A Touch of Passion_A Rouge Regency Romance

by Bronwen Evans

  Captain Foyle translated. “They want to know where you have come from and why you are wet.”

  “Tell them I dunked myself in one of the barrels behind the stable.” He sat tensely on his horse as Captain Foyle relayed his words.

  The guards talked among themselves for a few moments, glancing back at the men suspiciously, but then gave them a nod and went on their way. Grayson watched until they reached the end of the lane and turned the corner of the palace’s wall. Only then did he call up to Philip and Portia.

  “Captain Foyle, we are going to need some of that rope to get Portia down.”

  Before he had even finished speaking, he looked up to see Portia already through the grate and carefully picking her way down the wall as if she were a little monkey. Her shift was still wet and it clung to her, giving everybody in the street below a clear view of the beauty that lay beneath the cloth. The men with him did not avert their eyes, and Grayson couldn’t believe the surge of anger and possessiveness that flooded his veins. “Eyes downward,” he called sternly.

  He was off his horse in one swift jump, grabbing a blanket as he went, and as soon as she reached the ground he wrapped the blanket around her, covering her from all the male eyes still fixed on her.

  Unfortunately, just as Philip was starting down the wall the palace guards came back around the corner. Upon seeing Portia, they gave a massive shout and started charging toward the group.

  Captain Foyle and his men wheeled their horses around and moved in front of Grayson and Portia to protect them. Grayson ran for his horse and pulled Portia up into his arms, settling her in front of him. To Philip he yelled, “I’m going to go for the boat. If you don’t make it there within the hour, we must set sail without you. I can’t afford to leave her in Alexandria a moment longer than that—the sultan will surely come after us.”

  “Of course. Don’t worry about me—I’ll be right behind you.” Just as he uttered those words he slipped from near the top of the grate and crashed to the ground with a scream of pain.

  “Christ, I think I’ve broken my leg,” Philip cried in agony. “You are going to have to take her back to England by yourself—I would just slow you down. I’ll make sure the consulate looks after me. Just get Portia out of here. Promise me!”

  Grayson simply waved his hand and took off, counting on the armed British men to screen them from the view of the palace guards. As he turned into the bazaar, out of the corner of his eye he saw even more guards pouring out from the palace gates, and he prayed Philip and the other men would get away.

  He could hear Portia gently crying into his shirt. “This is all my fault. All my fault. I should never have gone to meet you that night.”

  Grayson was too busy concentrating on weaving his way through the crowds to reply. Still, he couldn’t begin to understand why she had been so naive as to think he’d send such a note to her, requesting a meeting in Vauxhall Gardens, of all places. She was wild and headstrong to a fault, and therein lay the danger. Portia was not for him. Would never be for him.

  Except now she was his.

  Grayson guided the stallion through the masses of people crowding the docks. The sun was a glowing fireball hanging over the sea. The low angle of the light glancing off the waves made recognizing the sails of the boat they had hired difficult. Grayson just hoped that he had lost anyone who might have been following them.

  Portia hadn’t said another word the whole trip. He reined the horse to a stop down the dock from where the boat was tied up. He slid off the stallion, then reached up and carefully pulled Portia into his arms. With the blanket still wrapped tightly around her, he tried to cover her head so that no one would be able to see who she was. However, strands of her red hair lifted in the breeze, and he noted the inquisitive and interested looks from the men around him.

  He glanced at one of the fishermen and with gestures offered him the horse, as he had no use for it now. The fisherman clearly couldn’t believe his luck. Leaving the horse with the man, Grayson weaved his way down the dock and pretended to go inside one of the taverns, when in fact he simply doubled back and made his way carefully to the vessel.

  At this hour, everyone on the docks was striding purposefully, all the vessels keen to make the evening tide, so not many people paid attention to one man carrying a bundle. What might have alerted a shrewd observer was the way he constantly scanned the crowd. He had to make sure that none of the sultan’s men saw them board the vessel.

