As he climbed the stairs, Portia, that unexpected moment on the path, and her equally unexpected response reclaimed his mind. Glossup Hall had presented him with unanticipated vistas; he had the time-there was no reason he couldn’t explore them.
Aside from all else, the challenge of discovering just what one supremely well-educated female had yet to learn about life was well-nigh irresistible.
2
I never would have thought you a coward.”
The words, spoken in a soft, feminine, decidedly provocative drawl, brought Portia to a halt on the landing of the west wing stairs. She’d spent the last half hour with the pianoforte in the music room on the first floor of the west wing; now it was time to gather in the drawing room before dinner-she was on her way there.
By the west wing stairs, not much frequented by the ladies of the party as their rooms were in the east wing.
“But perhaps it’s just a ploy?”
The words clung like a caress; it was Kitty speaking.
“It’s not a ploy!” James spoke through his teeth. “I’m not playing any games-and I never will with you!”
They were out of Portia’s sight in the hall at the bottom of the stairs, but James’s aversion reached her clearly. Along with a hint of desperation.
Kitty laughed. Her disbelief-or rather her belief that no man, especially not one like James, would not desire her-echoed up the stairwell.
Without further thought, Portia calmly, and firmly, continued down the stairs.
They heard her; both turned. Both faces registered unwelcome surprise, but only James’s registered anything approaching embarrassment; Kitty’s expression was all irritation at being interrupted.
Then James recognized Portia; relief washed over his features. “Good evening, Miss Ashford. Have you lost your way?”