesson, my—oh!” She noticed Lord Benberry for the very first time then looked inquiringly at Lord Daventry, who stepped forward quickly.
“Lady Sylvia Montgomery, may I introduce Lord Benberry to you? An excellent chap and friend. We made a Grand Tour together some years ago.”
“How do you do, my lady?” Benberry bowed elegantly, and Portia’s heart skipped a beat.
“I am very well, as you can see, my lord. And pleased to make the acquaintance of a friend of Lord Daventry’s.” She curtsied then beamed a smile at him that transformed her face from merely pretty into deep beauty. Creamy white skin, startlingly jet-black hair and brows, and perfectly bowed lips red enough to make cherries jealous.
Portia caught her breath. Did she have a serious rival here?
However, Lady Sylvia turned immediately to Lord Daventry and grasped his arm. “First you must show me how to put these odd-looking things on my feet.”
He laughed, led her to a bench, and began to instruct her.
“Do you also need assistance donning your skates, Miss Willingham?” Lord Benberry’s deep voice broke through her musings. “I will be more than happy to be at your service for this office.”
“Oh, no, my lord. I’m very familiar with the procedure.” Portia smiled at him then stopped. His eyes had turned that deeper shade of blue, almost black, as they always did when he looked at her for any length of time. Now he seemed to be breathing rather unsteadily. Had he wished to help her tie on her skates? It would entail him being very close to her…limbs.
A rush of heat to her cheeks, and Portia wished desperately for a fan. She quickly sat on a nearby bench and fitted her half boots into the tops of the sharp metal skates, tying the leather traces with unsteady hands.
Soon, they were all easing down the stone steps that led to the edge of the canal. Lord Benberry took her hand to help her onto the ice and immediately they were gliding away. Portia glanced back. Lord Daventry struggled to help Lady Sylvia take her first tentative strokes on the ice, while the lady laughed constantly, even when her feet flew from beneath her and she sat down hard in the middle of the canal.
With a smile of pure joy on her lips, Portia allowed the stresses of the past few days to fall away as she slid effortlessly over the ice, her hands clasped with Lord Benberry’s. They actually seemed to move together as one. Surely this must be how flying felt to a bird, free and easy, without fear of anything. Laughing as they made the turn on the far edge, she gazed up at Lord Benberry just as he looked down into her face.
The powerful spark that ignited between them made her catch her breath. Reflexively, she squeezed his hands; his return pressure startled a gasp from her. Her legs went still beneath her. Their fierce momentum sent them forward, though both had ceased to skate, their gazes riveted to one another’s faces, their hands loosely joined. In that moment of complete clarity, with the world silent around her as if it were the dead of night, all of Portia’s wavering thoughts about Lord Daventry disappeared. No matter if he were Devil or not, he was not the man for her. A place had opened in her heart that could be filled by no one save Lord Benberry.
A smile crept over his handsome face and he opened his mouth just as a shout shattered the quiet that had surrounded them.
“Look out!”
Something hurtled into Portia. Her feet tangled and she jerked her hands free, windmilling her arms in a desperate struggle to keep her balance. A war she fought and lost in the few seconds it took for her to crash onto the ice and into darkness.
CHAPTER 10
Horrified, Nick made a last-ditch effort to grab Miss Willingham’s hands, but she flailed them out of his reach as she pitched backward onto the ice. The shocking thud as her back hit the hard surface reverberated up his body. He dropped immediately beside her still form, fearing the worst—broken back, neck snapped, head shattered and bleeding. Peering into her face, he assessed the damage as best he could. No blood, thank God, but her arms lay still at her sides, and she had not moved at all. Her eyes were open wide, staring up at him and they were moving from side to side. He whooshed out the breath he’d been holding. “Miss Willingham. Are you all right?”
She made no reply, though her mouth was open in a large “O.”
“I say, Miss Willingham.” Blast it, but he wished he could use her first name. To hell with propriety. “Portia. Can you hear me? Can you speak to me?”
A slight rocking motion of her head and all of a sudden, she gasped in a huge breath of air. “Huuuh.”
Nick sighed in relief. “Are you hurting anywhere?”
She took another ragged breath and slowly sat up. “My back is afire.”
“I believe that is the icy cold and the shock of the impact.” He looked up at last, aware of the huddle of people around them. He’d been so focused on Portia he hadn’t realized a crowd had gathered around them.
“What happened?” Portia asked, blinking at the faces surrounding her.
