Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

AUGUSTA

M y stomach drops to the pit of my stomach as I follow Portswell. His broad shoulders look square and menacing as he walks beside me, his expression brooking no contest. But then, what am I to say? I was ferreted out. Hoist upon my own petard.

Whatever possessed me to come out there in broad daylight where everyone can see? I know what possessed me; I just don't want to admit it. Turning back toward the flames and wreckage, my heart seizes as I watch, helpless, as the fires continue to rage, the embers catching spark of the location I once stood.

A bit of fabric. If only. My entire being mourns the trousers and shirt as they, too, turn to ash along with everything else. Granted, the women now disposed from their places of work and living cause a grief I cannot communicate, but to know that I'm down a set, leaving me with just the one stashed somewhere safe.

I should feel more for the women huddled in the street, their ears burning just as hot as the fires with the vitriol spewing from the men surrounding them. Selfishly, I think of nothing but myself for the moment. They have others to mourn with them. Right now, I have just myself.

Shaking my head, I force my mind to be where it ought to. As difficult as it was to procure the two sets, I can eventually get another pair. They, however, have nothing. Though I'm not entirely sure the mechanics of what it is they do in those rooms, I know without their lodging, they cannot recoup any coin to replace their losses.

I, on the other hand, simply have to be frugal with my spending, keeping my purchases under what's expected, so I may pocket the rest for what I wish to do. That and have a few more successful nights at the gaming hell. If I dare chance it. Their plight and mine are not the same.

Tugging on Portswell's cuff, I drag him to a stop, ignoring the sour look on his face. "Whatever will happen to those women?"

In an instant, his face clears as he glances back behind us. A hint of sadness wafts off of him, displacing the anger from earlier. In truth, it is far more desirable to feel him like this than the former. It almost makes him feel approachable… Almost.

"It is hard to say. I wish I had the answers you seek."

My insides bristle as I stare up into his blank expression. "I feel as if you're not being forthcoming with me. Why do you refuse to loosen your tongue? What harm is there in knowing?"

His eyes narrow as he takes a step toward me, his fingers curling into fists. He won't strike me. I know it as intimately as I know myself. It's not because we're in public either. It's because he's not that kind of man.

"Look to your brother when he returns. Or better yet, your husband, if we can get you married off. I am not in charge of your education, nor do I wish to be."

There's an odd quaver in his voice, a timber I do not recognize. If only I could learn to decipher men as easily as they seem to understand me. Countless times I've gone amongst them, and I still have no clue about anything. Honestly, it's enough to almost make me want to stay at home.

Almost.

Again, we resume our trek home, my pulse pounding in my ears. The closer we get back to the Western Exchange, the more the landscape changes. Gone are the older, more rundown houses just waiting to be set ablaze. Here, it's quite obvious the Alphas ensure everything is as it should be.

Beautiful dresses swish about as women laugh and giggle, their minds not even close to thinking about those of the lower classes. In truth, I shouldn't either. It makes me more of an anathema to my status. But in their eyes, I see the same longing for freedom as I feel.

I cannot just turn a blind eye to their plight. Glancing up at Portswell, I note the clench of his jaw as he moves others aside to allow us swifter passage. If anyone thinks our pairing is odd, they make no show of it. I wish he would say something else, do something other than glower ahead.

He still holds that edge of lethality that threatens to make my knees buckle and my heart race. Even now, I feel that blasted moisture gathering between my thighs. Will he be able to tell? Can he possibly know the effect he has on me? Thankfully, far too many scents swirl about the air, hopefully masking my budding interest.

"That would be your lady's maid, would it not?"

I look up ahead where Lydia glances about, her movements frantic as she searches every nook and cranny for my whereabouts. Guilt gnaws at me as I slip from his side and go over to her, my hands fluttering over her shoulders to reassure her. Portswell follows behind, not allowing me a moment of clemency.

"You are to accompany her home," he growls at the woman quivering by my side. "No dawdling. No additional stops along the way. Straight there."

"Your Grace," she murmurs, giving a low curtsey. "Please do not be wroth with my mistress. I merely turned, and the crowd swelled. I didn't think I'd lose sight of her so swiftly."

His lips quirk into the ghost of a rare smile, making my insides clench. "It is not my place to say what happened or didn't. All I know is she was left to her own devices unchaperoned. I hesitate to even mention where she was."

"Miss," she cries out, her face going as white as fresh linen. "Are you well?"

"She is, for the moment, unscathed and uninjured," he answers for me. "Though I dare say, the next time you're permitted out of the house, perhaps it will be best to tie a string around a wrist to link the two of you." He turns to me, his smile faltering so swiftly I worry I imagined it in the first place. "A lot can happen in a span of a moment. Never forget that."

