Page 55 of The Music of Love

“Are you quite sure, Stacy?”

He’d given her one of his slight smiles, the one that drove her mad with lust. Well, one of the many that drove her mad. “I want to show off my new wife.”

“I’m afraid your new wife has very little experience organizing such things.”

“Frances can arrange it.”

Portia had tried to help, but the older woman was so efficient that she’d only gotten in her way. So she’d left everything in her hands, but there would be plenty of last-minute things that needed doing today.

She yawned and ran one hand down her pleasantly sore body. In spite of her best intentions she’d been unable to curb her insatiable appetite for him last night. No doubt it was too late to hide her true nature from Stacy. Not that he seemed to mind. In fact, for all that he looked like a man carved from ice, he was just as insatiable.

Thoughts of Ivo came unbidden. He’d believed he was the ultimate lover, just like every other Roman man she’d ever met, but in truth he’d been selfish and quick.

His lack of skill in the bedroom might have been bearable if Portia had not already had Benedict as a lover. The Englishman had taught her women could enjoy bed sport every bit as much as men, and certainly more frequently. He’d shown her how to please herself as well as him. Portia now realized he’d been exceptional for a boy his age.

Not as exceptional as Stacy, but then, her husband was no boy.

Portia wondered how he’d learned his lovemaking skills and her chest tightened with jealousy. It was better for both of them if she did not dwell on such matters. No doubt he’d kept mistresses or had lovers, just like other men of his class. Well, wherever he’d learned his skills he was as generous and considerate in the bedchamber as he was everywhere else.

The door opened and Daisy entered with a breakfast tray. Portia realized she wore only a sheet tangled around her hips and scrambled to cover herself.

Daisy didn’t seem to notice. “Good morning, ma’am.” She set down the tray and went to fetch Portia’s robe, holding it out for her.

“Has everyone else already breakfasted?” Portia asked, tightening the sash about her waist.

“Mr. Harrington insisted you be allowed to sleep and he ordered this breakfast for you.”

Portia looked down at the tray, which was laden with more food than she could eat in a month.

“I gather we’re anticipating a great many people?” She munched a piece of toast while Daisy laid out her favorite day dress, a gold and yellow gown that had always reminded Portia of a daffodil.

“Oh yes, everyone will come, ma’am. Everyone is mad to see you, Mr. Harrington, and Whitethorn.”

“Mr. Harrington has never had a party before?”

“Not as long as I’ve been here. He hasn’t done much socializing since—” Daisy broke off and colored.

“Since what, Daisy?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Come now, you are my source of information in Bude. Since what?” It was shameless to pump one’s servant for gossip but Portia could not resist the urge. Besides, who else would tell her anything?

“Well, since he was courting Miss Reynard—she that married Sir Stephen.”

Portia suppressed the spurt of jealousy she felt at the thought of Stacy’s former fiancée. “They live somewhere between Bude and Stratton, I collect?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you think Lady Watley and Sir Stephen will come?”

“My mum always says Lady Watley is the nosiest woman in all of Cornwall.”

Portia laughed at her usually sunny maid’s sour look. “Then they’ll not be able to resist a visit to Whitethorn.”

“No, nor a look at Mr. Harrington’s bride. Everyone in the county knows who you are.”

Portia shivered at that news; she would be glad to leave the famous Stefani name behind her. She’d be even happier if people forgot that Ivo had ever existed.