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against you, but I’ll not hold your loyalty against you, even if I consider it misplaced.” He took up his spoon. “Just beware of making groundless accusations. Now, sit down and use your breath to cool your soup.” He turned his attention to his own soup as if signaling a definitive end to the subject.
    She would make no points by starving herself. Portia hitched out the stool with her foot and sat down. Nothing further was said until she was halfway through her bowl and Rufus had finished his.
    Then he said, “And why are you journeying to Cato’s domain?”
    “Jack died.”
    He caught the quick shadow that crossed her eyes and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”
    “He was all I had,” she responded, the matter-of-fact tone belying her emotions. She still wept for her father in the dark and dead of night.
    “So, you’re throwing yourself upon Granville mercy?”
    It was the same bitter, sardonic tone, the flash of sympathy vanished, and it brought Portia back to the reality of her situation. Half-kidnapped, while the devil only knew what Decatur’s men were doing to her Granville escort. She put down her spoon with a gesture of finality.
    “Finish your soup,” Rufus said. “Annie will be upset if you leave any.”
    She pushed the bowl from her.
    Rufus raised an eyebrow. “Where have you come from?” he asked, his tone neutral.
    “Edinburgh.” she said dully.
    “Cato sent men to fetch you?”
    “What business is it of yours?” she flashed, pushing back her stool. “What possible interest can that be to you?”
    “Everything Cato does is of interest to me,” he responded calmly. “Sit down and finish your soup. What good will it do to starve yourself?”
    “Oh, I’m perfectly accustomed to starvation,” she said bitterly, stalking to the door. “I’ll not sit here and meekly betray my uncle for a bowl of soup.” Icy air gusted into the cottage as she opened the door and then slammed it behind her.
    Rufus wondered how long it would take before she realized she’d forgotten her cloak in her anger.
    “What’s with the lass?” Annie set the pig’s cheek and a dish of turnips on the table. “She eatin’ or not?”
    Rufus, to his surprise, found he was not inclined to leave the uncooperative Mistress Worth to the consequences of her stubbornness.
    “Yes, she’s eating.” He got up and went to the door. Portia was standing at the garden gate. Freddy wouldn’t produce her horse without Rufus’s orders, and she was clearly contemplating her situation. He caught himself reflecting that Jack Worth’s daughter for all her youth had an old head on her shoulders.
    There was something about her that disturbed him. Something he found moving in the way she held her frail body rigid against the renewed flurries of snow. Her bright hair was veiled in white, and when she turned her head at the sound of his step, the sharp angularity of her profile looked pinched and drawn.
    “Portia.” He came down the path toward her, clapping his hands across his chest against the cold. “No more questions. Come inside now.”
    “You’ve discovered all you need to know, I suppose.”
    “No,” he said frankly. “I’ll never discover all I need to know about Cato Granville’s affairs. However, I want you to come inside and finish your dinner.”
    “I’ll not come in while my uncle’s men are being used as sport.”
    Rufus abruptly lost patience. He’d done what he could,coaxed and cajoled enough to save a damned Granville from an empty belly and an ague.
    “Please yourself then.” He turned and went back inside. He took her cloak from beside the door and tossed it along the path toward her. Then he stepped back into the warmth and closed the door.
    Portia ran to pick up her cloak before it became soaked on the snow-covered ground. The flakes were now thick and growing heavier. She wrapped herself in the garment and walked purposefully around the side of the cottage, following the horses’ hoofprints.