Still, he knew he could not show her the full extent of his rage. The fury within him was for one person only, and that was the Marquess of Granville. Wolf had no wish to further add to her upset. She seemed frightfully vulnerable in his arms, her tall frame pressed to his as if seeking succor.
He counted to five in his mind, formulating his response with care, before speaking again. “I am going to make certain he never ’arms you again.”
Christ, he was slipping into the cant accent of his youth, the one he’d tried his damnedest to banish from his tongue with the guidance of the tutors Jasper had hired. But that was how strongly Wolf felt about this.
About her.
He understood, with blinding clarity, that he had never loved Lydia, not truly. Had never felt even a hint of an inkling of a goddamn crumb of what he felt for Portia.
“There is nothing you can do, Wolf,” she said sadly. “I must answer to my brother.”
It was not fair.
He wanted to rage and rail. To do something—anything. Even if it meant sacrificing himself.
“You should not be forced to answer to that swine. He is a cowardly villain,” he bit out. “I do not understand why your husband would name him as the guardian of your son.”
The color fled Portia’s lovely face. And once again, her gaze darted away from his. “Blakewell had good intentions. He made the provisions he did because he did not trust me…because of my past, and because of my son.”
Wolf frowned, struggling to understand her words. “Why would he not trust you? You are the best bloody mort I’ve ever known.”
Her gaze flitted back to his, clinging, and she nibbled on her luscious lower lip. “My past.” She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Blakewell was not Edwin’s father. I was wild and reckless in my first Season, which is how I became known as Lady Scandal. And I wrongly believed myself in love with a man who proved to be a villain. That man is Edwin’s father, not Blakewell. The earl was unable to produce an heir, and he married me, knowing I was carrying another man’s child, because he was ill and he wished for an heir. So you see? Given my past, Blakewell feared I would not be an improving influence upon my son.”
She lowered her head at the last, as if she were too ashamed to meet his gaze.
Bloody hell.
“I don’t see,” Wolf bit out. “Not at all. Blakewell believed putting you at the mercy of a brute who would harm you was the best way to protect your son?”
Portia worried her lip some more. “I do not think he knew my brother would treat me as he has. Or perhaps he did, and he was acting in what he felt was the best interest of my son. He considered Edwin his heir and never treated him as if he were anything less than his true son. To the outside world, Edwin is his heir.”
Wolf shook his head, angry at the earl for having left her at the mercy of such a scoundrel, angry at her for thinking her past should define her future. “We are not so very different, you and I. You believed yourself in love with a cove who didn’t deserve you. I thought myself in love with a mort who didn’t deserve me either. Hearts can be led astray. We should not have to pay the price for our mistakes forever.”
“What I did was wrong. If anyone had discovered, I would have been forever ruined,” Portia said. “Fortunately, only my family learned of my ignominy.”
“And promptly married you off to an arsehole who forced you to live beneath your despicable brother’s rule,” he ground out. “I fail to see the fortune in that, Countess. You cared for someone. You believed him a good man. There’s no wrong in thinking the best of someone.”
Her emerald gaze searched his, her countenance troubled. “Most people would count me privileged to continue as I have, becoming a countess and maintaining my place in society rather than losing everything as so many others in my position have done.”
How he hated her calm acceptance, the way she spoke of her circumstances as if she ought to be thankful for being beholden to a bastard of a brother who beat her when she displeased him. Was that the way of it for nobs? He supposed it was. Maintain a façade to please society. Follow the rules or perish. Never dare to have a heart. Never take a chance. Above all, never make a mistake.
And damn the Marquess of Granville to the fires of Hades for treating his own sister thus. The man clearly needed to reach an understanding. In the most difficult and painful manner possible. And Wolf was going to make that happen. He vowed it.
“Listen to me, love,” he said, attempting to gentle his tone, for the force of his emotions at the moment was enough to down a grove of bloody trees. “It ain’t a privilege to be forced to bend to the whims of a tyrant. It ain’t a privilege for a man to raise his hand to you because you’ve gone against his dictates.”
“That is the way of my world.” Her tone was sad. Accepting. “I have not made the rules. I am merely forced to live within them. For my son’s sake, I must.”
“It is for your son’s sake and yours both that you must not,” Wolf countered grimly. “This ain’t right. Your brother can raise his hand against the lad just as easily as he’s done to you. And what will happen the next time you displease the marquess? I’m not going to wait to find out, Countess. We are going to fight. Together.”
She was quick to shake her head. “No, you must not involve yourself. It would only go poorly, and I would never ask it of you.”
Wolf’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. He wanted—needed—to help her. Doing so was more important than air. Because before she had miraculously appeared in his life, he had not known what it felt like to love someone. He’d thought he had, and he’d been wrong. This soul-deep, gut-clenching force, this need to protect, it was stronger than anything he had ever known. It was bigger than he was. And he would do anything, give every damned last part of himself, to keep her and her son safe.
“I know you wouldn’t, but neither could I live with myself if I did nothing,” he growled. “But it ain’t right, what is happening to you. What you’ve been enduring.”
“I have been enduring it for years,” she said mildly. “You need not fret over me.”
“The hell I needn’t,” he ground out. “I wasn’t there before. I didn’t know what was happening to you. But now I do, and I’ll not stand for it. The woman I love is not going to be at the mercy of a cowardly, heartless scoundrel who thinks he ought to impose his will on his sister by beating her, for Christ’s sake.”
His entire body was shaking beneath the strain of his pent-up emotion. His hands were trembling. The effort of his words almost seemed more than he could bear. If he possessed a contrivance that could take him back in time, he would travel to the moment before that bastard had struck her. He would plant himself between them and dare the Marquess of Granville to raise his hand to an opponent matched to his strength. And then he would give him the basting he was owed.
“Say it again,” Portia said, interrupting his tumultuous thoughts.
He blinked, struggling to understand her request. “Pardon?”
“The woman I love,” she repeated softly, her vividly green eyes glistening. “That is what you said, is it not?”
Well, hell. So he had.
No point in denying it now. “Aye. I love you, Portia. My heart is yours. And I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
Whatever that meant, however it could be achieved. He understood the disparity in their stations. Whilst his siblings had married above themselves, he had no expectations of her. She was a countess, and her son was an earl. Her situation, thanks to her brother’s guardianship of the lad, was untenable. Wolf would make no demands of her. All he wanted to do was love her.
Even from afar, though it would bloody well kill him.
She raised a hand to his cheek, her ungloved skin delicate and soft. The floral essence of her faintly teased his senses as she did so. My God, that touch. If he could have only one to last him for the rest of his life, it would be this. It would be hers. It would be the way she held his face as if he were not just beloved, but essential. As if he were fashioned of glass instead of a rough-hewn beast of the rookeries.
“I love you too, Wolf,” she said.
And he could have died a happy man just then.