The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,23

her violet eyes. He could spend the rest of his life with her. “I’m honored you asked me, and I’m happy to accept.”

“Splendid.” Portia’s voice wobbled somewhat, and Colin smiled. He felt unsteady himself. It was gratifying the process hadn’t been entirely simple for her.

She smiled

He smiled back.

An odd urge to sweep her in his arms overcame him. Wasn’t that what most men would do after they became newly betrothed? But this wouldn’t be that kind of betrothal, and they wouldn’t have that kind of marriage.

Heirs.

Matrimony often resulted in children, and most peers expressed an eagerness to procure heirs. Well, he didn’t require an heir, even if having children wouldn’t be entirely intolerable. Still, he had younger brothers. Moreover, his younger brothers had already produced half a dozen potential Dukes of Brightling, and he suspected they would continue to have more children, given the enthusiasm with which they complimented their wives.

Blast.

He needed to tell her he was a duke. That was something a wife was bound to learn soon, and it was all he could do to keep Niles from saying ‘Your Grace’ before her.

“There’s something you need to know,” Colin said.

“Very well.”

Colin raked his hand through his hair. “It’s—er—hard to tell you.”

She glanced at the horizon. “We have time.”

“Yes, of course.” He followed her gaze. Gray, foamy waves met an equally gray sky. No land interrupted the bare landscape. Guernsey remained far away. He inhaled. “The thing is, I’m not who I said I was.”

She tilted her head. “You’re not a footman?”

“No,” he admitted, conscious the back of his neck was growing curiously warm, despite the steady spray of salty water the waves insisted upon sharing.

“But you were in Sir Seymour’s room,” she said. “You were polishing his table.”

“I was pretending to polish his table when you were looking in my direction.”

“But you did such a good job! You even paid attention to the drawers—” She halted and stared at him. “You’re a thief.”

He scrunched his lips together. No one besides Sir Seymour had called him that. Still, she had a point. “Well, technically.”

“Heavens, I’m betrothed to a thief!” Portia buried her face in her hands.

A worried look appeared on the faces of Niles and Portia’s maid.

“This is horrible,” Portia wailed. She lifted her head. “But you were in livery.”

Colin’s shoulders descended downward. “I—er—stole that too.”

Blast it, he really had behaved terribly.

Portia’s violet eyes rounded, and her long dark lashes fluttered in obvious confusion.

“But I put it back,” he added hastily. “That was more of a borrow situation.”

“I-I see,” Portia stammered, though it was obvious she didn’t see.

“I haven’t told you everything.”

“You mean there’s more?” Her eyes widened in obvious horror, and she buried her face in her hands again. This time she did not withdraw her face, and Colin’s heart ached.

“It’s really not such bad news,” he said. “In fact, quite a few women might term it good news.”

“Because you’re good at stealing?” Portia sniffed and collapsed onto the bench. “Is that what paid for this fare? I suppose those women live in brothels in the East End.”

Portia’s maid hurried toward them, gamely sprinting over the ever-tilting deck of the ship, and unperturbed by the ever-greater waves. Niles followed swiftly behind.

“Is something wrong?” Niles asked tentatively.

Portia’s lady maid gave Niles a grateful smile, and it occurred to Colin that Niles had succeeded in winning her attention. Somehow, Colin had assumed he’d be more successful with women.

He looked at Portia. Her shoulders shook, as if she were crying. He doubted this counted as swooping a woman off her feet, even if she no longer stood.

Colin swallowed hard and forced a smile on his face. “We just became engaged.”

“Heavens!” Portia’s lady’s maid widened her blue eyes and clutched her hand to her heart.

“Meet my betrothed,” Colin continued. “Portia, this is my valet, Niles.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.” Niles turned to Colin. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”

Portia jerked her head toward Niles.

Niles stared at Portia.

Portia’s maid stared at Portia.

And Portia’s head moved from Colin to Niles. Portia eyed him suspiciously, and her forehead did that adorable scrunching business again. Blast. He shouldn’t focus on her forehead. It was most distracting, and Colin had the definite sense that foreheads weren’t supposed to be distracting.

“Did you say Your Grace?” she asked Niles. “Forgive me. That’s a silly question. I—er—must have misheard you.”

“You didn’t,” Colin said. “Niles’s enunciation is excellent. It’s one of his strengths.”

“I have many strengths,” Niles explained with a smile.

“Indeed, he does.”

“My top strength, actually, is cravat tying. If you would like to