Without bothering to knock, he burst through the door, his breath as ragged and weary as his heart. The room was illuminated by a brace of candles, and Portia’s back was to him as she stood by the lone window. At his abrupt entrance, she spun about.
And Wolf’s weariness was dashed when she came running toward him.
He caught Portia in his arms instinctively, holding her securely, as her sweet floral scent wrapped around him. He buried his face in her hair, though it was mostly bound in some manner of complicated knot that denied him the pleasure of the silken strands unruly and free.
“Countess, what are you doing here?” he asked.
She held him tightly in return, as if she feared he would disappear if she did not cling with all her might. “I need you.”
Worry instantly surged, a knot tightening in his gut. “Is something amiss?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly.
He told himself he needed to remain calm. He could not spy any hint of an injury upon her in the low light. But if whomever had dared raise a hand to her had done so again, he could not be held accountable for his actions.
He ground his molars, forcing himself to attempt calm. “Tell me, love.”
She tipped her head back, searching his gaze, her eyes wide and so astoundingly emerald. “Avery paid me a call. Archer, I suppose I should say. My brother is calling himself Archer Tierney now.”
So Tierney had gone to her. Which meant he had not been nearly as indifferent to her plight as he had pretended earlier with his callous response to Wolf’s telling him Portia had been struck by someone. And if he had reached her in such haste, it also meant Tierney had been watching Portia from afar, and possibly for years. He had known where to find her, despite the intervening time and change of circumstances.
“It is my bloody fault,” Wolf muttered, his hold on her tightening. “Is he the reason you’re upset, love? What did the devil do?”
Her lower lip trembled and the undeniable sheen of tears glistened in her eyes. “He demanded to know who had done me violence. What happened? What did you tell him?”
It would seem Tierney was not entirely heartless. He obviously gave a damn about his sister and what happened to her. His reaction earlier had been feigned. Wolf could not entirely loathe him, knowing that. Even if the merry-begotten arsehole had seen him tied to a chair for the better part of an hour.
“It is a long story, what happened between myself and Tierney today,” he managed, his voice thick with emotion. “I hope you are not angry with me for what I revealed to him. I only did so because I needed to know for certain if he was your half brother, for your sake.”
“He is furious. I fear what he shall do.”
“To you?” he asked, struggling to understand. “I’ll not allow him to hurt you.”
“No,” Portia said softly, her gaze dipping to somewhere in the vicinity of the knot on his cravat. “Not to me. I do not believe he would ever harm me. He has always protected me. Whilst he could, of course. It has been many years since he last tried. But I am worried that what he aims to do will only make my circumstances worse, and I cannot bear it. I can bear anything, but I cannot lose my son.”
She was trembling in his arms, the ferocity of her emotions eliciting an answering prick of tears to his own eyes. But that couldn’t be right, could it? Wolf Sutton did not bloody weep.
He kissed her cheek, then brushed a stray tendril of chestnut hair from her face. “Why should you lose your son? I don’t understand, love. Will you explain?”
“My brother,” she said, a hitch in her voice.
“Tierney, aye. What are his threats?” he asked tightly, fury rising, replacing the sadness.
“Not him.” Portia inhaled on a shaky breath, then exhaled slowly before continuing. “I have another brother, a legitimate one. He is now the Marquess of Granville. He is also the guardian of my son. Blakewell named my brother as Edwin’s guardian in his will. As such, Granville takes precedence over me in every matter, from my son’s education, to my own actions. He has warned me that if I displease him in any manner, he will take Edwin from me.”
The naked fear in her eyes was akin to a fist in his gut. For a moment, Wolf could not breathe. Then, slowly, his protective nature roared to life.
“He is the one who struck you,” he guessed. “The Marquess of Granville.”
He was not asking. From the start, he had suspected a male relative. And he knew Portia well enough to understand she was a loving mother who would do anything in her power to protect her son and keep him at her side. If that meant bearing the violence of a heartless scoundrel who possessed untold power over her, she would do it.
Suddenly, her reticence in confiding in him made perfect, ugly sense. His chest went tight, the breaths he drew increasingly difficult. He ached for her. For her son. For what she had endured. How hopeless and helpless her life must be, living beneath the rule of her cruel brother.
“He was quite furious with me after he discovered I had come here to The Sinner’s Palace at the urging of Mrs. Courteney. I was meant to have attended a social engagement he and his wife were hosting, but after…” Her words trailed off as she flushed, and he knew the reason.
He would never forget the day they had met, not as long as he lived and breathed. It was a part of his very soul now.
“I could not bring myself to go,” she continued. “Not after what happened between us.”
He knew what she meant, for it had shaken him to his core as well. He had already begun to fall in love with her then, he realized as he looked back. How swiftly it had happened. But he could not fathom his life without her in it.
“That night changed me,” he told her.
In more ways than I can say.
“It changed me as well,” she said softly.
Say it now.
Tell her you’ve fallen in love with her.
But nay, it was too soon. The moment was not right. The specter of her evil brother loomed, and for the first time, he truly understood.
“Your brother the marquess,” he said slowly, hating to broach the subject, but needing to know. “You fear him.”
Her gaze slid from his. “I fear the power he has over me.”
“He has struck you before, has he not?” he guessed.
A shudder went through her frame, and he absorbed it as his hands glided over the small of her back in soothing strokes. It required all the restraint he possessed to keep from showing the anger roiling within him.
“Yes,” she admitted.
Wolf had never felt a stronger urge to destroy another. And he’d been in bloody, knuckle-to-knuckle, knife-to-knife fights more times than he cared to count. The rookeries turned men against each other; it was simply the way of it. In his world, it was defend one’s territory and family to the death if need be. But he had not known this visceral, raw desire to protect and defend the way he did for Portia and her son. It went to his marrow.