A Touch of Passion: A Rouge Regency Romance: (Disgraced Lords #3)

by Bronwen Evans

  She looked down at herself still standing naked in the tub. What must he think of her? She’d just proved their previous conversation about how selfish she could be. Demanding what she wanted, to hell with what anyone else was feeling.

  Yet panic drove her actions. She didn’t want a marriage to Grayson to be a battleground. It wasn’t fair to either of them, and she knew that living with his disappointment would wear her down. However, she was not going to change for him. He had to learn to love her as she was.

  A single tear ran down her face. How did you make a man fall in love with you? Grayson did want her, she knew it. Both today and at the Cyprians’ Ball he’d stopped himself indulging. He’d held himself back from her, and she had no idea why. She wasn’t that awful a person. She had strong views, but she thought she was pretty easy to get along with. She tried to be kind, generous, and tolerant.

  She rubbed her chilled body vigorously. How was she going to face him, knowing what he thought of her? Where could she go to from here?

  Anger surged through her shivering body—anger at her own behavior, but more so at Grayson. She should have known that a man like Grayson would resolutely stick to his principles.

  He was not above proving a point, and his point was that he would expect her to conform. She thought about all she had achieved in her four and twenty years and what she still wanted to do. Her cider business had been her life for the past four years. If Grayson had his way, her chief role would be motherhood. While she wanted children, she also wanted to keep her business going. She’d go mad if the only place she could be was in the nursery.

  Stepping from the tub, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. No, no self-pity. Portia vowed she’d try to earn his respect and admiration while making him see that unlike her brother, Robert, he wasn’t dead.

  She’d behave like a proper lady if that’s what he wanted, but she would never give up her list of the things she wanted to experience. She hoped Grayson could learn that “proper” and “fun” were not necessarily mutually exclusive.

  Chapter 7

  The past two days had been infuriating. Women—no, scrub that. Portia Flagstaff was such an unpredictable, irrational, and highly annoying creature.

  Grayson did not for one minute believe Portia’s complete change in behavior was sincere. She was obviously up to something.

  Since her failed bathing tub seduction, which he replayed in his head every night, taking himself in hand to relieve the tension her seduction had inspired, she had been a model of demure respectability. For some reason this irked him.

  He hated to admit it to himself, but this quiet, docile version of Portia made him miss the outspoken, confident Portia. God damn it, he was bored. Bored of being on this ship and having nothing to do but lust after a woman who would soon become his wife.

  He suspected it wasn’t the done thing to lust after one’s wife, but Portia was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and since seeing the delights of her body, he wanted her intensely.

  However, the necessary special license would be required before he slept with her. He could hardly expect her to change her ways and abide by society’s rules if he ignored them when it suited his needs.

  He shook himself and walked another brisk lap around the deck. This feeling of unease was more likely because they were due to enter the Bay of Gibraltar tomorrow. It would be a prime place for an enemy to target them.

  Just then, the woman constantly on his mind appeared. He scented her crisp applelike fragrance before he heard her dainty footsteps behind him.

  “I noticed we were slowing.” She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. “Are we nearing Gibraltar?”

  “Yes. Seaton and I agreed to keep watch merely as a precaution.”

  She nodded. “You’re not worried about the sultan, so you must think our enemy could be trailing us. Has another ship been shadowing the Amelea?”

  He shrugged. “Honestly, it’s hard to know. The Bay of Gibraltar is a major shipping route.” He didn’t wish to worry her, but yes, a ship seemed to be tacking every time they changed course. He’d made Seaton tack a few times to see if his hunch was correct. The shadow ship even changed course when they headed to the eastern passage into the bay.

  “I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to go ashore when we dock. I don’t have enough men to guard you.”

  She merely nodded her agreement. “That is a shame. I feel as if I’ve been cooped up for weeks. However, I certainly do not wish to fall into our enemy’s hands once again.”

  Grayson noted that was the second time she’d said “our enemy.” “Portia, the enemy is mine, and mine alone. As soon as we return to England I don’t wish you to be involved any further.”

  “Don’t you think that will be slightly difficult given I’m to be your wife?”

  She had a valid point. His next words would be a test of how their marriage would progress. “If I ask you to stay out of this, to remain indoors or at least guarded, until I can ascertain the identity of the enemy, will you do that for me?”

  Only someone who knew Portia well would have noted the slight hesitation and the way she licked her lips—telltale signs of her mind frantically working. “I promise not to give you too many gray hairs.”

  “That’s not what I asked you. Gray hairs I can handle, you being in danger I cannot abide. Please give me your word you will not interfere. When we reach port, I shall send a message to my fellow Libertine Scholars on the first mail ship leaving for England. Hopefully we’ll know more when we stop in Calais. Seaton has merchandise to collect, or I’d have said no to another stop. I will have plenty of help when they answer my call, and therefore you do not need to put yourself in harm’s way.”

  That pouty bottom lip stuck out again, but she surprised him with a sigh of acquiescence. “I shall do as you say in this matter. However, if I feel I can help I will not be denied, but I’ll come to you first.”

  The tightness in his chest eased. “Thank you. I suggest you stay below when we are in port too. I don’t know to what lengths the enemy will go to in order to discredit me. Your death would be a very good start.”

