A Touch Of Passion by Bronwen Evans

Author:Bronwen Evans
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2015-03-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The rest of the voyage to England was uneventful, yet Grayson couldn’t relax. Weston was confined in the hold, and Portia seemed to be under the impression that she could handle a man like him, but Grayson didn’t trust him. Weston was like a large python, he thought. Pythons typically remained motionless in a camouflaged position and then struck suddenly at passing prey.

Portia had no idea whom she was dealing with. Weston would double-cross them if it meant more money, and he’d not hesitate to hurt or kill Portia if he had to. Grayson would prefer to tangle with the devil.

When they reached Deal, in Kent, their party settled in at the Sea Dog Inn in the center of town, far enough back from the rough waterfront but still not the most salubrious of accommodations. Their rooms occupied the entire top floor, and it would be almost impossible for an attacker to climb up to reach them. And Grayson made sure that Weston was chained securely in a small, windowless, locked, and guarded room at the rear. Though if Weston wanted to jump out a window to escape, Grayson thought wryly, he’d love to give him a helping hand. His landing would be very messy.

Grayson took what was intended to be the maid’s room off Portia’s bedroom. Seaton took the room at the head of the stairs, and his men occupied a room on the other side of the corridor. A private dining and sitting room completed the accommodations.

There was no way Grayson was letting Portia out of his sight until the enemy was caught. But he was already dreading the night, knowing she would be sleeping so near and that this would likely be the last chance to make love to her before they married. Once he delivered her to her family, proprieties would need to be observed. Desire sharp enough to whet the bluntest blade had his body on edge, but he had a point to prove to Portia, and he’d be damned before he let her learn how easy it would be for her to ensure he did her bidding.

A sudden cry followed by a commotion at the top of the stairs saw him draw his pistol. “Portia, stay in your room, and don’t come out until I call.” He barely waited for her nod of agreement before he flung open the door and eased his head out. Seaton was arguing with a very large black-haired gentleman at the top of the stairs. Grayson recognized the accent: refined, English, with a trace of French. It was Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd, one of his fellow Libertine Scholars. Arend had obviously got the letter Grayson sent him from Gibraltar.

The Libertine Scholars were a group of friends from school, six young bucks who had taken their carousing as seriously as their schooling. It had earned them the nickname “Libertine Scholars.” Grayson hadn’t expected Arend to meet him in Deal; he’d asked for him to gather the England-based Libertine Scholars, Hadley Fullerton and Maitland Spencer, Duke of Lyttleton, and meet him at his townhouse in London.

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