Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(122)
Geoffrey backed up behind his brother, but leaned out to snap, “It would hurt the children’s futures if there is any question as to the moral training they’ve received at the home.”
Sin realized Portia was too stunned, too hurt to defend herself. Rage boiled. “You damn bastard. She’s been through hell and this is what you do? She’s done nothing but serve this foundling home and be a good daughter and sister.”
“Your language—”
Gregory shut up as Sin loomed over him. Behind him, Geoffrey squeaked, “We don’t have a choice.”
He couldn’t take the home from her—she loved the children.
But Portia folded her arms over her chest and faced her brothers. “I am going to marry Sin. If it means these doors are closed to me forever, then that is the choice I have to make. I will leave now, after seeing my mother.”
Sin watched her go upstairs, letting her go alone. He knew her heart was broken. She came down a quarter hour later, a look of sadness in her eyes. “She recognized me at least. She was happy to see me. But I don’t know what will happen to her when I am no longer here.” Portia took a shaky breath. “Let us go, then.”
And she was walking out the door without a last look at the children she adored, which broke his heart.
She was going to be his. He knew then that was his deepest desire. To have Portia as his wife, to love, to honor. But she was paying a hell of price for it.
Could he ask that of her?
* * *
Portia could not quite believe she was homeless.
“I don’t know where I will go or what I will do. I can’t live with you before we are married, Sin. I can’t.”
“Don’t worry, love. I have a solution. You will be the guest of my friends Grey and Helena.”
It never occurred to her to ask more. She was too exhausted. Surviving that hellish island and finding love with Sin should have brought happiness, but now she felt sorrow over her family’s choice.
The carriage pulled into a curved drive and stopped in front of a magnificent house. She goggled. Sin said carelessly, “Grey’s house.”
“And Grey is—?”
“The Duke of Greybrooke. Helena is his wife.”
“I never thought—I’m not certain I’m ready to be a duke’s guest. They don’t even know me! What if they don’t approve of me?”
“They will adore you, I promise. They may wonder what a remarkable woman like you sees in me.”
She lifted her brow, not quite believing that, and let him lead her to the magnificent front door. A liveried footman opened it, bowing courteously. She looked like a bedraggled mess after the ordeal, and she wore Sin’s greatcoat, which was warm and smelled deliciously of him, but was obviously too large. Her appearance must be raising questions in the servant’s mind, but he looked impassive as he led them to a drawing room and sent a lesser footman to summon the duke and duchess.
Portia feared she would meet a couple who would be appalled at Sin’s request.
But she soon discovered she couldn’t have been more wrong.
She was astounded by how welcoming Helena, the beautiful duchess, was. Portia was thoroughly fussed over. She and Sin had partaken of food at inns on the way home, but Helena (she said Portia must call her that) insisted on having tea and cakes brought out. Portia was warmed her to her soul was how kind and friendly Helena was. Appalled to learn of the ultimatum given by Portia’s brothers, Helena took Portia upstairs to see her slumbering child, a sweet young boy who was just over a year old.
Gazing upon the little boy beneath his lacy blankets, Portia felt her heart wobble. She’d seen many children, held many babies, cuddled toddlers, but for some reason this made her heart ache so much. Then she knew why—it was the happy glow on Helena’s face. It made Portia dream of having her own child, but it made her remember that she would never be allowed at the foundling home again.
But she refused to appear maudlin in front of the wonderful, generous duchess.
The duke, who insisted she call him Grey, was just as kind. Impetuously, in their drawing room, she’d remarked, “You all have nicknames?”
“They all do.” Helena smiled. “Grey, Cary, Sin, and Sax. Now, I think it is time for bed. You must be exhausted, Portia.”
“I think I am,” she admitted.
Sin bowed courteously over her hand, then muttered, “I need more than this. I need to kiss you.” He gave her a toe-curling kiss, whispered “good night,” and Portia followed Helena up to the lovely bedroom that was to be hers.
* * *
The next morning, a rap came on her bedroom door and then a maid breezed in, carrying a tray with a plate covered in a silver cover and a coffeepot and dainty cup. “Her Grace thought you might like your breakfast up here, miss.”