He’d ridden like a madman all through the day and into the night in order to catch up with the mail coach. When he finally did reach it, he discovered she’d disembarked in the first village at which it had stopped. Naturally by the time he returned there, she was nowhere to be found.

So where the bloody hell had she gone?

She wasn’t going to return to Havisham. Of that he was fairly certain. In no mood to explain the situation to his father, he’d sent the coaches and servants back to London while he carried on to Fairings Cross. He thought it unlikely that she would seek out her parents for help, but he was hopeful they could shed some light on where she might seek refuge.

Having attended a couple of balls at Beaumont’s country estate, Locke was familiar with the area and sought out the parsonage near the church. After knocking on the door, he glanced around, his chest tightening as he studied the towering oak that brushed up against a window on the uppermost level. He imagined Portia—bold, brave, undeterred by the dangers—clambering down it. He did hope that wherever she was now, she was exercising more caution. When he caught up with her, he was going to sit her down and ask her a thousand questions so he knew every damned thing about her and she could never again elude him. He needed to know how she thought, where she might go, what she hoped to accomplish.

The door opened and a young maid looked up at him. “Yes, sir?”

He handed over a card. “Viscount Locksley to see Reverend Gadstone.”

“Yes, m’lord. Please come in.”

He stepped through into an austere entryway and was led to an equally Spartan front parlor. Except for the roses, which reminded him of Portia. She so enjoyed her flowers. At least he knew that much about her.

Everything here was clean and tidy. She must have been appalled when he took her on her first tour of Havisham. No, she’d merely looked at everything and seen the potential. He wondered if she’d recognized the potential in him, if she’d known she could open him up as easily as she did the house. She could swipe away the cobwebs surrounding his heart and bring in the light.

Turning at the clip of footfalls, he wasn’t surprised by the stiffness of the man who entered or the grim expression of the woman beside him. Neither of them appeared to be the sort who ever laughed.

“My lord, I’m Reverend Gadstone and this is my wife. How might I be of service?”

“I’m looking for your daughter.”

He tilted his head to the side like a confused dog. “Florence or Louisa?”

“Portia.”

His wife gave a small gasp, while the reverend merely hardened his features into an uncompromising mask. “We have no daughter named Portia.”

“So I’ve heard. Is there anyone in the family who might not have judged her as harshly as you?”

His chin came up in a manner similar to Portia’s, yet Locke didn’t find it anywhere near as adorable or charming. Rather he had an urge to introduce it to his fist.

“She is a sinner, bringing a bastard into this world. Is it yours? Did you fornicate with her?”

“You’ll watch your tongue when you speak of my wife.”

Their eyes widened and both their heads snapped back as though he’d punched them.

“She’s your wife?” Mrs. Gadstone asked, clearly flummoxed by the notion.

He considered how any other woman who might have married him would have come here, draped in silk and jewels, arriving in a well-sprung coach, and lorded her newly obtained position over them, would have insisted they bow before her, address her by her title, and acknowledge that they were beneath her. But not his Portia, because gaining a title had not been her goal, had meant nothing to her. He’d come to realize that fact about her, but having it reconfirmed now only emphasized how badly he’d misjudged her. How he’d misjudged his own value. She’d needed someone to protect her and her child. Even if he possessed no title, no estates, he had it within him to shield her from the harshness of life. “She is. For some months now. She and I had a bit of a row. I’m striving to determine where she might have gone.”

“I’m not the least bit surprised that she ran away from you because things weren’t quite to her liking,” the reverend said. “She was always scampering off, hiding when she knew it was time for the switch, never willing to take her responsibilities, accept her due.”

“You took a switch to her?” Those who knew him were aware that his low tenor spoke of warning, of menace, yet Gadstone didn’t have the foresight to realize he was treading on dangerous ground.

“Often. She had the devil in her. Never sitting still in church. Never properly memorizing the Bible passages I gave her. Hiking up her skirts to chase after butterflies. She was incorrigible, refused to bend to my will.”

Jolly good for her hung on the tip of his tongue, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Little wonder she’d seen Beaumont as her salvation. It wouldn’t have taken much kindness on his part to win her over. “Has she any friends in the village?”

“None that would acknowledge her now. She’s a fallen woman, a disgrace. They would neither associate with her nor help her. They all know what she is,” he sneered.

She’d told him that she had no one, but still he’d had a difficult time believing she was completely, absolutely alone and without resources. Although since he’d judged her poorly when he met her, was he any better than these horrid people? He gave a quick impatient tug to his gloves. “What she is, sir, is a viscountess who shall one day be a marchioness. Yes, I can see why they might not wish to be seen in her shadow. I thank you for your assistance.”

“Pray you don’t find her, my lord. She will be your downfall.”

