Page 31 of The Music of Love

Portia wanted to ask her in the worst of ways what this woman had done, but Nanny blinked and seemed to come to herself. “I don’t want that,” she said, looking at the jar. “The Fants can have it.”

The rest of their conversation revolved around Nanny’s garden and there was no more mention of imaginary earls or Lady Watley.

The older lady was so chipper that Portia stayed too long and had to hurry to get back in time for her lesson. She’d just entered the foyer when Soames found her.

“Mr. Harrington will see you now, Signora.”

“Thank you, Soames.” Portia wished she could go up to her room and tidy her hair but she satisfied herself with a quick glance in a mirror before making her way to the library.

Stacy was leaning over his desk when she entered. “Ah, good afternoon, Signora.” He gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”

The top of his massive desk was piled high with ledgers and rolls of paper. “I hope I am not interrupting you; I shan’t take up very much time.”

“It is a welcome interruption, Signora.” She heard a slight weariness in his modulated tone.

This man has been inside me. The thought sprang from nowhere and Portia’s legs went rubbery at the sudden, graphic image that accompanied it. She gratefully lowered herself into the chair.

“How may I help you, Signora?”

“Would it be possible to have an advance on my wages?” Portia swore he looked relieved, as if he’d thought—or feared—she might say something else. But what?

“Of course. I should have thought of that myself, Signora.”

“I do not require all of the money, perhaps the amount for two months?”

“I should be very glad to pay you all of it. I trust you enough to render the services promised.”

Portia’s face heated at the word ‘services’ and she knew she must look very much like a brick wearing a day dress.

Fuck me, Stacy.

The words ricocheted around in her head, amplifying the heat that was already spreading through her body.

“Two months will be sufficient, Mr. Harrington.” Her voice cracked on his name.

He removed a strongbox from a drawer and counted out a sum she assumed to be two month’s pay. He rose and walked around the desk to hand it to her. Portia stood and was immediately aware of how close the action brought her to his body. Close enough to smell him, only faintly, but enough to stoke her yearning for him, which seemed to burn hotter every day.

She took the money from his hand, careful not to touch him, as if that might create a dangerous spark. “Thank you.”

He propped his hip against his desk and crossed his arms. “Is there anything I can do to help with your travel plans?” His cool, conversational tone convinced Portia that his insides were not tying themselves in knots. He was a man; likely bedding her once had been enough to get her out of his system. If she’d ever been in his system to begin with.

“Thank you, but I’ve already seen to everything.”

A heavy, uncomfortable silence hung between them and stretched . . . and stretched.

“Will it be just business in London, or will you have some time for pleasure?”

“I am staying with friends, so it will not all be business.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” He hesitated and then said, “I understand you went to visit Nanny this afternoon?”

“Yes, I wanted to see if she felt better before I left.”

“Better?”

“She was not well the last two times I stopped by.”

His brows drew down. “I wasn’t aware of that. I’ll have to speak to the Fants.”