My lips twist down into a frown as I resist the urge to plant my hands on my hips. "It could have happened to anyone."

"But it didn't," he seethes. "It happened to you. Under my watch." He shakes his head. "I thought guarding you was going to be an easy task."

Blast. I can't have him be on the defensive. Not when I'm about to have such incredible freedom. Batting my eyelashes as I've seen the other coquettish ladies do, I step closer, doing my best to allow my scent to waft over him. But if it makes him feel any sort of way, he doesn't show it.

In fact, his expression becomes all the more thunderous and stormier. "My deepest apologies, Your Grace," I murmur, doing my absolute best to put on a face of contrition. "It was an accident. Nothing more."

"This is not the time nor the place for this discussion. We will address it later." He turns to Lydia, his lips still turned down into a frown. "I will, of course, speak with the butler on this matter. He will conduct any further inquiry as he sees fit. Now leave before the gossipmongers catch wind of what occurred today."

"Your Grace," we say together as we rush away from the din.

Each step is heavy, wooden, as we make our way back home. I'm not quite sure what will await me in my brother's study, but it cannot be pleasant. The only times I've been in there were for the occasional punishment or bad news. But since Portswell is not my brother, father, or other family member, he cannot presume to do anything more than a stern discussion. Right?

It doesn't ease the apprehension dripping down my spine as we grow closer. Next to me, Lydia shivers, the fear palpable in the air. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as she fiddles with her fingers in front of her. No one is truly upset at her. Portswell merely said he'd speak with the butler: such a kindly fellow.

The duke even went so far as to actually smirk at the girl. That has to account for something, right? The sullen ennui threatens to shroud me as the girl sniffles by my side. Oh, enough of this.

I've only gotten surly responses and frowns from Portswell. She gets an actual conversation. Between the two of us, I should be the one afraid. Stopping off to the side, I pull her closer to me. Again, the shudders get worse as she attempts to pull herself out of my grasp.

"No, Miss," she cries, tugging away from me. "He said to not tarry. We cannot stop here, or he'll know."

"And what?"

"Miss?"

"And what? What can he possibly do to us?"

She glances over my shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. "I do not assume he will do all that much to you, but I could lose everything. My job in your household is at stake. Or worse, the butler may punish me. I've yet to be punished by him, but I know of his heavy hand."

"Shall I speak in your stead?"

Her eyes widen as she takes a step back. "No, Miss. That is nigh unheard of. I will not have you taking responsibility for what is clearly my fault. I simply do not wish to make it worse. That's all."

Again, that niggle of guilt slides down into my gut, driving all other thoughts from my head. It's not really her fault. I chose to walk away when her back was turned. But I can't tell her that. If Portswell were to know my actions were purposeful, that would ruin everything.

"Think nothing of it. I will explain to the butler what happened."

"You do not understand, Miss. I am the help. Your help. It will always be my fault." Tears shimmer in her eyes, driving that knife further into my heart.

Unfortunately, what's done is done, and we both need to face the consequences. Only, it's not her fault at all, and I hate that I cannot make anyone else see reason.

Arm in arm, we continue walking, our steps the only sounds. But then, what really is there to say? Although I do my best to stretch out the journey, we inevitably arrive. So far, there is no sign of Portswell. Perhaps if I dart away to my room, I can escape his wrath. Would be unseemly for him to chase me down.

However, as the door opens to let us in, the infernal man shows up by our side. "Seems to me you would have made it here a bit sooner," he growls.

I look him up and down, sizing him up. "The fact that we arrived around the same time speaks to our speed. Your legs are much longer and have a far greater stride. Not to mention that you are unencumbered by layers of clothing. I would surmise your breeches give you far greater freedom of movement. Besides, as ladies, it is unseemly to hasten. Would you like all of the Ton inquiring as to the speed in which we travel?"

The duke lowers his head and rubs the area between his nose and forehead. "I suppose you make a bit of rational sense."

I resist the urge to preen as I force Lydia past the threshold. "You will find, Your Grace, though I am a woman, I do have the ability to be rational on occasion."

He remains silent as I push past him. At this point, I no longer care if I'm just a touch rude or not. His high-handed, pompous ways grate on my nerves in a way I never expected. As I stride forward, about to make my exit to my bedchambers, his hand catches my elbow.

"You are to be in your brother's study when I finish with the butler. If I have to hunt you down, it will not be a pleasant experience for you."

Biting down on my lower lip, I once more attempt to soothe the savage beast. "Please, Your Grace. The poor thing is terrified. She's worried about being cast out, or worse."

With a sigh, he rubs his hand down his face. "I see I must change the order of operations. To your brother's study, so we may finish this conversation without an audience."