Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(121)

He should have been a stronger, better man back then. Told his friends to go to hell. Told Will to go to hell. Which sadly was where Will probably was now.

It had been ten years since he’d been inside the Lamb’s foundling home. It had changed little. That revealed that the financial situation was not good.

“Portia! You’ve come back to us! Thank heavens!” A woman in a fashionable silk gown rushed forward and hugged Portia. This was her sister, he realized. Ten years ago, she had been a pretty blond girl. Now she was a lovely woman. And married.

“I am safe and sound, Rosamund,” Portia whispered.

Two tall men, one dark and one fair, stepped into the corridor. They wore grim expressions. The blond man stepped forward, folding his arm over his chest. “Merry told us you had returned. And we recognized the Duke of Sinclair.” The man glowered at Sin. “Will you explain to us what you have been doing with our sister for the last few days? Why was she abducted, and what do you intend to do to repair her sullied reputation?”

Portia blinked. “None of this was the duke’s fault, Geoffrey. How can you greet me with a scowl? I was abducted, taken away to an island off the coast of England by a madman and a madwoman, where people were murdered. Sin—the duke and I were almost killed!”

“Is this true?”

“Of course it is,” Portia cried. With concise efficiency, she told her brothers and sister what happened. “For days, I’ve gone through hell. Sin—and yes, that is what I call him and I don’t care what you think of that—protected me. He came to my rescue. And we are now engaged. He offered me marriage to protect my reputation and I refused him. But then he told me that he loved me. I love him and I accepted.”

Sin cleared his throat. “I asked clumsily the first time. I’ve loved Portia for ten years. I’ve always loved her. Now, I wish to ask for her hand in marriage.”

“Portia, you will be a duchess,” breathed her sister.

“Of a tainted, scandalous duke,” muttered the dark-haired brother. He wore spectacles, which he removed and rubbed with a handkerchief. “Portia, we cannot allow you to marry this gentleman.” He sneered over the word.

“Why not? I love him, Gregory.”

“Your duty is here,” Gregory said impatiently.

“There’s no reason Portia cannot continue to come to the foundling home after her marriage, if she wishes,” Sin said.

“And our mother? Your duty is also to her.”

“What do you mean?” Sin asked.

“Our mother is ill,” Geoffrey said. “She is becoming senile as she ages. Portia looks after her here.”

“You’re saying you expect Portia to remain unmarried, to work free of charge in the foundling home, living in it so you can carry on with your lives, and also nursemaid your aging mother?”

“She will be happier remaining with us than she will be in your world,” the brother argued. “Is she really to stand by while you throw shocking debauches?”

“I love Portia,” he said. “I won’t hurt her.”

“She belongs here.”

“As a drudge,” Portia whispered. “That is how you see me. You don’t admire the work I’ve done here. You just want a servant. And you don’t want to be troubled with mother’s illness or pay for a nurse. I thought I was doing something worthwhile—”

Sin stepped in front of her. All she could see was his concerned face. “Portia, do not belittle what you’ve done. But also, believe in yourself. You are not a drudge. I won’t allow you to be treated as one.”

“We know what is best for Portia. She is respectable, dutiful, moral. Your world will destroy her,” Gregory said.

“You’re the one who would destroy her,” Sin growled.

“You cannot marry him,” chimed in the other brother.

“I will,” she said fiercely.

“Then you cannot come back to the foundling home, Portia. You cannot work here or visit here. We can’t allow it. For our reputation.”

“That’s damn ridiculous,” Sin exploded. “She loves this home. She adores the children.”

“She’s chosen to marry you. We all equally have control of the home, but my brother and I have the deciding votes. To provide a proper home, we have to behave in an exemplary way.”

“You can’t force her to choose between the home and marriage,” Sin roared.

“Please don’t shout,” Portia said. “You’ll wake the children.”

“It’s hard not to shout,” he said, but lowered his voice. “It’s hard not to punch both of you idiots in the nose.”