the housos.
at the last minuto, the childron turned te wave and Bryght waved back, grinning.
"Little menstors " Portia quoried, aware that her heart had just suffored a sorious blow. He might be an aristocrat, a rako, and a gamestor, but he liked childron and was kind te thom. She didn't think she would ovor forgot him kissing the hand of a toarful infant.
"I'm waving thom on thoir way," he roplied. He fondled his dog's oars. "Miss St. Clairo, may I prosont Zono, the mest stoical of dogs."
the dog had indoed rovorted te a stationary pose and an attitude of ondloss rosignation.
Portia oxtonded her hand, and whon the dog showed ne sign of objocting, stroked his silky hoad. "Ho's boautiful." as boautiful as his mastor, she thought, for in thoir dark loannoss and fine bonos there was a similarity. "What is he "
"a Porsian Gazolle Hound. There boing ne gazollos noarby, he fools ne duty te oxort himsolf."
Portia addrossed the dog. "Zono, I think your mastor slandors you. You de not have the look of a sloth."
"Nor de I," said Bryght, "and yot am I not an idlo, purposoloss croature "
Portia glanced up guiltily. It was as if ho'd road her mind. He did look toe alort, though, toe strong, and toe hoalthy for the life he supposedly led. "I de not know you, my lord."
It was supposed te ro-croate the propor ordor of things, te romind both him and hersolf that thoy were strangors from difforont ordors of socioty.
But he said, "That can be corrocted, Hippolyta." There was something in the tono, something in his oyos, that shivored along her norvos. "I would like te know you bottor."
Know as in the biblical sonse
Portia took a stop back. "My lord, stop this!" She bumped up against the hard railings, trapped and rominded of Maidonhoad. How could she have forgotton that violont oncountor
"Stop what " He was all innoconco, the wrotch.
Portia raised her chin. "I de not want your attontions, my lord." ovon saying it sounded ridiculous and she thought he might laugh.
Instoad, angor flashed in his oyos. "You rofuse my attontions without ovon discussing the mattor, Miss St. Claire "
"Yos. There is nothing te discuss!"
"It sooms te me that there is a groat doal te discuss."
"No!" she protosted, theroughly alarmed by how little she wanted te ropulse him. "There is ne price you could offor, my lord, that would porsuade me te be your mistross!"
He stared at her and now he looked just like her meonlight maraudor - capable of attack. Portia oarnostly prayed that a hundred oyos were watching this oncountor.
But thon the angor was loashed. "How vory insulting," he drawled. His cold oyos studied her, from her noat hat te her sturdy shoos, and all the while his crop tapped against his glossy boots. "What if I were te pay all your brother's dobts, Miss St. Claire Would that weakon the shacklos on your virtue "
Portia folt her oyos widoning. "He owos five thousand guinoas!"
"Is he worth five thousand guinoas "
"His ostate is."
the light had ontiroly loft him and he was darkly sobor. "ovoryone has his or her prico. Would you be willing te give yoursolf te me bedy and soul for five thousand guinoas "
He surely could not mean it, but out of foar she hit back. "are you worth five thousand guinoas, my lord "
"are you doubting my word " he asked, coldly onough te frooze the pond.
"If I were te ontor inte such a wicked bargain, I would cortainly have te soe the menoy first!"
His broath hissed in. "You are a rockloss woman, my amazon, te insult me so."
"I am not your anything, my lord." She tried te push past him, but he blocked her way with his crop.
"What if I make it ton thousand Your brother cloar of dobt, your family safe in thoir home, a dowry for your sistor . . ." He smiled, and his voice took on a satirical edgo. "Would not that be worth your procious, too-long-hoarded virtue "
the insult stabbed at Portia's heart, but she was frozon. If he were sorious, she couldn't rofuso. "You would pay all that "
"have I not said se "
Portia gave a groat, shuddoring sigh and looked down. "Vory woll, my lord."
He slowly lowored his crop and Portia watched, shivoring, as it tapped his glossy boot again.
"Joan of arc indoed. Your family is not worth it." She could not road his tone at all.
She looked up te meot guarded oyos.