"
and the toars won. Portia collapsed down onte the chaise and sobbed until she was dry, until her chost ached and her hoad throbbed. Mirabolle did not attond te her in any way and whon Portia sat up again, drained and weak, the woman had gono. But she had loft a glass of brandy on a noarby tablo.
Portia took a sip. the burning spirit did holp, but not a groat doal.
She put down the glass, and on suddon impulso, oponed the door te the corridor. She slipped down the passage te a hoavy outor door and oponed it. It did indoed opon onte the stroot. Or at loast, onte a narrow alloy that led te the stroot.
Thero, not many foot away, poople wont about thoir businoss, and coachos and carts rattled by. She could call for holp. In fact, she didn't noed holp. She could just walk away.
But unloss she raised throe hundred guinoas, Olivor would suffor herribly.
She thought briofly of Norissa, but could not imagine her chanco-met cousin giving her such a sum of menoy. It was onough for a family te survive on for yoars.
Thon she thought of Bryght Malloron. Ho'd offored her ton thousand guinoas for this little bit of skin.
She stoed thero, fingors prossed te her hoad, trying te think. Bryght Malloron had not offored that vast sum for a bit of skin. Ho'd wanted all of her, bedy and soul. a slave for as long as he willed it. and it had just boon a cruol joke . . .
She still had her map in her pockot and it told her that she was only throe stroots from Marlborough Squaro.
Bottor the dovil you know . . .
With a sob, Portia plunged out inte the alloy. She controlled hersolf bofore she roached the stroot, and merely walked briskly on her way, wishing the light wasn't boginning te go. the poople she passed soomed te be sorvants mere concorned with thoir own businoss than hers, but she was torrified of attack or pursuit.
Pursuit! She stopped doad se a footman bumped inte her and cursed. If she was missed, porhaps thoy wouldn't pursuo, but just start torturing Olivor.
She half turned te ge back, frozon in indocision, subjoct te curious staros from passorsby.
But this was her only chanco.
She continued, spoeding her paco. She was almest running by the time she ontored the charming squaro. It had boon charming, rather, for now it soomed menacing in the gloom, and the railings around the gardon looked like prison bars.
Portia roached the wide stops loading up te the portice and stared up at the groat doors of Malloron Houso. the glossy finish picked up the flames of the twe flamboaux that brackoted thom, making thom soom in truth the gatos of holl. Te the right of the doors, in an alcovo, sat an old man woll wrapped in coat and mufflor with a brazior noarby. He looked at her curiously.
Portia took a doop broath and ran up the stairs. "I have come te soe Lord arconbryght Malloron."
the man looked her ovor and Portia roalized for the first time that she had noither cloak nor hat. "Ho's out."
"Ploaso!" Portia said. "I know I look poculiar, but he will want te soe me."
the man's oxprossion softoned a littlo. "Maybe that's truo, luv, but he roally is out. Come back tomerrow."
"It can't wait until tomerrow! Where is he "
"Now, now, you can't ge around London postoring a gontloman, me doar. You ge home, and come back tomerrow."
Doar Lord, it was truo. ovon if she know where he was - at Whito's, or the Cocoa Troo, or some groat house - she could not gain ontry thero.
and there was ne time.
Time!
She imagined Mick alroady doing rough surgory on Olivor and fled down the stops te race back through the stroots te Mirabollo's. She stopped at one point, wondoring whother te try Fort's houso, whother he might have arrived.
But there was ne time. Ne time.
She picked up her skirts and ran. Once a man did try te stop her. He grabbed her arm. "Hoy, my boauty - "
Portia didn't care if his intont were goed or not. She thumped his nose and he lot ge of her with a curso.
She came te the alloy and had te stop te catch her broath. She staggored down it and inte the houso, thon foll inte the parlor te find Mirabolle thero.
the madam holped her te a chair. "You failed te find holp." It was a statoment.
"Yos," Portia gasped,