He sniffed with amusement at the man’s tenacity to protect his only child. “I do understand. However, I don’t know if Maggie wishes for me to take care of her.”
Fussing with his cane, Mr. Kirkwood frowned. “Yes, she informed me of her impetuous decision. But this business of her cancelling the engagement is not acceptable. You and I have an arrangement, and I will not go back on my word.”
While customary for a father to arrange his daughter’s marriage, Mathew felt indignant listening to Mr. Kirkwood speak as if Maggie were naught but another business deal. Didn’t she deserve an opinion on her own fate?
All this time Mathew had been so blinded by his own struggles that he’d imagined himself to be the only one sacrificing. He hadn’t stopped to realize that Maggie would lose all of her freedom to marriage too. Yes, the very beliefs of the world might be conspiring to keep him from his own happiness, but it seemed society—and conversely Mathew—had been doing the very same thing to Maggie.
How could he have not seen that before?
He regretted how dismissive he’d been of her feelings, treating her as if she were being a petty child. Wasn’t she being asked to give up as much as he was?
Though he could not verbally commiserate this newfound understanding with her, there was something he could do.
“Mr. Kirkwood,” he began diplomatically. “I respect you very much, but we both know your daughter. If she does not wish to marry me, there’s nothing either of us can do to change her mind. I think it would be best if we allowed Maggie to have the final say in the matter. It is her life and future which we are discussing, after all. We are modern, enlightened men. Is it fair to force a situation onto the unwilling?”
He studied Mathew with those beady eyes, then burst into a laugh, his belly bouncing. “Spoken like a young man who enjoys being single.” He jabbed him with a fat elbow. “You never came back to the inn last night. Out sowing your wild oats, eh?”
“Just a bit of fun,” Mathew said with a forced chuckle.
Damnation! Were none of his actions beyond the scrutiny of others? Perhaps Rief had been correct, and meeting this afternoon was a bigger risk than Mathew wanted to admit.
Mr. Kirkwood gave him a fatherly pat on the knee. “I was young once too. The responsibilities which come with being a husband can seem like death to all fun and freedom. You and Margaret have always had your share of fun, though. Marriage will not change that.”
Had he not spouted that same falsehood to Maggie mere days ago? Spoken by another only amplified its absurdity. And to think, he’d even used Father’s very words against his best friend when she tried to explain her concerns: I won’t stand for it. How could he have been such a self-centered ass?
From somewhere within, he mustered a smile, noting with some chagrin he had become quite adept at this art of lying and pretending.
“Let me tell you a story.” Mr. Kirkwood placed one fat hand atop his broad belly, the other still holding his cane. He stared ahead, eyes locked onto a memory only he could see. “Once, I loved a girl named Clara. We had the sort of passion one can only experience with a first love. Sadly I learned a childhood illness had left her barren. When I told my father, he sat me down for a chat. Much like I did with Margaret last night.”
And that explains her hysteria this morning, he thought but wisely did not say.
“You have come to mean a lot to me, Mathew. More than I expected the day I met a fellow widower in a club and we realized how much his title needed my money and my money needed his title.” He spoke of the casual marital arrangement their fathers had made when they were yet babes. “So I will tell you what my father told me. A child makes decisions based on the heart, but a man must weigh all the options and make the wise decision. Not the passionate one.”
Throat suddenly too constricted to risk responding, Mathew remained quiet. Had Mr. Kirkwood not used his given name—such a paternal gesture—he might have dismissed the story rather than allow it to affect him so.
Mr. Kirkwood sighed, a bit of life dwindling visibly out of him. “Though it broke my heart, eventually I saw the wisdom in my father’s words and ended the romance. What sort of man can one be with no family? I care about you like the son I never had. You cannot allow Margaret to make a decision about your future any more than you can allow your own father to do so. You are a man. It’s time to start acting like it.”
A deep pang hit Mathew in the guts. Would Rief be relegated to a similar story one day?
Fighting to conceal his mounting panic, he fussed with his jacket, well aware of the remnants of lovemaking still lying beneath. It would only take one swipe of a bathing sponge and all trace of Rief would be gone.
Their love affair would end just as swiftly even as it had just begun. Forced by circumstance and society, they would have to make the “wise” decision, not the passionate one. As a merchant Mathew might arrange occasional sojourns through this part of the world, but that would never be what they truly needed.
No matter how badly they cared for each other, they could never stay together.
Chapter Thirteen
“Love, whether newly born, or aroused from a deathlike slumber, must always create sunshine, filling the heart so full of radiance, this it overflows upon the outward world.”
—Nathaniel Hawthorne; The Scarlett Letter, 1850
As the fading remnants of an early morning rain shower dissipated into blue skies, a lingering cool wind pushed the sign swinging above Rief, the hinges squeaking faintly. The Bloody Hog’s sign bore the image of a gutted pig strung up by its hind legs, a smile on its face and a mug of ale in its hoof—not even a slit throat and pooling blood a hindrance to drunken revelry.