The need to hit Portia’s father had his muscles quivering with his restraint, but one did not strike a man of God. He walked past him—

To hell with it. He swung around and landed a good solid punch to that self-righteous chin. The blow had the man landing on the floor in a sprawl and his wife screaming. Locke bent low over him. “She is the most remarkable woman I have ever known. I will find her. If it takes me to the end of my days, I will find her.”

He strode out, mounted his horse, and began riding hard back to London. He’d known coming here would probably be a wild goose chase, but a part of him had wanted to see where she grew up, to meet her parents. That she had turned out to be so giving and kind was a miracle. That she was strong, not so much. She’d had to be to survive. They could have killed her spirit, but they hadn’t. He admired her all the more for not succumbing to their dictates. He would find her.

The Earl of Beaumont had never had as much luck playing cards as he was having this evening at the Twin Dragons. From the moment he’d sat down half an hour earlier, he’d taken every hand. This latest would be no exception. Fortune was smiling so brightly on him—

“I need a word.”

Christ, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the low rasp near his ear. He recognized the owner’s tone as one that didn’t bode well. He snapped his head around, his gaze slamming into Locksley’s, the green eyes indicating a high price would be paid for any disobedience. But he was known for his stubbornness.

“I’m otherwise occupied.” Did he have to sound as though his heart was lodged in his throat?

Locksley grabbed his cards, tossed them down. “He’s out.”

“See here—”

The viscount swung back around to glare at him. There was a tenseness, a danger, to him that had no doubt led to his surviving his treks into the wilds. Not even the king of the jungle would want to tangle with a man who looked as though he’d take great delight in devouring his prey for dinner.

“Outside.”

One word. A command. But Beaumont wasn’t a complete fool. He needed to be certain there were plenty of witnesses so he didn’t suddenly disappear from the face of the earth. “The library.”

A curt nod, and the viscount stepped back. Regaining his composure, Beaumont glanced around the table. “I shall return.” He hoped, prayed. “Hold my winnings for me.”

The Dragons might be a club of vice, but it was an honest one. Reluctantly he followed Locksley to the library, remembering the night when he’d joined him here in hopes of learning more about his marriage to Portia, of striving to determine when he might see her.

Not surprisingly, Locksley chose a seating area in a back corner of the room, away from everyone else. When they’d settled in, he did little more than study Beaumont with an intense stare until a footman delivered their drinks. Beaumont hated that his hand shook as he lifted his glass, took a fortifying swallow, and leaned forward. “Look, I haven’t said a word regarding Portia’s past—”

“Where is she?” Locksley was curt, to the point, except Beaumont didn’t know what the point was.

Leaning back, he glanced around. “Who?”

“Portia.”

“How the devil should I know?” Then the point came to him, sharp, clear, and ever so satisfying. He couldn’t help but grin like a lunatic. “She ran off.”

It boosted Beaumont’s pride to know he wasn’t the only one she’d left. Locksley narrowed his eyes until they resembled the finely honed edge of a sword. Beaumont’s smile dwindled and he fought the urge to scurry away. “She didn’t come to me.”

But dear God, he wished she had. He missed her more than he thought it possible to miss anyone. He’d handled things poorly on the terrace. Instead of ordering her about, he should have wooed her as he had in the beginning. He could have won her back with the proper approach.

“Where was her residence?”

With the viscount’s obvious need of his assistance, suddenly he was feeling quite superior. “You nearly broke my jaw. It still aches.” The bruise was an embarrassment, but worse was the fact that he had to cut his food into tiny pieces because he could barely widen his mouth.

“If you don’t tell me where she lived, the next blow will surely break it, then.”

He sighed. “You’re not going to punch me here.”

The stony look he gave said he would indeed. Beaumont sipped his scotch, studied his glass. “She’s not there. My current mistress is the jealous sort. She’d have not welcomed her.”

“It didn’t take you long to replace her.”

“A man has needs,” he said indignantly. “Besides, no one could replace her. I loved her, you know.”

“You had a strange way of showing it.”

“She brought neither coin nor position to a marriage. I’m in need of both.”

“You were going to have the child she carried killed,” he hissed.

“Wives don’t like having bastards running around. My father took care of his in the same manner. Anyway, I can’t afford to take care of a passel of children.”

“But you can afford a mistress.”

“As I stated, a man has needs. One must prioritize.”

“I have an overwhelming need to punch you again. You’re spared only because I have no wish to touch you.”

He hated that this man who was beneath him in station was commanding him about and lording over him. “Well, at least my father wasn’t a nutter.”

Locksley struck so fast that Beaumont didn’t even see it coming, but the pain that shot through his face told him that his nose, at least, was broken. His eyes watered as he dug his handkerchief out of his pocket to collect the blood pouring down.

“Where did she live?”

Through clenched teeth, he ground out the address. “But as I said you won’t find her there.”

