see him in a mathematical tie—”
“Wait.” Portia blinked. “You’re his valet?”
“Indeed.”
Portia’s maid turned to Niles. “You’re the valet for a duke?”
Niles beamed. “I am.”
Portia’s maid stared at his hands. “You must be very nimble.”
“I am,” Niles said, and there was an odd moment of tension between them, as if Portia’s lady’s maid were imagining all the things his fingers might do.
“You said the word duke.” Portia’s tone was wondrous.
“That’s right,” Niles said gaily, then frowned. “Though if you’re betrothed to him, I would have thought you would have known.”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, now you know,” Niles said. “That means you’re going to be a duchess. A duke is married to a duchess.”
“I suspect she is familiar with the concept,” Colin said gallantly.
“Well, she didn’t know you were a duke,” Niles said. “That’s rather basic knowledge.”
“I suppose I didn’t get the invitations to those balls,” Portia said faintly. She stiffened and turned to Colin. “I-I can’t marry you now.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
COLIN WAS A DUKE.
Heavens.
She’d managed to convince a duke to marry her.
The fact should have made her overjoyed. Every debutante dreamed of marrying a duke, and every teacher at her finishing school had noted the successful alumnae who’d succeeded in grabbing that loftiest of titles: duchess. Portia, certainly, had nothing against dukes.
“You said no?” Colin asked haltingly.
Portia was silent. She opened her mouth, but the act of speaking seemed impossible, as if the wind had swept away her diaphragm and vocal chords as efficiently as it moved the ship across the English Channel.
“I’m sure she didn’t mean that,” Jonesie said hastily. “Isn’t that so, Miss?”
Jonesie gave her a stern look that a less charitable woman might have deemed impertinent.
Portia sighed. She didn’t blame any of them for being surprised. In fact, Portia was almost tempted to tell Colin that she had, in fact, meant to tell him they would of course still marry. Almost.
The fact was that Portia couldn’t marry him. She’d thought Colin was a footman, a man who might be happy to become somewhat wealthier. But Colin was a duke; he was already wealthy. He didn’t need her. If she married him, she would always be in his debt. Perhaps now he fancied being heroic. It was a whim that was not uncommon in men in possession of certain honorable characteristics.
No. She couldn’t marry him. He didn’t need a hasty marriage with a woman he barely knew. She’d already lived with Sir Vincent’s comments about the great sacrifice he was making by taking her in. She didn’t want a lifetime of reproach.
Besides, people fell in love. Most of her friends had fallen in love this year and married. What if Colin fell in love with someone, then couldn’t marry that person?
No, Portia would not hold him to his idiotic, if marvelously gallant, acceptance of her proposal.
“It was most kind of you to accept my unresearched offer.”
Portia vowed to act with pragmatism. There was no point entering an institution as irreversible as marriage with anything else.
COLIN FROWNED. THIS was not how proposals were supposed to go, even if he wasn’t the person who’d technically done the proposing. “You asked me to marry you.”
“You weren’t supposed to be a duke,” Portia protested. “You were supposed to be a footman. You were dressed like a footman.”
“Most women might think it a pleasant surprise to find they’re marrying a duke,” Colin said. “Their eyes might even glisten and their cheeks might even pinken.”
“And then you would glance at them smugly?” Portia asked.
He shrugged. “That would be optional.”
“Oh, you’re being impossible,” Portia said.
“But you’ll marry me?” Colin asked.
“Of course she’ll marry you,” Portia’s maid blurted.
Portia glowered. “You’re being talkative.”
“Only when necessary,” her maid replied.
“Then we’ll marry in Guernsey,” Colin said. “This ship will land there tomorrow. It’s all settled.”
“But I don’t understand. You don’t have to do this. You can marry anyone.”
“And I chose you.”
“But you would never marry me if I hadn’t needed a husband. And if you felt guilty you told the sailor you were Mr. Andrews.”
“No,” Colin admitted, “that’s true. Though I’m sure that’s a character flaw. It’s best not to dwell on that.”
Portia studied him. What was she thinking?
“I should go to my cabin,” Portia said. “Please forget this.”
Damnation.
This was Colin’s fault. Portia’s lower lip was trembling as she turned away. He was damned if he was going to allow her lips to continue to tremble.
“Wait!” Colin called.
Portia swung around. Her long skirt swirled, and it made her look small and frail. “What is it?”
Colin kneeled on the deck, ignoring the sudden hoots