Jo Beverley - [Malloren 02] Read Online Free Page A

hardly the same sort of thing."
    "But it is!" He leaned forward, eyes brightening. "The thrill of that adventure was the risk. The risk of breaking your neck. The risk of a whipping. The risk that the Bollard brothers would catch sight of you and kill the witnesses. It's like that at the gaming tables. It's exciting to risk and to survive. The greater the risk, the greater the thrill. It tests a man's mettle. It makes him come alive...." But then he realized what he was saying and sagged back in his chair. "But I am done with it. Give you my word, my dear."
    Portia's hands shook slightly as she poured herself coffee.
    Oliver kept promising never to play again, but sometimes she doubted him. He spoke of gaming almost like a man in love, in love with the tainted thrill of chance.
    "There are surely other ways of testing your mettle."
    "I suppose so." He flicked her a look. "The army, for example."
    "Oliver, you know it would break mama's heart."
    "Damnation, Portia, it's not surprising I took to the tables. The only thing you and mother do is let me do is put my clothes on and ride around the countryside."
    "You could manage the estate."
    "Dull stuff, and you're better at it than I. But I suppose life will be exciting enough now." He gave her a wry smile. "For a start, I'll have to challenge Bryght Malloren."
    "No!" Portia exclaimed. "Don't be so foolish."
    "He did give me a blow, Portia."
    Portia had forgotten that. She'd been thinking of the man's treatment of herself. "It can't be necessary to fight him."
    "Maybe not, especially if I never encounter him again. Which seems likely, the way things are. In fact, we had better hope you didn't anger him. We don't need the enmity of the Mallorens to add to our load."
    Portia didn't comment on that. She'd opposed Lord Bryght and tried to shoot him, but he hadn't been in a rage until he'd found that letter and she'd told him her name. The more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed.
    She pinched some sugar from the cone and stirred it thoughtfully into the dark coffee. "He seemed to recognize the name St. Claire. Can you think why?"
    Oliver shook his head. "I suppose your father's family might be known to him. Your uncle is Lord Felsham after all, though he's very minor nobility."
    Portia's father had been the third son of Lord Felsham. After his death, Portia's mother had married Sir Edward Upcott, and had more children, two of whom had survived—Oliver and Prudence. Pretty Prudence, who was sixteen and had hopes of a good marriage before her brother made her a pauper. Portia stopped that line of thought.
    There must be a way to save their home and their future.
    "As far as I know, Lord Felsham is a nonentity," she said. "I have an uncle who is Bishop of Nantwich, but he would be of even less interest to these Mallorens." She pulled a face. "But I suppose there could be a blood feud going on with me none the wiser. The St. Claires never approved of father marrying a stocking-maker's daughter. We have no contact with them. I suppose we could see if they are able to help now...."
    "I doubt it, Portia. Lord Felsham would have to be a regular Croesus to be able to toss me five thousand guineas without caring about it."
    Portia sighed. Five thousand guineas. The price of her life, and the life of her family. It was almost impossible to believe that they were in such straits.
    It had started with the death of Oliver's father. Sir Edward had been an honest country squire, but too inclined to indulge in rich foods and port wine. One day he had risen from his bed complaining of indigestion, and fallen down dead.
    It had been a terrible shock to the whole family, but none of them had expected the tragedy to have a such a dramatic effect on their lives. Oliver inherited the baronetcy, but being only twenty-one, he was unlikely to unsettle things soon by bringing a bride to Overstead.
    However, Oliver had always been restive and unable to settle to country life. He had revived the idea of