“It was my fault entirely, Miss Willingham,” Lady Sylvia said, holding on to Lord Daventry as if for dear life. “My foot slipped and slid in front of you just as you skated in front of me. I am truly very sorry.”
“Are you sure you are all right, Miss Willingham?” Daventry’s face had a puckered look of concern. “Shall I have the surgeon fetched?”
“Portia!” Mrs. Peterson had apparently seen the accident from the bridge and run down the embankment to stand beside the frozen canal. “Are you all right?”
“I believe so, Aunt Phoebe.” Portia winced as she made to get up.
“Do not even think of standing,” Nick growled.
She turned her head to stare at him, eyes round and wide.
Deftly, he scooped her into his arms, marveling at the warm feel of her. Any chill he might’ve felt vanished into a roaring heat as she nestled against his chest. Damn, but he couldn’t just stand here like this, much as he wanted to. “Daventry, come here.” He skated to the edge of the canal. “We need to get Miss Willingham to her chair and home. She’s had a great shock and shouldn’t stay out in this frigid air.” Gingerly, he sat on the stone embankment. “Please unlace our skates. Then I can carry Miss Willingham more easily through the hotel.”
“You’re going to carry me through the hotel?” Portia raised her head, her voice scandalized.
“Going around it will take more time.”
“But everyone will see. I’ll be ruined.”
He peered down at her, completely charmed by her worried expression. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
She stared back at him then relaxed in his arms. “Um. No?”
“Definitely no.” His heart beat wildly. Had he just proposed to Portia? And had she accepted him? The world tilted madly for a moment and he tightened his grip on the young woman in his arms. “Daventry, for God’s sake, can’t you move any faster with those blasted laces?”
“Done, old chap. You’re free.” His friend grinned up at him. “Or perhaps caught?’
“Most likely the latter.” Nick returned the grin and carefully stood.
“As I will escort you and my niece through the hotel, Lord Benberry, I do not believe anyone will be ruined today.” Mrs. Peterson had appeared at his side, a determined look on her face.
Well, they would have to see about that. With a nod, Nick took off down the pathway, walking just fast enough to seem to be hurrying, and slowly enough to savor every moment of having Portia in his arms. It still wasn’t going to be long enough.
They entered the hotel and true enough, heads did turn to watch their progress. Tongues would wag, despite Mrs. Peterson’s presence. So much the better.
Portia had spoken not a word in quite a while. Had she actually sustained a hurt worse than they’d believed? But as he ducked to put her into the waiting chair, she murmured, “That was the l
oveliest stroll we’ve ever had, Lord Benberry.”
Grinning, he tucked a lap blanket around her, and said, “I agree. And at this juncture, I believe you can call me Nicholas. Or Nick, if you prefer.”
A pretty blush colored her cold cheeks. “Thank you. You may call me Portia.”
“We shall see about that.” Mrs. Peterson’s voice drifted through the open door.
“I shall be honored.” He took one last look at the lovely young woman he now knew he would marry then stood and shut the door. “Mrs. Peterson, please allow me to call upon you and Miss Willingham tomorrow to assure myself of her continued good health.”
“You may, my lord.” The good lady glared at him. “I believe there are matters to be discussed as well.”
“As do I. Until then, I am at your and Miss Willingham’s service.” He bowed and opened the door of Mrs. Peterson’s chair.
“I depend upon it, Lord Benberry.” The older woman gave him a wry smile then clambered in. He shut the door and she gave the order to go.
The chairs had just turned the corner when Daventry, Lady Sylvia, and Lady Kenniston caught up to him.
“I say, is Miss Willingham truly well, Benberry? I’m awfully sorry that she was hurt.” Daventry’s contrite tone gave credence to his concern.
“So am I, Lord Benberry. Dreadfully sorry that I was the cause.” The lilting sound of Lady Sylvia’s high, sweet voice joined his friend’s.
“I believe she will be fine.” He cut his eyes at Daventry, who hid a smirk. “I have been granted permission to call on her tomorrow to see how— Ah, drat it!” Nick swung away from the others, biting his tongue to conceal a curse. “I am an absolute imbecile.”
“What’s the matter, old chap?” Daventry came to his side.
“I cannot call on her tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have no earthly idea where she lives.” If Nick could’ve rapped himself between the eyes, he would have done so.
“That could indeed prove a handicap, Lord Benberry.” Lady Kenniston had come to their side. “Do you know anyone of their acquaintance? I’ve only just arrived in Bath, unfortunately, so I cannot assist you. Sylvia, do you know where Miss Willingham is situated?”
