Where the Heart Chooses

Chapter 1-4

I’d been seeing her almost every evening for the past week, but always in a crowd, always surrounded by interested onlookers.

Now she had selected this place for us to meet.

I stood at the back of the cinema. At this time of the day, it was almost empty.

On the screen were flickering images in black and white. Celia Johnson was telling Trevor Howard how easy it was to lie when you knew you were trusted without reserve, how very easy and how very degrading.

Poor woman. She would never have survived in the intelligence community.

My eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and I spotted Folana sitting at the far end of the row, four rows down. There was no one this far back to question my choice in that spot, when there was the entire theatre available. I dropped into the seat beside her.

She turned her face slightly toward me and smiled, her hand reaching for mine. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Someone was following me. I had to make sure I didn’t lose him.”

“I don’t understand. Surely you’d want to lose him?”

If I did, they would know I was aware of their actions. They would send someone else to shadow me, and it would take time to figure out who it was. “Oh, dear. That was foolish of me, wasn’t it?” And if he was replaced at this point, I would know exactly how much I could trust her. “Why did you choose this movie?”

Her shoulders shifted under the bomber jacket that was loosely draped over them, a marked difference from the furs she wore in the evening. “Bart told me Brief Encounter was playing here when I mentioned I was going to take in a film with a friend and had no idea what to go see.”

All that s****l tension, with nowhere to go.

Rather like us.

I had seen Brief Encounter before. Mother loved this type of movie and insisted on company whenever she watched it. Even though my brothers weren’t excused—Mother had announced that since they’d have to accompany their lady friends to the movies, they needed to learn how to sit through a tearjerker without displaying an ounce of condescension—I was the one usually “volunteered.”

Folana noticed my distraction. Before I realized what she was doing, she leaned over and kissed me. Her lips were soft and warm, and the caress was tentative. Desire pooled deep inside me and heat seemed to radiate off me.

She gave a soft sigh and turned her attention back to the screen.

But her hand had dropped to my groin and her fingers were absently rubbing the inseam of the Capri slacks I had chosen to wear on this mild winter day.

My head dropped back and my eyes closed, and while Celia and Trevor desperately searched for a place to share their bliss, I found mine.

* * * *

“Miss Portia, Lady Portia wishes to see you in the Egyptian salon.”

“Thank you, Ackerman.” I smiled at the man who took care of the Creighton household and went to the room on the first floor.

My godmother stood by the front windows, staring pensively out as the late morning sun lit the square across the road. Despite her years, she was still an attractive woman, with any number of men willing to face Lord Creighton’s wrath in an attempt to win her. Not that she would give any of them the time of day.

“Yes, Lady Portia?”

“I’ve just received word from John.”

Viscount Creighton had properties in West Africa, and he spent much of his time there. The only reason Lady Portia wasn’t with him now was because of me.

“Yes, Lady Portia?”

“He wants Jack to join him in Africa as soon as can be arranged.” She and Lord Creighton had one son. When I’d first come to stay with her, I’d been thrown into Jack’s company quite a bit. He was attentive and charming, a very handsome man, tall, with his father’s broad forehead, jet black hair, and gray eyes, and a body that must have tempted many a debutante, although not me.

“Did you wish to accompany Jack? I can pack at once and move to the Savoy…”

“Not at all, my dear. While I have a number of fond memories of Africa—it’s where John and I met, you know—I must tell you that the secret to a happy marriage is occasionally putting some distance between yourself and your spouse.”

I thought that was sad, but I knew Mother felt the same way. She would often travel with friends to New York or Boston for the shows and arts and shopping, but very rarely if ever did Father accompany her.

“I could ask Jack to stay longer. I’m sure his father wouldn’t mind a trifling delay.”

“There’s no need to discommode Lord Creighton, and I’m sure Jack is anxious to join him.”

“Portia…” My godmother fiddled with the bangles on her bracelet. “John and I lost our own dear little girl years ago.” That startled me. I’d thought Jack was their only child. She smiled wistfully. “If things had developed otherwise, I should have liked nothing better than to call you ‘daughter.’”

I’d had the suspicion that our mothers were attempting a bit of matchmaking, and while, if it had proved necessary, I would have wed him, I was grateful it wasn’t necessary.

I went to her and hugged her, something I would never have done with Mother. “Will we be going to the theater tonight?”

Lady Portia sighed but allowed me to change the topic, and the rest of the afternoon was spent in discussing who would be there and what we would wear.