The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,35
could see them. Now, there were no witnesses, and Colin’s heart raced.
Portia gestured to the window, distracting him from the sudden awkwardness. Plump snowflakes drifted from the sky. “I suppose it’s good we’re not in the ocean amidst all of this.”
“Yes.”
Portia frowned. “Weren’t the Duke and Duchess of Vernon once in a shipwreck?”
“Coming back from Guernsey after their elopement.”
“Oh.” Portia averted her eyes, and Colin’s heart ached. No doubt, she didn’t want to give any indication anything similar could have happened between them. Perhaps she was musing about the honorable Mr. Rupert Andrews, a man who didn’t steal tickets from other passengers.
“I’m awfully sorry about everything,” he said.
She shook her head. “It couldn’t be helped.”
Then Portia tilted her head. Light glowed over her glossy brunette locks, and his fingers longed to touch it. He turned away, lest Portia notice his gaze. The last thing she would want was to think he lusted over her.
Finally, steps sounded and Niles and Jonesie appeared. They dressed quickly, making use of the screen in the room.
“I suspect you are grateful for my premonition that you would require evening dress.” Niles held Colin’s trunk.
“Er—yes,” Colin said.
Portia glanced at Niles. “Are there any other premonitions you would like to share?”
“Oh, I do hope you’re not nervous about the dinner,” Jonesie said.
Jonesie and Niles glanced at each other.
“I care to limit my premonitions about the future to attire,” Niles said.
“Well, I suppose that is your expertise,” Portia said.
Niles raised his head. “In my experience, not everyone is prepared to learn about the future, however true it is.”
Niles was giving him a knowing look that Colin did not appreciate. He cleared his throat. “Well, make me handsome, Niles.”
“Ah, I like when you say that. I’m glad I’m getting all the credit. Don’t you find the duke is already naturally very handsome, Miss?”
Portia’s cheeks flushed, and she averted her gaze.
Colin’s heart sank. No doubt she was thinking about that blasted Mr. Rupert Andrews and knew it was impolite to say that Colin’s features were of little interest to her.
“I’ll just change behind the screen,” Colin said, following Niles to a corner of the room. “We won’t be able to see you.”
“Thank you,” she said, but her voice was at an unusually high pitch, and his heart tumbled even farther.
Evidently, Portia was uncomfortable by his very presence, and Colin was silent as Niles helped him dress for dinner. This wasn’t the time for his customary jests, and when he tried to smile, even his lips felt rigid.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PORTIA MOVED DOWN THE steps in her best afternoon gown, wishing she’d had the foresight to bring a gauze-overlaid evening gown that sparkled and shimmered with every turn. She wished she could adorn herself in jewelry, so everyone might focus on that, and not on herself.
She strove to generate feelings of lightness, just as her teachers at her finishing school had always advocated, but her feet seemed to have turned to stone, as if she’d instead been formed into one of the hideous sculptures created in the art room the staff always silently discarded. She didn’t want to go to the dining hall and pretend Colin was her husband and they were happy newlyweds. She didn’t want to live a life, however briefly, that would never happen.
“You look lovely,” Colin murmured. “Just enjoy yourself tonight. There’s no need for any nervousness.”
She tilted her head. Had he sensed her discomfort? Was he so accustomed to being with beautiful women he gave her compliments naturally, because that was simply what he did in conversation pauses, even though she couldn’t compare?
“The green color suits you,” he said. “It does something to your face.” Then Colin turned away, while Portia was left to assess whether ‘something to your face’ was a positive expression or not.
People in lovely, shimmering attire filled the drawing room. Servants opened adjoining French doors, revealing the wood-paneled dining room. A long dining room table, adorned with silver platters carrying jewel-colored food, lay underneath a sparkling, shimmering chandelier.
“It’s beautiful,” Portia murmured.
This was nothing like what she’d experienced at Sir Vincent’s house. They’d never had guests in London. Though Sir Vincent was not opposed to attending dinner parties and balls, it occurred to Portia that some of his enthusiasm had not simply been to provide her London life and the opportunity to find a husband, but so someone else might arrange food and drink.
“Ah, my dear...” Charlotte crossed the room toward them. She’d changed into an ice blue gown, and her blond hair was arranged