“I’m well aware. Keep this conversation and your past relationship with her to yourself, or I shall see you ruined. Ashebury and Greyling will help me see to it.”

As though he wished to tangle with the Hellions. One was bad enough. All three would ensure he was never again welcomed in polite Society. “The threat is unnecessary. Believe it or not, I want her to be happy. But if you hurt her—”

He had no chance to complete his threat, as Locksley was already gone. It was an odd moment to realize that he had never envied a man more.

She’d hated parting with the pearls, but she didn’t have any other choice. Unfortunately they didn’t bring in as much money as she’d hoped, but it had been enough that she had felt confident going to her solicitor, that she could pay his fee. As it turned out, he didn’t charge her for his advice, as there was nothing he could do for her.

“I can’t divorce him.” Portia paced in front of the fireplace in her temporary bedchamber.

“I thought infidelity was a justifiable reason for getting a divorce,” Sophie said.

“Yes, but I can’t divorce him because I committed adultery. Only he can divorce me for my transgressions.”

“You can divorce him if he commits adultery, so say he did.”

Shaking her head, she stopped pacing. “No. I’ll not have some woman he might wish to marry questioning his faithfulness. He is loyal. Besides, it’s not enough for him to be an adulterer. He must desert me for two years. Yet I don’t have to desert him. There are different laws applied to men than to women, which makes it near impossible for a woman to get out of an unwelcomed marriage. In truth it makes everything hard for a woman.” Not that hers had been unwelcomed. It had been wonderful and exquisite.

“Well, the law always has, hasn’t it? Made it difficult for women.”

“Sophie, I don’t know how to make this right.” She dropped into the chair. “I could write a letter to the Times, explaining I was unfaithful. Once published it would leave him with no choice except to divorce me. Although he would hate me all the more.”

“What does it matter how much he hates you?”

She nodded, fighting back the desolation and tears. “You’re right. What matters is that Beaumont’s child not become Locksley’s heir.”

“And when you are free of Locksley?”

Her throat and chest tightened. She couldn’t have swallowed if she needed to. “I’m going to find a family—a proper family who will love and care for this babe as though he were their own. I should never have been so selfish as to want to keep him.”

“Or her.”

She laughed. “Or her.” Although of late, it seemed she could envision herself with a son, one with coal-black hair and green eyes.

“But how will you support yourself?”

“Go into service, I suppose.” Without an illegitimate child to mark her as a fallen woman, it would be easier to find employment. But how she would miss having someone to love her unconditionally.

A sharp rap had her turning toward the door as the maid opened it and strolled in. “A gentleman caller,” she said, handing Sophie a card.

Her friend read it, her eyebrows lifted. “Well, I daresay, I don’t think he’s here for me.” She extended the card.

Portia took it, her eyes glancing over what she’d feared she might see. Her heart galloped as though it needed to leave the room, the residence, London. “What the devil is he doing here?”

“He’s come to fetch you back,” a deep familiar voice said from the doorway.

She shot up out of the chair, took two steps back, and grabbed the fireplace mantel to steady herself. He looked marvelous. Every single hair in place, his face freshly shaven, his clothes immaculate. So different from the last time she’d seen him wander into a bedchamber, the last time she’d gazed on him sprawled over a bed.

Gracefully, Sophie rose to her feet and began ushering out the maid.

“Where are you going?” Portia demanded.

“To leave you two to it.”

As she neared Locksley, he said, “You must be Miss Sophie.”

Of course she’d told him about Sophie, blast her. That knowledge had no doubt aided him in finding her.

“I am indeed, m’lord.”

He took her hand, bowed over it, and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Thank you for being her friend.”

“We loose women must stick together.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Portia. “He’s quite the charmer. I approve, for what it’s worth.”

Only her approval carried no weight, could not undo the horrendous wrong. As soon as Sophie was out of sight, he closed the door and leaned against it, never taking his gaze from Portia. She was not going to fall into the depths of green; she was not going to let him deter her from her path. “I’m glad you’re here,” she stated succinctly.

“No, you’re not.”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek. “No, I’m not, but as you appear to be somewhat sober—”

“I am completely sober.”

“You might be more open to my plan.”

“And what plan is that?”

Did he have to stand there so calmly, sound so reasonable? She released her hold on the mantel because her fingers were going numb, and clutched her hands just above her waist, above where her child was growing. “We shall fake my death.”

His flummoxed expression gave her a bit of satisfaction. Knowing she could take him as off guard as his appearance had so easily done to her was rewarding.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“You will tell people that I died—in childbirth if need be—and I will quietly slip away so you can marry again.”

He shoved himself away from the door. “So you’d have me be a bigamist? None of the children my second wife gave me would be legitimate.”

