But now that she was living this, she knew the authors had never adequately described how it really felt to be confused, exhausted, scared, and angry all at once.
She met the duke’s brown eyes—dark, mysterious eyes the color of melted chocolate, surrounded by long, long lashes—and tried to see if there was anything in there of the sweet, wonderful man she had once agreed to marry.
His eyes looked at her with such tenderness, her throat went dry.
Ten years had changed the Duke of Sinclair. The years had broadened his shoulders, widened his chest. The youthful beauty of his face had hardened into grizzled handsomeness. Wicked handsomeness. It seemed to cast a spell. Otherwise, why would she be studying his wretched looks when he’d broken her heart ten years ago and right now she had no idea whether he was the villain or not?
His gloved hand touched hers after he cut the rope away from her left wrist. Slowly his long fingers traced her palm through her thin gloves. Sensations tumbled. The pressure of his fingers, light and gentle, made her hot—
Really, what was she thinking? “How could you do this to me?” she cried.
The Duke of Sinclair moved to her foot. He freed her ankle, then frowned. His dark brown hair fell over his brow. Ten years ago she used to love to watch the way his thick, silky hair fell over his brow. Her heart would almost explode for he looked so handsome that way.
That scared her more than anything. That right now, when she should be like Merry, reacting in fear with the desire to run, she was remembering this man when he’d been young and sweet. When she had called him by his Christian name, Julian.
This wasn’t like her. She was the girl who carried a pistol and who had men believing she was willing to use it.
The Duke of Sinclair had broken her heart once, and she was never going to let him think she felt anything for him but utter disdain.
He held out his hand to help her sit up, but she ignored it and struggled up herself, thankful she wore only light stays instead of a tightly laced corset. Another sign of her practicality.
“I should think I deserve an answer,” Portia said tartly.
The duke raked his hand through his hair, making the coffee-brown tresses catch the light of the fire, before they fell back across his aristocratic forehead. He let out a sigh. “You really think I would be responsible for this, love?”
Love. That word—it fluttered inside her, touching her heart like a magic wand and making it swell and ache. Reminding her of how very much she’d once loved him.
“Don’t call me that,” she cried angrily. “Not ever. Not after what you did.”
He gave a stiff, abbreviated bow. “My apologies. I will not use the term of endearment again.”
He looked hurt? How dare he?
Something inside her snapped. She was always calm and in charge, but right now, fury was washing through her like an unstoppable wave.
“Why shouldn’t I think you responsible?” she demanded. “I was told I was being kidnapped for you by the two men who took me. And why did I believe them? Because you told me that you are debauched!”
Ten years ago she had been too shocked when he broke off the engagement to really say what she had felt. Now, all the pain bubbled over.
“Don’t you remember?” she demanded. “You said you liked to be tied up, and to tie up women, and have orgies. You said you wanted things that no gently bred girl should ever know about. So when I was told I was being brought to your bed, I assumed that kidnapping for ravishment was one of those things.”
He leaned against the bed column, slouching in the way only a man now accustomed to being a duke could do. He looked carelessly elegant with his long legs crossed at the ankles. His brow furrowed and pain turned down the corners of his lips.
“I’m sorry, Portia. I’m sorry about the past. I’m sorry I let you go. But I believe I did the right thing. When I met you, I thought I could be tamed into matrimony. When I realized I wanted all the vices London had to offer—that I needed them—I knew I couldn’t marry you. I would only end up hurting you more.”
“More than breaking my heart?”
“Wouldn’t it have broken your heart more to have married me and to have me leave you at night to go to places where I could indulge my needs?”
“But why do you have such needs?” she asked. “Why couldn’t we—us—have been enough?”
He looked down. “It’s just the way I am.”
Now she was utterly exasperated. Her life was about education. About growth and development and change. “That is ridiculous. People can change. I find children in the stews with no hope and I help them become educated—I’ve helped them become teachers, physicians, governesses, notaries. Of course you can change!”