  He kept trying to remind himself that the woman in his arms was like his little sister, but his mind had other ideas. Grayson could feel her soft curves, and her plump breast was tantalizingly close to one hand. He could smell her delectable scent and see into her eyes. He couldn’t forget that he was going to be alone on the Amelea for several days with her. He couldn’t ignore his awareness of her, of her body, slender, warm, and femininely curved, curled up against his chest. And he couldn’t lie to himself—he had always wanted to hold her this close. At least his body did. When he had seen all the men’s eyes follow her down that wall this afternoon, something buried deep within him had surged to the surface and growled, Mine.

  He gritted his teeth and shook his head in a vain effort to dispel the attraction he was feeling. She noticed and said, “Is something wrong? Are you feeling dizzy? I’m not too heavy for you, am I?”

  He couldn’t look into her eyes. Instead he pointed to the large cutter in front of them. “I just want to make sure that no one is following us before we board.”

  She nodded crisply and glanced at the ship in front of them.

  He carefully made his way up the gangway and nodded at the captain. “We need to leave as soon as possible, before anyone following finds us.”

  The captain, Seaton, nodded benignly, and shouts started up the length of the vessel. Ropes were cast off, and within minutes they were preparing to leave.

  Suddenly a man named Rush, Seaton’s second in command, yelled that men on horseback were galloping down the dock.

  The captain ordered the vessel to get under way immediately, and the cutter moved slowly out of its berth, turning on the increasingly fast-rushing tide. The Amelea was equipped with four headsails and was quite fast in both calm and heavy seas. The harbor was congested, and the throng of vessels gave them extra cover. With so many vessels leaving port this evening, it would be difficult for the sultan’s men to apprehend them.

  Grayson couldn’t be sure that some beady eyes hadn’t figured out who he was and what he carried. He made his way belowdecks, carrying Portia toward the two cabins that had been reserved, one for her and one for Philip and himself. He prayed Philip had made it back to the consulate and that he was being looked after.

  Finally he felt the ship shuddering beneath him as it began to pick up speed, swinging out of the harbor and catching the ocean swell. They would not stop again until Gibraltar.

  “We’re moving.” Portia began to struggle in her arms. “Where’s Philip? We can’t leave him behind. He only came because of me! Please, Grayson.”

  He gently lowered Portia onto the bed as she looked up at him, her eyes full of tears.

  “The consulate guards will help him. I’m sure he will be all right.”

  “But I thought I heard him say he had broken his leg. What will happen to him if the sultan’s men capture him?”

  Grayson didn’t really know what to say. She read his silence correctly.

  “The sultan will kill him, won’t he?” Portia promptly burst into tears.

  He sat down on the bunk next to her and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m sure Philip and the men got away, I saw one of the guards reach him and pull him across the pommel of his horse. Besides, the British consulate would protest most strongly if the sultan tried to do anything to an earl, let alone a decorated war hero like your brother.”

  “I need to know he’s safe.”

  “We won’t know that until we reach England. Try to get some sleep, Portia. I doubt
the sultan will bother chasing after you, given the way the British consulate would react to his treatment of a woman kidnapped from English shores.” Grayson rose and moved toward the door of the cabin. “Philip had your mother pack you some clothes. They should all be in the trunk. I’m sorry we didn’t hang up any of the gowns for you.”

  “What a pickle I’ve caused,” Portia said. “But may I ask another favor? I haven’t eaten for a few days. Do you think I could have dinner brought to the cabin? I don’t feel up to facing anyone.”

  “I’m sure I can organize that with the cook.” Grayson hesitated at the door. “We need to talk tomorrow morning, and it will be better if we talk once we both have had a good night’s sleep. There are circumstances that need to be faced.”

  Portia simply nodded in agreement. “I’m really sorry to have been such a bother.”

  “What are you sorry for?” Grayson said. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Then whose fault is it?”

