The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,20
“Your Gr—”
The footman cleared his throat. “My name is Colin.”
The other man stared in obvious befuddlement, considering the speed which his lower lip fell and his eyes widened.
“Niles,” Colin interrupted and pointed at Jonesie. “Perhaps you would like to show this young lady the deck?”
Niles’s cheeks pinkened. “I’m sure she’s already seen it.”
“Niles...” The footman’s voice was stern, and Niles’s cheeks rosied.
He approached Jonesie haltingly. “Would you care to walk around the deck?”
“I couldn’t leave my mistress,” Jonesie said.
“I promise not to toss her in the ocean,” Colin said.
Jonesie’s blue eyes rounded.
“It’s fine,” Portia said. “I know him.”
“You know...a footman?” Jonesie blinked.
“No, she doesn’t,” Niles said.
Colin shot his companion a disgruntled look, and Niles and Jonesie hastily strolled about the deck.
“What are you doing here?” Colin asked.
“Oh, just holidaying,” Portia said brightly.
“With your lady’s maid.”
“Yes.” She frowned and glanced toward the door to the hull. “Mrs. Jones.”
“Ah. That’s disappointing.”
She turned to him. “You find the surname common?”
“I think my—er—friend will find the salutation disappointing.”
She blinked.
Colin leaned toward her. “He was rather hoping she was not married.”
Portia smiled. “All lady’s maids are given that salutation. It lends an air of respectability.”
Colin grinned. “So Mrs. Jones is only pretending to be respectable?”
Portia stiffened. “I didn’t say that. Of course, she’s respectable.” She frowned. “And as a footman, I would have thought you would know that.”
“Er—right.” Colin’s face sobered. “I suppose Lady Amberley’s lady’s maid actually is married.”
Portia blinked. “How curious.”
Colin cleared his throat, as if the sound might succeed in distracting her. “I’m more interested in learning your name.”
“It’s Portia.” She halted. Perhaps telling him her surname was unnecessary. One wouldn’t want any gossip to happen.
He smiled. “Portia is a beautiful name.”
She swallowed hard and glanced toward the door leading to the hull.
Colin craned his neck behind him. “I wonder whether I should feel insulted that you keep on glancing at the door. You’re not even more distracted by a more handsome man. Just...air.”
“I don’t think there are more handsome men.” Portia closed her mouth quickly.
Colin’s eyes sparkled. “Is that so?”
The man smirked. Thin lips curled in an almost appealing manner.
Portia despised him. Handsome men were always giving knowing smiles, as if basking in the sheer symmetry of their faces.
“If you must know, I’m waiting for someone,” Portia said stiffly.
“Who?”
Tension shot through her. She couldn’t let him know she was traveling alone.
“That is none of your affair.” She turned back toward the view. They’d left the Thames, and the ship tilted and swerved more, gliding uneasily through the increasingly rocky waves.
“Your guardian?” he asked.
She shook her head, and happiness moved through her. “My fiancé. Anyway, you shouldn’t speak with me.”
Colin wrinkled his brow. “That is not something I often hear.”
“Truly?” Surprise shot through her. “I didn’t realize Sir Seymour’s managerial style was so lenient. I always imagined he would enjoy intimidating servants.”
A ruddy color descended upon Colin’s cheeks.
Perhaps the man didn’t like to be reminded he was only a footman. But being a footman for a baron in a townhouse in London was not exactly a low position. After all, he was going on a holiday. That was not something most servants did. No doubt, Colin had ambitions of his own. Perhaps he aspired to be a butler one day. Perhaps reminding him of an employer who could not be termed precisely good-natured was not appealing to him on his holiday.
“I’m sorry,” Portia said. “I shouldn’t speak about your work. You’re on holiday. I’m certain that’s the last thing you desire to do. I only meant your presence might be difficult to explain.”
“Not because I’m an—er—footman?”
“Because you’re a man. Some men might find you intimidating.”
His eyes shimmered again, and he chuckled. “But you wouldn’t?”
“I might, but I don’t want you to give me the chance to do so.”
“No?”
“No.” Portia turned to the door again. Where was Mr. Andrews? She sighed. “Perhaps he’s already seen you.”
“Can’t be much of a man if he would be intimidated by me,” Colin said.
She smiled. “Then you find yourself not very intimidating?”
Colin furrowed his brow, but the sudden lines on his forehead did not make him appear less handsome than before.
She shrugged. If one were going to converse with a strange man, one might as well converse with a handsome one.
But then he’s not that strange.
Memories of the other night accosted her. He’d been oddly sweet, even though she was certain she’d been distracting him from his desk polishing duties.
She sighed. She should be thinking of Rupert Andrews, and the wonderful life sans guardian she would soon