  She shuddered slightly but nodded her agreement. “It’s quite a way to start a marriage, isn’t it? I thought life with you might be boring. You seem to want staid and dull as a wifely requirement.” She turned to face him. “However, I suspect you’d be bored to tears with a mousy wife.” She smiled at him slyly. “Why, I suspect you’re even missing my spontaneous side a little.”

  “I might be missing your banter, but I need to know you’re safe. That means you have to obey me. Philip and Robert entrusted your care to me. Don’t make me break that trust.”

  “Fair enough, but did you ever consider that I could help?”

  He frowned. “In what way?”

  “Well, I did see the men who kidnapped me. I could watch the dock, and if I see anyone I recognize, I could alert you.”

  Her suggestion made sense. At the moment he was blind to his enemy. “As long as you do so from the cover of the deck, with Seaton beside you.”

  “Agreed.”

  He nodded affirmation. “We should only be here for one day, just enough time to collect enough merchandise for Seaton to make his journey profitable and to take on fresh water, since your bathing seems to have run down our stocks. We’ll sail on the evening tide.”

  Portia spent most of the day doing what did not come naturally—waiting and following orders. She’d been pacing her cabin for what seemed like hours. Finally Seaton knocked on her door. “Lord Blackwood has gone ashore with Rush and some of his men. He will guard the gangplank but wants you to walk casually on deck and see if you can spy any familiar faces.”

  “Has someone been following us?”

  Seaton nodded. “His lordship believes so. However, I don’t believe the ship following us has been sent by the sultan. I’m sure it started trailing us nearer Gibraltar.”

  “Does Lord Blackw
ood think they are the same men who kidnapped me?”

  “Or men that work for whoever abducted you. When we reach the deck stay close to me. I don’t want anyone to have a clear shot at you.”

  She quickly grabbed a large bonnet and followed Seaton, stepping out of the companionway onto the deck near the ship’s stern. She stopped momentarily to straighten her bonnet and let her eyes adjust to the sun.

  After a glance around the immediate area, she tried to appear as if she were out for an afternoon constitutional. She strolled casually along the deck with Seaton shadowing her. She could clearly see the bustling dock below, and her eyes found Grayson’s fine figure with ease.

  A sense of panic had stayed with her all morning. It would not be long before they reached London, and she had yet to see Grayson soften his stance toward her. She’d done her best to behave with decorum and to portray the type of lady he thought he wanted, but for some reason he’d grown more distant.

  It was so frustrating. She knew he was physically attracted to her, but then, knowing his reputation, he was attracted to many of the ladies in the ton, specifically pretty widows. She’d tried to arouse his desire, and while she had achieved a reaction, he’d been quite capable of resisting. Perhaps she should appeal to him on an intellectual level. Not challenge him precisely, but prove to him that she could be a help to him, an asset when it comes to building a life together.

  “Stay close. The dock is teeming with people.”

  She pulled herself together. Her strategy for seducing Grayson could wait until they were safely out to sea once more. The sun was remorseless, or maybe it was the tension that was causing a fine sweat to coat her skin. The ship bumped gently against the dock as Portia continued to walk toward the prow.

  She moved closer to the side, ignoring Seaton’s muttered warning to stay back. She could hardly see from this high up as it was, and staying near the companionway allowed her no viewing platform at all.

  She’d just drawn level with the railing when she spied a man moving quickly and furtively along the dock, heading with determination toward Grayson. She caught the glint of sun hitting steel, and with a cry she tried to alert Grayson to the impending attempt on his life.

  Her scream worked, as Grayson spun around and caught the killer’s knife hand in his fist. She helplessly watched the struggle below, willing Grayson to survive. Seaton took off at a run, bellowing commands to his men, as more attackers weaved hurriedly in the crowd toward Grayson and the gangplank. To her relief she saw Grayson land one solid punch, sending his attacker over the side of the dock.

  He looked up at her and yelled something, waving his hands toward the companionway. She gritted her teeth, for she knew he wanted her to go below. Instead she pulled a small pistol out of her pocket and held it up to show him she was armed.

  His gesturing just got more frantic as he viewed her weapon, and she could make out the curses forming on his lips even if she couldn’t hear them.

  If anyone should worry about being in danger, it was Grayson and Seaton’s men down on the dock, bravely fighting off a group of men intent on gaining entry to the Amelea.

  She leaned over the railing, pointing her pistol, but she knew any shot would not reach the target from this height. Plus, she might inadvertently hit an innocent.

  She was so intent on the commotion below that she almost did not hear the footsteps behind her. At the last moment she saw shadowy arms reaching for her, and she ducked and fled, running as fast as she could toward the gangplank. To her horror she heard more than one set of footsteps pursuing her.

  Glancing down, she saw that Grayson already had too many to fight off. She couldn’t draw more of them to him. So she suddenly darted right and made for the stern, steering them away from the fight below. She had no idea what she was doing, but there was no way Grayson could handle more attackers.

  Her purser lunged, grabbing at her bonnet. She jerked the tie and let it fall, and fled on.