  “That’s what I would like to discuss tomorrow morning. Get some sleep.”

  Before he could close the door she said, “Thank you. Thank you for coming for me. I won’t ever forget it.”

  Grayson shut the door quietly and leaned his forehead against the wood, cursing how the day had ended. Yes, she was safe, but at what cost?

  He wanted to hit something. The fact that the two of them would be traveling home on the ship without Philip, combined with the fact that she had been held in an Arab harem, meant that her reputation would be in tatters. And it also meant that the course of his life must change, since the only option for an honorable man would be to marry her.

  His pulse quickened, and he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear. A part of him dimly recognized that the fear was because he wasn’t as upset as he should be at having to marry her. But he quickly shifted his focus to his anger, almost welcoming it. Philip’s broken leg had killed his dream. Gone was his ideal of entering a marriage with a demure and socially acceptable woman. His honor required him to marry Portia.

  As he walked toward the companionway heading to the galley to ascertain what was for dinner, and to order a tray for Portia, he flexed his fists at his sides, trying to will out of his mind the absurd notion of what Portia would be like in his bed: adventurous and filled with passion for life. He expected her enthusiasm for making love to be no different from the rest of her life—fiery and hungry.

  He swore beneath his breath, then forced his feet to move down the corridor. There was something between them, certainly, but he’d be a fool to think his life with Portia would be smooth sailing just because they might be suited in bed.

  The image of his parents’ marriage flickered in his memory. So long ago now, but he remembered the house running smoothly, his father and mother politely conversing, and his sister and him being happy. That was what he thought a marriage should be—companionship, respect, and loyalty. However, his six years in the Flagstaff household had shown him a different family life, one that was loud, messy, and filled with openly shared emotions. Lord Cumberland, Portia’s father, had loved her mother with a passion most men kept for their mistresses. Upon the earl’s death the dowager countess seemed to shrivel before his eyes. He knew firsthand what loss could do to a person. After the tragic carriage accident that cost his parents and his little sister their lives, he had decided never to let anyone get too close. Love was fine … until the pain of loss made it unbearable.

  Every time he’d broken his rule and let someone into his heart, that person had left him. He’d lost Lord Cumberland, a man he loved as much if not more than his own father. He’d lost Robert, a man he considered his brother, and he’d almost lost Christian. He couldn’t risk his heart again.

  When he was younger he’d often wondered which marriage he would want, his parents’ mature agreement, or the Flagstaffs’ love-filled match. The war had crystallized his thoughts—he wanted a marriage like his parents had. The idea of losing a woman he loved, whether to sickness, childbirth, or simply another terrible accident, made his innards clench.

  So he needed to rein in his intense reactions to Portia. He couldn’t afford to love another Flagstaff, or anyone else.

  Chapter 5

  Dawn broke in a pearly golden wash that spread like a gilded leaf across the waves. Stepping out of the narrow corridor, up the companionway, and onto the deck, Grayson drew the salt air in deep, then slowly exhaled. He had managed to get only a few hours’ sleep last night, with the consequences of Portia’s capture and rescue continually running through his mind.

  Grayson settled against the railing, his thoughts were in turmoil. He knew what he was going to have to do, and it annoyed him how pleased his body was even as his mind told him it was a big mistake. He thought about the little sister he had lost years ago, and knew that if anything similar had happened to her, he would have wanted whoever rescued her to step forward and save her reputation.

  He heard a footfall—her delicate footfall—and he turned to face his future. And as she rounded the mast in a gown of pretty lilac cotton that fluttered in the breeze, he thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. His body surged with anticipation, knowing she would soon be his.

  Did Portia understand her situation? He suspected she might, but he knew she would not acquiesce easily. Portia believed herself to be a modern woman, and she would not take kindly to being told she had to conform to society’s expectations. However, his honor was at stake too.

  Seeing him, she smiled and walked toward him.

