The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,38
thought he might confess everything, and she would be promptly ruined.
No doubt, Colin considered it.
“What I’d like to know is why this gentleman would accuse me otherwise,” Colin said.
“Because I checked with the vicar,” Sir Vincent said. “I checked with all the vicars.”
“What prompted you to do that?” Portia asked.
“Just a little suspicion, my dear. And I was correct—there was no marriage.” He smirked as the words reverberated around the impeccably decorated room. “I am your guardian, after all. I do know you.”
“He’s your guardian?” Georgiana’s eyes widened.
Her sympathy was palpable, and Portia cringed.
Most people didn’t have guardians. If their parents died, most people were raised by their aunts or uncles, grandmothers or grandfathers. They weren’t handed off to strangers with bulging eyes and an eagerness to destroy everything about their lives.
Another man cleared his throat. For the first time, Portia realized that Sir Vincent and the servant were not the only newcomers to the room.
This man’s eyes didn’t appear nearly as wild as that of her guardian’s, but his eyebrows were drawn together in a manner she instantly distrusted.
“Mr. Halstead,” Vernon said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was informed a grave wrong was going on here,” Mr. Halstead said.
“No wrong,” Colin said quickly. He took Portia’s hand in his. “This is my new wife.”
“Who married you?” Mr. Halstead asked.
Colin turned to Portia. “Do you remember his name, sweetheart?”
“I don’t,” she said. Her voice trembled, and she coughed, as if the sound could mask her nervousness and guilt.
He shrugged. “I’m afraid we don’t remember.”
“I don’t remember you having a poor memory, my dear,” Sir Vincent said to Portia. “I find it most odd you would have forgotten who performed the ceremony.”
“I’m fairly distracting.” Colin smirked and gestured to his face. “It’s my cheekbones. And —er—chin.”
“And I imagine your hair and broad shoulders,” Georgiana said, then flushed.
“Yes, Portia is quite drawn to my hair and broad shoulders. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Colin’s eyes twinkled.
“Yes.” Portia nodded hastily.
He kissed her hand. “Just as I’m always remarking about her glossy hair and upturned nose.”
“My nose?”
“Most adorable, sweetheart. You know that.”
“Er—yes.” She turned to the others. “That’s what he’s always saying.”
“Precisely.”
“There’s absolutely no reason for us to pretend to be married,” Colin said. “I find the suggestion laughable.”
“I must say I do too,” Vernon said.
Mr. Halstead stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Perhaps this was all a misunderstanding. What did the person look like who married you too?”
“Well, he was about this high?” Colin stretched out his hand. “Of course, I’m sitting down, so—er—let me move my hand. Would you say that’s right, sweetheart?”
“Perhaps raise your hand up a bit,” Portia said.
Colin nodded. “See the problem is that I’m tall and she’s not tall, so our perspectives are imperfect.”
“Yes,” Portia said.
“Both of your perspectives are flawed?” Georgiana’s husband’s eyes had a dangerous skeptical look in them.
“Well, he was between us in height,” Portia said finally. “More or less.”
“More or less,” Colin agreed, and flashed a bright smile at her, that made Portia’s heart ache.
“That’s not that helpful,” Mr. Halstead said. “But perhaps you could describe his hair.”
“Yes.” Sir Vincent beamed. “Do describe his hair.”
“Ah, yes.” Colin nodded. “Well, it was gray.”
Mr. Halstead’s face was sober.
“Though I think it had some brown mixed in it,” Portia said hastily.
“Did he have a lot of hair?” Mr. Halstead asked.
“Er—yes,” Colin said.
Mr. Halstead’s face remained stony.
“Well, I didn’t think it was so full,” Portia said. “What with the bald patches and everything.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking about those parts of his head,” Colin said.
“So he had somewhat gray hair with some bald patches.”
“Not very obvious bald patches,” Portia said hastily.
“My darling wife has such thick luscious hair that she thinks that everyone whose hair isn’t of that precise thickness has bald spaces.”
“Indeed?” Charlotte sent them a horrified look and patted her own head, perhaps conscious her hair was rather finer and less thick than Portia’s.
“Well, not in a bad way,” Colin said hastily.
“No, no,” Portia said. “I’ve always found my hair too thick. So I—er—enjoy seeing people’s hair when it is less thick.”
“So you enjoyed seeing the vicar’s hair,” Mr. Halstead said, scribbling something down into a pad with his pencil.
No doubt, he was scribbling that they were both mad.
“I’m afraid the food is getting cold,” Colin said.
Vernon shot him a grateful look.
“Perhaps this could be continued at another time.”
“Tomorrow,” Mr. Halstead said. “First thing in the morning.”
“Not Christmas Day,” Charlotte said.
“Well—er—perhaps not then,” Mr. Halstead amended. “But only because my wife wouldn’t like it. Not because I don’t think justice