“Leave me alone!” she cried. She rushed into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. The key was in the lock on the inside, and she turned it. Though her hands felt frozen and it was hard to make her fingers move.
Portia stood in the bedchamber, shaking. She’d lost children from the home. She’d lost her father. Her mother was ill and often completely forgot who she was.
She’d always found strength to endure.
Hollowly, she looked at the bed. Heavens, she could picture Julian’s grin—wicked, bracketed by deep, seductive lines. She would never forget how he looked with his long body stretched out on the bed. Or how delicious it had felt—all tumbling nerves and awareness—when he’d helped her with her dress for the first time. When she’d almost melted at the touch of his fingers.
Oh . . . oh goodness.
She didn’t just love him. She loved him even more than she had when she’d thought he was a sweet and innocent nineteen-year-old lad.
She fell to her knees by the bed. Buried her face into the counterpane. She remembered the warmth of his body against hers as he’d held her. The delectable male way he smelled. She remembered touching him, wanting to savor those moments.
She sobbed and sobbed. And when there wasn’t anything left in her anymore, no more tears, she stayed utterly still, as the light faded from the sky.
18
Hell, he couldn’t do this.
Sin leaned back against the stone wall, whipped by the howling wind, dressed in his black trousers, with a black coat over his red-soaked shirt. Unbeknownst to Portia, he watched her through the glass panes of the bedroom’s balcony doors. Also unknown to her, he was alive.
Dumbfounded, he’d watched for more than an hour. All the while, she’d cried. She would raise her head for a few moments, as if gasping in air, then her shoulders would shake and she would bury her lovely face into the bedspread again.
After a while, she stopped shaking and she was motionless, with her cheek pressed against a soaking wet bedcover.
Watching her cry was like having his heart yanked out of his chest.
He moved to the window, lifted his hand to tap—
“Damn it, what in hell are you doing?”
The harsh half whisper, half bark came from below. Sin leaned over and saw Sax standing there, arms folded over his chest, a glower on his face. His friend scanned the grounds, watching in case someone saw them.
He had to make Sax understand. Heavy with guilt, Sin clambered over the railing of the balcony. He grabbed the thick stalk of ivy that he’d climbed up, set his boot against the cut stone wall, and climbed down the wall.
He and Sax retreated into the swift-growing evening shadows, hidden by a clump of straggly bushes near the house’s wall.
“What in blazes were you doing up there?” Sax demanded. “What if she saw you? What if someone else saw you? Our insane killer, for example?”
“She was sobbing her heart out. Over me.”
“What did you think she would do, once she thought you dead?”
“I don’t know. I never thought she’d be heartbroken like that.”
Saxonby rolled his eyes to the sky. “She said yes to your proposal ten years ago. Didn’t you know then that she was in love with you?”
“I never knew for certain that she was really in love with me.”
“What kind of stupidity is that?” Sax demanded.
“I never dreamed she would care about me now. Besides, this doesn’t mean she loves me. It means I’ve hurt her. I can’t do this. I’ve got to tell her the truth—”
“No,” Sax broke in. “You can’t do it yet. Her reaction will assure the killer you are actually dead. You shouldn’t have even left your damn bedroom yet. What if our lunatic goes to check on you? To see if there is actually a body in the room?”
“You locked the door earlier. I presume you took the key and didn’t leave it in the door. I came out through the window and climbed down the wall. I kept away from other windows. Dressed in black, I think I’m well disguised.”
This had been his plan. Fake his own death and, with the killer thinking he was out of the way, watch from the shadows. “I’m going to watch Portia from the balcony tonight,” he said defiantly.
“What if you have to force your way in?”
“I carried a fireplace poker up there, to break in through the door.”
He saw the doubt in Sax’s expression. “Don’t try to stop me, Sax. I’m afraid this fiend will try to attack her tonight.” His heart thudded. If Sax tried to stop him, prevent him from protecting Portia—
Hell, what would he do? Fight Sax? Knock him out? Duel with him for real? He gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Now that I’m out of the way, why would he wait?”