  Struggling to keep an answering smile from his face, for fear of what it might reveal, he managed to replace it with a stern scowl.

  She tilted her head and studied him for a moment. Then she turned to look out across the waves. “It’s very beautiful sailing on a calm sea, isn’t it?” At his nod she continued. “I never saw anything of my trip to Alexandria, for they kept me locked in a cabin.”

  His heart missed a beat, but he voiced his concern. “Did they hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I know what you are asking me. No one hurt me at all. Not on the ship and not in the sultan’s palace. I think they were too scared, as they knew I had been purchased for the sultan himself.”

  She settled against the railing beside him. The warm softness of her body called to his, a siren song weakening his defenses. He told himself he should put some distance between them. They really did have a lot to discuss, and having emotions involved would not help.

  “Did you manage to get some sleep?”

  “A little,” she said with a nod, still gazing at the ocean. “I’d sleep better if I knew Philip was safe.”

  “We’re unlikely to hear anything until we reach England.”

  She let out a sigh. “I don’t understand why this happened.” She finally turned her too-knowing hazel eyes on him. “It has something to do with you.”

  He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Why do you say that?”

  She looked away again, a blush racing over her cheeks. “They lured me in your name. Why not one of my brothers’ names, or simply kidnap me? Using your name made it personal.”

  Her accusation was astute, and he did not miss the implication of her words. She’d been happy to meet him at midnight in Vauxhall Gardens—totally inappropriate, but something Portia would do, throwing caution to the wind. “I suspect it does center on me,” he told her, “but I have no idea why. I’m sorry you have been caught up in this sinister game.”

  “Game?”

  “I have been investigating an incident regarding Lord Markham. He has been accused of a crime I know he did not commit. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to ensure that the evidence points in his direction. Again, I have no idea why.”

  “You think my abduction is connected?”

  “I hope not, but I wonder if I’m getting too close to whoever implicated Christian and this is their way of discrediting and distracting me.”

  “You think t
heir plan was to kidnap and sell me, and blame it on you?”

  “Or worse. They could have made it look as if your disappearance was because I’d killed you.” He leaned forward on the rail and hung his head. “It’s only a theory. I cannot think of any other reason why they would use my name. However, what worries me more is that this faceless enemy seems to be aware of my personal relationships. How else would they know to use you, or that you would agree to meet me?”

  “It’s only because of what you said when we last met that I stupidly answered your missive and went to Vauxhall Gardens.”

  He kept his face neutral, refusing to rise to the bait, though he understood which conversation she was referring to. When he turned to look at her, Portia’s face was aflame with color. “I cannot remember saying anything to you that would make you forget propriety and meet me at midnight in the pleasure gardens,” he lied. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think if you believe I would have asked a respectable young lady to a midnight assignation.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “I’m hardly a young lady, and I’m old enough to know my mind. If I were to take a first lover, I could do no better than the infamous rake Grayson Devlin, Lord Blackwood.”

  “You think I would take you as a lover and walk away? You really don’t know me!” He began pacing the deck, his face a mask of anger. “What on earth gave you the idea I’d agree to be your lover?”

  “Nothing. I simply hoped I could persuade you.”

  That stopped him dead in his tracks. “God almighty, you’re like family to me. I would never compromise you—or any virginal young lady, if it came to it.”

  Her gaze traveled to his handsome profile, his look proud, arrogant, and confused. “Don’t get all huffy. You wouldn’t have compromised me. I would have freely given myself to you. I’m four and twenty, a virgin boarding on spinsterhood. It seems that marriage is not in the cards for me. Why should I not discover passion, desire, and making love, like any man?”

  “Because you are not a man. I’m sick of having the same conversation with you over and over. Whether it’s right or wrong, this is a man’s world, and you have to live in it. You must follow the rules, as I do. There are consequences to actions, and the situation we find ourselves in now demands a certain outcome that neither of us desires.”