The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,21
have.
The sailor approached Colin. “Mr. Andrews, the captain would like to invite you to sit with him at dinner.”
“Ah, I’d be honored,” Colin said.
“Mr. Andrews?” Portia stared at Colin. “That is a coincidence. I’m waiting for a Mr. Andrews.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he didn’t smile and he certainly didn’t laugh, even though he’d been smiling and laughing before. Portia would have thought he would find the coincidence amusing. Andrews might be a common surname, but this ship was hardly large.
“Mr. Rupert Andrews?” Colin’s eyes widened, and his previously ready smile vanished.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A DULL FEELING SPREAD through Colin’s stomach as he stared at the young lady from Sir Seymour’s library. “You were expecting Mr. Rupert Andrews?”
She nodded rapidly. “Do you know him?” Luscious lips curved into a wide smile, and she giggled. “What am I saying? You must have seen him at Sir Seymour’s.”
“I’m more interested what his connection is with you,” Colin said, though he had a horrible feeling he already knew.
“He’s my betrothed.” Portia’s violet eyes danced, and she leaned toward him in a conspiratorial manner. “We’re eloping.”
Colin’s throat closed in. “Indeed?”
“After all, Guernsey has the same lax requirements as Gretna Green. Besides, the weather is nicer.”
“There are many muddy roads between London and Scotland,” Colin said faintly.
“Precisely.”
Colin exhaled. He needed to tell her that he’d ruined her plan. “Perhaps you would like to sit.”
Portia raised her eyebrows. “I’m quite happy standing. I just want you to leave so Mr. Andrews is not confused by your presence. I don’t normally speak with strange men. In fact, you’re the only strange man I’ve ever spoken to.”
Colin’s lower lip fell down, as if she’d confessed an urge to murder him.
She sighed. “That was supposed to be a compliment.”
Colin continued to stare at her, and his mouth opened and shut in a manner reminiscent of fish. Perhaps he’d simply acclimated to being at sea. Finally, he inhaled. “I’m afraid Mr. Andrews won’t have a chance to be bewildered by my presence.”
Portia stared at him.
Dash it. She didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t understand—there was no reason for her to think he’d stolen the place of her betrothed.
He could continue to muse about the coincidence of the fact that the sailor referred to him as Mr. Andrews and that her betrothed was also referred to as Mr. Andrews. She could continue to direct her attention to the door, and when he saw her looking unhappy later on this trip, by which time she would have resigned herself that her betrothed was not here, he could avoid her.
Still, that would not be right.
“I took his ticket,” Colin confessed. “Therefore he’s not on the ship, therefore he can’t be disturbed by my presence.”
Portia blinked, then shrank back. The movement caused Colin’s heart to ache, as if she were tearing it from its comfortable setting within his ribs.
Then a smile spread over her face. “No, no. You’ve made a mistake. I know he’s on the ship. I asked the porter. He told me he was the last to board.” Portia returned her gaze toward the door. “He probably is just getting settled.”
“He’s not on this ship,” Colin said gently. “I told the sailor my name was Mr. Andrews. I took his spot. I-I saw him after we were on the gangway. He was running toward the ship, but—”
“He didn’t make it.” Portia averted her eyes, but not before he noticed the pained expression on her face. “So if you hadn’t come, I would be standing with him, not you.”
Colin drew back. “Something like that.”
“You ruined things,” she said softly.
“Yes.”
“Just because you wanted so desperately to get to Guernsey.” Portia’s voice wobbled. “I hope you enjoy your holiday.”
Colin didn’t think this was the time to tell her he hadn’t even desired to go to Guernsey, and that if his coach driver had parked somewhere else, he would be headed for another location. Ensuring Sandridge’s father-in-law’s happiness might be a worthy goal, but Portia would most likely be less enthusiastic that it had come at the expense of her own.
“I’m sorry,” Colin said.
“I’m sorrier.” Her voice trembled, and she looked away. “Go.”
Colin removed a handkerchief and gave it to her. “I can’t leave you like this.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. But you also shouldn’t have taken Mr. Andrew’s place on this ship!”
Colin looked around. “I’ll—er—see if I can find you another handkerchief.”
“I don’t need a handkerchief. I need a husband.”
“You can marry Mr. Andrews when you return.”
“There won’t be time. I need a husband before Christmas, and the banns