CHAPTER13
In her sitting room, Portia stared at the framed sketch Edwin had suggested they hang to cover the ink stain on her paper-hangings, unseeing. Before her, partially finished and awaiting her quill on the surface of her writing desk, was the letter she had been carefully drafting for Hattie. Because she could not be certain if Granville had tasked anyone with reading her correspondence, she had to refrain from mentioning any topic of greater concern than the weather or a desire to pay a call.
She was restless.
Days had passed.
Four more of them.
And still, not another word from Wolf.
Portia missed him desperately, but there was no hope for it. If he hadn’t any news concerning Avery, then it was best that she not have any contact with him. She knew it, and yet that did not render the distance between them any more bearable.
A knock at the door intruded upon her troubled musings.
To her surprise, it was her butler.
“You have a visitor, my lady,” he said, offering her the card of her unexpected guest.
Portia’s heart nearly dropped to her slippers when there, on the salver, was the name Wolf had mentioned to her.
Mr. Archer Tierney.
Avery.
She swallowed against a rush of hope, attempting to maintain her composure. “Thank you, Riggs. You may see him in.”
“Of course, Lady Blakewell,” the butler replied before disappearing once again.
After he departed, she rose from her desk, agitated, hands trembling, stomach clenched in a knot. Avery had come to her at last. But Wolf had warned her he was dangerous. And Wolf had promised he would send word before arranging a meeting, should he determine Archer Tierney and Avery were indeed the same person.
But he was here. Archer Tierney—Avery—was here. Alone, and without Wolf.
Her emotions churned within her in a tangled mess as she realized that Granville would likely learn about this call. He would discover Avery had been here to see her, and when and if he did, no amount of explanation on Portia’s behalf would mitigate her brother’s rage. He would be merciless in his retaliation.
Would he take Edwin from her?
Panic gripped her so fiercely that she did not hear the door open. Scarcely understood Riggs announcing Mr. Tierney.
As if in a dream, she turned toward the threshold.
And instantly recognized her half brother.
There was no doubt in her mind that the tall, grim-looking man before her was the boy she remembered. The brother she had loved so dearly. The one who had rescued her from a tree. Who had helped her to bind the wing of a bird Granville’s pet cat had injured. Who had read to her in the nursery.
“Thank you, Riggs,” she managed to tell the butler, her lips numb.
Her heart numb, too.
Her gaze met Avery’s, as green as her own. As green as she remembered. He still had the slight bump in his nose from when they were younger and he and Granville had been fighting at Hardesty Manor after Granville had pushed Portia into the lake. She’d been unable to swim, and Avery had jumped in after her, pulling her choking and coughing and terrified from the waters. He had likely saved her life. After he had been assured of her safety, he had been furious. Avery had pushed Granville. And their eldest brother had been older, stronger. Granville’s fist had landed square upon Avery’s nose…
She was scarcely aware of Riggs taking his leave, of the door closing.
“Avery,” she said, half whisper, half plea.
It had to be him, the brother she loved.
“Archer,” he corrected coolly, his entire demeanor frozen and stiff.
As if he felt nothing. As if he did not remember the bond they had shared. But she had not forgotten. She never would, nor could she. So many years had passed since they had last seen each other, but she recognized him. He still possessed the same wavy, mahogany hair, and he had grown into his shoulders and long legs. He was a tall, forbidding man now. No longer a lad.
“Brother,” she said instead, for it was the title she preferred, if he refused to acknowledge his true name.
His lips tightened. “I’m not anyone you should know.”
He had not denied their familial connection, at least. This heartened her, even if fear of Granville loomed.
“Why should I not?” she asked.
He issued a bitter chuckle. “All the reasons one might suppose. I am a scoundrel. A villain. A criminal. I kill. I steal. I lie. I do whatever I must to make myself rich.”
She shook her head. “I do not believe you.”
He shrugged. “Then don’t. The choice is yours, my lady.”