“No one need know that. However to ensure their legitimacy we’ll get a divorce first, but a quiet one, so you don’t have to suffer through the humiliation—”

He began walking toward her. “There is no such thing as a quiet divorce. Besides, it would be a matter of public record.”

“No one is going to go looking for it,” she said impatiently. He was too near now. She could smell his sandalwood-and-orange scent, wanted to inhale it into her lungs and hold it there forever. How would she ever eat an orange without thinking of him?

“Have you not learned that secrets never remain secrets? Besides, I’ve told you before, there will be no divorce.”

She didn’t back up this time because she knew he’d only advance, so she stood her ground until he came to a halt in front of her. Only then did she notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, the new creases at the corners. “Locksley, be reasonable. If I’m carrying a boy—”

“Then he will be my heir.”

“Precisely. Which is the very reason that you must rid yourself of me as quickly as possible. If there is a way to annul—”

“There will be no annulment.”

“Will you stop interrupting me? It irritates the devil out of me when you interrupt. I will tell whatever lies are necessary—”

“No more lies, Portia.”

He’d done it again, interrupted her, but before she could object, he cradled her face between his hands. So warm, so familiar. She wanted a lifetime of him touching her.

“Listen to me, carefully,” he said slowly as though she were dimwitted. “We will not get divorced, and it has nothing to do with public embarrassment, or ridicule, or shame. I don’t give a fig what people think about me. My God, I grew up among whispers about my mad father and our haunted estate. Do you really think that getting a divorce would bring me to my knees?”

“Then why not do it? If you’re willing to endure the shame of it, why not divorce me?”

“Because I am not willing to give you up. For you see, my little vixen, I’ve fallen quite madly in love with you.”

It was as though he’d closed his fist around her heart. Tears stung, filled her eyes, rolled over onto her cheeks. Beaumont had told her he loved her but the delivery had never been so heart-felt, so soul crushing. Nor so uplifting as to make her feel as though she were soaring. “But your bloodline.”

“I don’t care about my bloodline. I care only about you.” He glanced down. “And this child that means so much to you.” He raised his eyes to hers. “As I said earlier, if you are carrying a boy, he will be my heir and I shall recognize him as such. He will know me and no other as his father. My own set a good example for me. He raised two other men’s sons as if they were his. I think he would be the first to agree that family is not determined by blood.”

“Will you tell him the truth about this child?”

“He already knows it. It’s our child.”

Her sob was the most awful sound she’d ever made, but then to her best recollection, she’d never cried other than the night he’d learned the truth. She’d always been stoic, strong, and determined to carry on. But this soul-wrenching blubbering shook her shoulders. As his arms closed around her, she pressed her cheek against his chest, heard the steady pounding of his heart. “I love you, Killian. So much and for so long. I don’t know why I ever thought I’d loved another.”

“For what it’s worth, he did love you.”

In surprise, she jerked her head back, met his gaze. Slowly, she slid her hand up his cheek, around to the back of his head. “But not enough. You love me enough.”

She brought his head down, opening her mouth to him, her heart fully, her soul. He took, with no apologies, no excuses. Yet for all the kisses that had come before, this one was different, unguarded. He was no longer shielding his heart; it was no longer locked to her.

She owned him, just as he owned her. Heart, body, and soul. At long last, someone was accepting her, frailty, warts, and all. She had made mistakes, taken wrong turns, but she couldn’t regret a single one when they had led her to him. It stunned her that she could love him so much, that he could love her without conditions.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he stroked his thumb over her swollen lips before glancing around the room. “Let’s go home.”

“You should know that Beaumont never took me out in public, never introduced me to anyone in the nobility, so it is unlikely—as long as he holds his tongue—that my past will haunt us.”

“He gains nothing by hurting you, except his own ruination. He knows that. He was also an idiot for not appreciating what he had.”

“I’m rather glad he didn’t.” Otherwise, she might not have Locksley, and she was so much happier with him.

She grabbed her traveling frock and pelisse. Downstairs, she found Sophie in the parlor. “We’re leaving.”

“Of course you are,” Sophie said as she rose from the chair and came over to give her a hug.

“I’ll send back your dress tomorrow.”

“Keep it. It never fit me properly anyway. Be happy, Portia.”

“I will be.”

The front door suddenly opened and Lord Sheridan strode in. He came up short. “Locksley, what the devil are you doing here?”

“My wife and I were just visiting with her friend.”

“Her friend? Sophie, what’s going on?”

“As he said, I was simply catching up with an old friend. They’re on their way out now.”

Portia leaned in, kissed Sophie’s cheek, and whispered, “If you ever want another life, you know where to come.”

Lifting a shoulder, Sophie gave her a sad smile. “I love the sod.”

Portia found it odd that love could break and mend hearts. Joining Locksley in the entryway, she wrapped her hand around his arm and let him lead her out of the house and away from her past.