Rief could not stop the stir of anticipation as he entered the pub. No one paid him any attention as he scanned the dim interior for an inconspicuous place to sit. The seedy, dilapidated place housed any number of afternoon drunks, and the pungent smoke from cigars filled his nostrils along with the dirty sweat of sailors. Behind the bar, the skinny owner, Albert, wiped down the scarred counter with a greasy rag. Doubtless everyone was armed, wearing danger like the sticky layer of salt that coated everything this close to the sea.
The raucous laughter of new arrivals caused Rief to turn, shielding his eyes as shadows filled the doorway, their identities momentarily obscured by the brighter light of outside.
“I daresay, you will owe me after today, Torino,” spoke a familiar English accent.
“I might be owin’ you, but only after ya pay me what we agreed upon,” the rough-looking captain returned with a toothy smile.
Lord Pembroke laughed. “Your debt will be settled shortly, have no fear.”
Stifling a curse, Rief slipped into the shadows to ensure Mathew’s father missed him as the two men made their way toward the backrooms.
“I risked a lot,” Torino reminded him, humor fading somewhat as he darted a look around the bar. “And I delivered my part of our agreement.”
Mathew’s father took a moment to gauge the other man’s seriousness, then he nodded. “I always settle my debts, captain. After my rather favorable visit with the insurance adjuster this morning, I think this is all but settled.” His cheery mood returned. “In fact, I’m feeling rather lucky.”
“Aye, no doubt that wench suckin’ on yer rod last night who give ya that false pride,” Torino said, slapping the baron’s back in the friendly way of old chums.
“Barkeep, a round of ale for me and my business partner,” Lord Pembroke called to Albert, such familiarity indicating this was not his first time betting on the games therein. “We’re celebrating our victory.”
What victory could he be referring to? Judge Marvin hadn’t returned to the island and the case was still open. Rief had never trusted Torino and wondered what “arrangement” he could possibly have with Pembroke which would make them “partners” rather than employer and employee.
“Aye,” Albert said with a smile as friendly as three missing teeth
allowed. “I’ll’ve a wench bring it to ya. Thar’s a couple cocks set ta fightin’ in an hour.”
“Brilliant!” Lord Pembroke laughed, his high spirits undoubtedly aided by drink.
Once the men disappeared, Rief made a beeline to the exit. There would be a maelstrom of havoc if that obnoxious bastard saw him with Mathew. Slipping outside, he knotted his fists.
Dammit!
It was one thing to sneak away during the witching hour to steal a few pleasures, but what the hell had Rief been thinking? Imagining they could be together during the judgmental light of day? Frustrated, he leaned against the building, taking up watch for Mathew. He’d awakened happy, cradled in Mathew’s arms, warm and content. Now such serenity seemed like a dream, another imagined painting of a pretend lover, all in his mind and nothing real.
Shaking his head at their foolhardiness, he studied the men coming and going on the wharf. At this end of town, people walked with their heads down, intent on their own business and smart enough not to make eye contact.
He spied Mathew a few moments later, surveying the buildings as he looked for The Bloody Hog. Peace and happiness flooded Rief and any darkness threatening his mood recoiled.
When Mathew noticed him, a huge smile spread across his handsome face, and he quickened his pace. Rief’s heart actually skipped a beat, leaving him winded, as if he’d just come up from a dive.
“Hi,” Rief said, standing up straighter.
“Hello.” They clasped hands, and Mathew squeezed his forearm with his other. All too quickly, he stepped back, though his grin never faded. Rief could almost taste the sweetness of those perfect lips. Feel them kissing his neck....
“Stop smiling,” Rief cautioned, though barely able to do the same.
At once, Mathew altered his expression, knotting his fists at his back. “Yes, yes,” he agreed, nervously looking around.
Despite the necessity of reining in their enthusiasm, Rief savored the foreign thrill of Mathew’s obvious excitement. It buoyed him, making him feel both giddy and drunk. He could not recall the last time he’d had the chance to luxuriate in one of the most elusive but sweetest of all human relationships.
Friendship.
Mathew glanced at the pub with a skeptical raise of brows. “Is this the place?”
“Yes, but your father is inside.”
He shot him a sharp look. “My father?”
“Yes, he’s with your ship captain in the gambling rooms out back.”
“He’s with Torino?”
Rief nodded, wondering if he should mention their peculiar conversation or not.
Cursing, Mathew dug his fists into his hips and paced a short distance away. Face red with anger, he darted a glare to the door. Rief could all but see the wheels spinning in his mind. “You know he’s in there gambling with my money?”
“No, I didn’t.” Seeing his anger roused Rief a little. Such a short time ago, Mathew had been timid and mild, but no longer. Those dominant traits lurking beneath still waters had finally been awakened.
Once again Rief had painted what others couldn’t see.
