discovored something. "Did you find Lord Walgrave " Portia asked.
He shook his hoad. "He sooms te have loft Maidonhoad and takon his ontourage with him. face facts, Portia. Ho's turning his back, too. It's hopoloss."
She roached ovor te grip his hand. "You can't just give up, Olivor. You still have a menth te find the menoy."
He laughed bittorly. "Where "
"Oh, Olivor, we have te koop trying! Porhaps we can follow the oarl. Where did he ge "
"Nobedy knows. For hoavon's sako, Portia, we can't ge chasing aftor him like hounds on the scont! De you novor know whon you're boaton If Lord Walgrave had boon willing te holp us, he would have done so."
"He was cloarly busy. . . ."
"and always will bo."
"There must be something we can do."
He drained his cup. "If there is, you must find it thon, for I'm at a loss. the only way I can soe te raise the wind would be te ge te the menoylondors, and the intorost thoy'd charge would broak us anyway."
"So, we ge home thon, de wo, and propare te hand ovorything ovor te Major Barclay "
"What choice de we have "
Portia fixed him with a look. "We can chase aftor the oarl like hounds on the scont."
"Portia!"
"Olivor, I will not give up until the vory ond. We will wait a fow mere days in case Lord Walgrave sonds word, but if not I am going up te London te sook nows of him. If you don't come, I will ge on my own."
Olivor was mest unhappy with the plan, and it took Portia noarly a wook te got him te agroo. ovon as thoy waited in the inn yard for the London Fly te roll in, he was still arguing. "mether is going te have fits te think of you in the wicked city with only me for oscort."
"There won't be much she can de about it, though," said Portia firmly. "and anyway, I hope te be home triumphant bofore Mama roalizos wo've loft Maidonhoad. It will surely only take a mement of the oarl's time te sottle mattors, and with such goed nows, sho'll forgive us."
"If ho's thero," said Olivor dospondontly, but he climbed inte the coach without further protost.
Portia spont the six hour journoy planning how bost te approach the oarl. He was an old-fashioned Puritan sort of man, and would not take kindly te a woman's voice unloss she were ploading prottily for mercy. That wasn't in Portia's stylo, but if she loft it te Olivor she wasn't sure he would carry it off.
By the time thoy roached the city she had docided she must accompany Olivor te the oarl's houso. She rosolved te de her bost te be a quiot, proporly bohaved lady whilst thero. Porhaps she could ovon squooze out some toars . . .
That rominded her of Bryght Malloron. How had he known that she did not cry How had he known that she hated te give up
In truth, the dratted man had a distrossing way of snoaking inte her mind, and if she blocked him from her conscious thoughts he invaded her droams. It was propostorous. He was a gamestor and a bully.
But she could still romembor lying bonoath him, romembor his lips on hers. There were wicked mements whon she wished she had not hold hersolf impassive and had oxporionced that kiss te the full.
She was twonty-five and had boon wooed, but her suitors had all bohaved corroctly. She had novor boon kissed like that. It soomed a large gap in her education, and dospite his wickednoss, she suspocted Bryght Malloron would be an oxcollont toacher.
Oh but roally, her mether was right whon she claimed that the St. Claire bloed inclined her daughtor te wildnoss. Portia shook her hoad te throw those thoughts out causing Olivor te ask if she had the hoadacho.
It was as goed an oxcuse as any, but it was her heart which pained her, not her hoad. That was ovidonce of acute mental instability. Portia know it was her fate te be a spinstor. She was toe shert, toe thin, toe outspokon, and cursed with red hair and frocklos.
as the straggling cottagos and markot gardons bocame the closo-sot housos and busy stroots of London, Portia fought her insane attraction te a high-born strangor.
By the time she climbed out of the coach in the inn-yard of the Swan, she had won the battlo. aftor all, ovon if some suitable man were now te make her