  It didn’t take long before she rounded a corner, spied the heavy anchor chain, and realized that she was cornered. She stood breathing heavily for a moment before turning to finally face her pursuers.

  Thank goodness there were only two. However, they were two too many. She had only one shot in her pistol.

  Portia raised her gun, pleased at how steady her hand was. “Gentlemen, we all know I have only one shot, but whom shall I kill? Is one of you ready to die just to capture me?”

  The larger man smiled, showing his missing teeth. He too raised a pistol. “Who said we were capturing you? You dead still sees us get a large reward.”

  Perhaps her hand twitched a little, but she again leveled the pistol. With a shrug she said, “I still have time to shoot, even if you shoot me.” She moved the muzzle toward the second man. “You, I think.”

  The second man turned to his partner in crime. “I don’t want to be shot. That wasn’t in the deal. I can’t spend the money if I’m dead.”

  “She’s a woman. She probably don’t even know how to shoot.”

  She gave as evil a chuckle as she could muster given her situation. “I have five brothers. They made sure I knew how to shoot, and very well.” She cocked the pistol. “Are you willing to risk it?”

  One of her attackers began to back away. However, the second man stood firm, keeping his gun trained on her.

  “Given that you have to be dead before you reach England, and the ship will probably not dock again before Deal, this here’s my only chance at earning the reward.”

  Portia said a silent prayer as she watched his finger tighten on the trigger. Her heart was in her throat and she didn’t stop to think—she just fired her pistol at the man, then dove sideways.

  She heard the man fire, but the pain in her rib cage from landing on the large anchor chain lanced through her body making it impossible to ascertain if she’d been hit. She glanced through a sheen of pain-induced tears and saw her attacker crumple to the deck. She briefly closed her eyes, only to sense the second man’s approach.

  He stood over her, his face hidden by the glare of the sun. “I should thank you. More money for me with Fred gone.” Portia heard him cock the gun he held in his hand. How odd, she realized, that she was not afraid. All she felt was overwhelming sadness at her rapidly approaching death. It was ironic, she thought, that she was so close to realizing her dream of being with Grayson, only to be killed because of him.

  The thought flashed through her head that Grayson would never forgive himself. He’d feel responsible for her death, and that gut-wrenching realization spurred her anger. Grayson had lost too many people, and she would not be next.

  On instinct, Portia screamed a curse and threw her now useless pistol at the man as hard as she could, bracing herself for the shot to come. The sound of the pistol firing seemed as loud as a cannon’s boom, but in amazement she saw her pistol hit his hand and the shot go wide.

  Grayson didn’t leave his post guarding the bottom of the gangplank until the last body of the attackers splashed into the water. His sword dripped with blood and the pistols lying at his feet were now empty of shot. They had used everything they had to fight off the attackers. They had lost only one man in the skirmish, and only two had sword wounds.

  Seaton and his men quickly dispensed with all the dead bodies over the side of the ship, but they had no idea if another wave of attackers would be coming anytime soon. They kept one man alive, the man Grayson had knocked out cold, for Grayson was determined to question him before they left port.

  Ensuring that Rush stayed on guard on the dock with some men, Grayson and Seaton reboarded the Amelea.

  When they reached the deck, the first thing they noticed was wet footprints drying in the sun.

  His heart stopped for a moment before beginning to pound. “Where did you leave Portia?”

  Seaton’s gaze swept the deck. “By the railing, over there.”

  Grayson took off at a run, following the footprints rapidly drying on the deck. He’d forgotte
n to leave men on deck, thinking no one could get on the ship as they guarded the dock. Their enemy was clever, however. They must have swum and climbed up the seaward side.

  A scream rent the afternoon’s humid air. He raced toward the stern, his stomach clenched. No, she cannot be dead, she cannot …

  He rounded the wheelhouse to see a man dead on the deck and another leaning over her prone figure, his hands around her neck, strangling the life from her. He could see the light in her eyes dimming.

  Anger surged and took over. He raced over, picking up a belaying pin, and with clammy fear driving his actions struck the man on the side of the head, laying him out cold. He’d rather have killed the bastard, except they needed him alive to question.

  Portia immediately fell back onto the coiled anchor chain with a grimace of pain, trying desperately to get air into her lungs. The pain etching her face told Grayson that it hurt her to breathe.

  Grayson was trying to catch his breath too. The sight of her being strangled nearly to death would haunt him the rest of his days.

  He crouched down next to her and tried to help her sit up, but she cried out as he steadied her. “I think I cracked a couple of ribs,” she gasped, “as I dived out of the way of the pistol shot.”

  He swallowed his fear. She’d been shot at. He could have lost her. A shudder racked his body, and he realized keeping her at arm’s length did not stop him from caring about her, worrying about her, wanting her. “Did the bullet hit you? Where are you hurt?”

  She shook her head as she rubbed the skin around her neck while whispering, “I managed to shoot the first man before he could shoot me, then I had to throw my pistol at this man”—Portia indicated the unconscious man at their feet—“and luckily his shot flew wide.” She tried to stand but sat back down with a plop. “I’m pleased you arrived when you did. I don’t think I could have lasted much longer,” she croaked out through her damaged throat.