down.
Philip Flagstaff, Earl of Cumberland, had walked in without waiting to be admitted. His face had aged beyond his years. Philip blamed himself for Robert’s death, and part of Grayson agreed. He mentally shook the thought away. That was unfair—they were both to blame. Robert had died in
his
arms. He hadn’t gotten to him in time, just as he hadn’t been able to save Christian from his fate either. Why was it those he loved died or suffered grievous injury while he remained unscathed?
“I was just heading out to an appointment, Philip.” Grayson still couldn’t bring himself to call him Cumberland. Robert should have been the earl.
He had a meeting with the Bow Street Runners, who had information pertaining to Christian’s case. He’d hired them to find out information about who had framed his friend. The Duke of Barforte had shanghaied Christian Trent, Earl of Markham, to Canada, accusing Grayson’s friend and fellow Libertine Scholar of raping his daughter. It wasn’t true, of course, and Grayson was doing everything to gather evidence to acquit his friend before Christian sailed home. He owed him.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. May I speak with you, in private?” Philip’s countenance screamed that he had a problem.
With a sigh Grayson motioned Philip toward his study as he pulled off his gloves and shrugged out of his coat, the ever-present Timmins there to catch it.
“I can see you need a brandy,” Grayson said. He went to the sideboard and poured them both a drink while Philip paced in front of the window. “Stop wearing my carpet to a rag and sit. All that pacing is making my eyes cross.” He sank into the chair behind his desk.
“Have you seen Portia of late?”
“Portia? Not since my last visit to Flagstaff Castle. I didn’t even know she was in town.”
“If it were anyone but you … if I did not know of your promise to Robert to be Portia’s guardian … I’d shoot you where you sit. There is a rumor that last night you had a secret liaison with her in Vauxhall Gardens—”
“I most certainly did not.”
“—and that, once finished, you left her there.” Philip’s gaze could have sliced the strongest steel.
Anger rose swiftly until it thrummed in Grayson’s ears, and he almost missed Philip’s final words.
“Apparently you placed a large wager at White’s that you could get Lady Portia into a compromising position.”
Grayson thumped the table, but Philip ignored it. “That’s when I knew it wasn’t you. You’d never have placed a bet on compromising a lady. Especially not Portia, Robert’s sister.”
“I would never dishonor your sister.”
“True, but she would happily dishonor you. Everyone knows it.”
Grayson could not hide the heat flaming his cheeks. An image of Portia pushed up against the wall, her plump breast in his mouth, entered his mind, and his body tightened, as it always did when he thought of her.
“She is like a sister to me,” Grayson ground out.
Philip’s slight smirk showed he wasn’t fooled.
“What exactly do you wish me to do about this?” Grayson asked. “I gather her reputation has been damaged further.”
Philip looked at his hands. “I know her feelings for you, but what are your feelings for her? Guarding her reputation was never one of her interests, and this has sealed her fate.”
“Surely I can prove it was a hoax. She must have witnesses, those who can vouch as to where she was last night.”
“That’s the problem, and that’s why I need your help. Part of me had hoped it was true and that she would be here with you.”
“With me? You obviously need my help or else you would not be here. You have not wanted my company since we returned from the war.”
Philip’s cheeks burned red. “Portia is missing.”
Grayson’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth. He slowly lowered the crystal glass to his desk, struggling to breathe. Another nightmare was playing out. He’d known this sort
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