“It’s all my money,” Mathew hissed, dropping his hands and letting his red jacket fall back into place. “Every damn shilling that we put into this venture to stamp the name Pembroke on the crates is mine. We’re set to lose thousands in court, and rather than paying me back, he’s gambling. I should have never given that bastard a shilling!”
A pock-faced sailor looked over at the outburst. Not wishing to draw unwanted attention, Rief took Mathew’s elbow and led him away. Once walking, he said quietly, “I overheard something that seemed odd. I know we agreed not to discuss the case....”
Mathew looked at him sharply. “Tell me,” he insisted, adding as if an afterthought, “please.”
Rief chose his words carefully. “Is Torino a partner in your shipping company?”
He stopped walking to face him. “No, why would you think that?”
“It’s just... well? They were celebrating a victory after your father’s meeting with an insurance adjuster this morning.”
“That’s impossible,” Mathew argued. “Mr. Kirkwood and I were the only ones to meet with the adjuster.”
Rief shrugged. “It’s what he said, Matt. He called Torino his partner, and it seems your father owes him money for some arrangement they made too. If you don’t mind me saying so, Torino doesn’t have the most honest reputation. I would show caution with any dealings you might have with him.”
Mathew bunched his fists behind his back, deep in thought. Rief waited to see if he’d crossed a line mentioning what he’d overheard. The baron might be unkind to Mathew, but the man was still family.
“Thank you for telling me,” Mathew said after a moment. He looked him in the eye, wearing a rueful expression. “It seems that I have been a bit distracted from my business of late. I will have to see to it that I correct that.”
That made him grin. “I do apologize if I had a hand in your distraction.”
Mathew chuckled. “You do not have a pinch of regret.”
“No, I guess I don’t.”
“I do not know what new scheme my father may be up to, but I will find out, you can trust that. Thank you for telling me.”
The smile Mathew offered made Rief’s cheeks warm with pleasure.
“I am weary of how Father wastes the money I keep giving him.” Mathew sighed, the fight visibly draining out of him. “I keep hoping that if I help him, he might stop hating the very sight of me. But it appears I have wasted my time, yet again.”
“I understand. I learned to dive, figuring my dad would have to be proud if I was the best. I put my life at risk, diving longer and harder than everyone else. But it never did any good. My dad hated me until the day he died. In front of others, he pretended everything was normal, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes, feel his fear every time he refused to touch me.”
After a long pause, Mathew whispered, “I am sorry. The road you have traveled has been more arduous than mine. I should not be so insensitive. Forgive me.”
With a shake of his head at the misplaced humility, Rief chuckled. “We all have our own battles to wage. Every man wants his father to be proud of him, to love him. But you can’t force someone to love you.”
“No, I don’t suppose you can. However....” Mathew drew the word out and gave Rief a playful jab in the arm, the twinkle back in his blue eyes. “There are some people I wish I could force to love me.”
Chest tightening at those too-perfect words, he looked down at his boots, whispering, “By using the word forced, you imply this person might put up a challenge and you would have to exert effort to acquire a heart which has always been yours.”
A firm touch at his elbow drew his gaze back up.
“Over here,” Mathew said, jerking his head toward the alley behind The Bloody Hog. Not waiting to see if he would be obeyed, he slipped into the shadows.
Without hesitation, Rief hastened after. “What are you—”
Mathew seized his hand and dragged him behind a stack of whiskey barrels. He slammed Rief into the wall and thrust his hipbone into his groin. A violent wave of pleasure shot through him and he shuddered, barely stifling a moan. Then Mathew ravaged his mouth, forcing his tongue inside. Rief couldn’t stop another groan as he surrendered to Mathew’s sudden hunger.
“Damnation, I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I saw you,” Mathew growled, grabbing his shirt and running a length of tongue across Rief’s pounding pulse. His breath was like molten fire on his skin, his kisses nourishment to his very soul.
Senses overwhelmed, Rief went weak in the knees. He clung to Mathew, and every inch of his skin came alive with the heat of his body pressed tight against his own, lips plundering and tongues dancing.
A moment before Rief lost all control and dropped to his knees to take that delicious cock into his mouth, a rattling sound to their right startled them both.
Rief’s eyes flew open, and
Mathew stepped away fast.
Heart in his throat, Rief let out a relieved sigh when he discovered the intruder was merely a chicken. Squawking and head bobbing, it must have been startled by their intrusion.
Smoothing his lapels with a dignity only an English nobleman could manage after a kiss like that, Mathew smiled. “Perhaps we should go?”
Nodding breathlessly, Rief adjusted his erection, willing it to go back down and doubting very much that it would. He shoved his hands in his pocket, all of his skin flushed and throbbing, and followed Mathew back toward the street. Careful to keep an arm’s length away, he glanced at the people around them, wondering what they might think if they knew what the two of them had just done.
For once in his life, Rief didn’t care. Mathew’s passion for him made the risk worth it.
“Since we cannot go into the pub, what else would you like to do?”
Rief threw back his head and laughed. Several people turned and stared, but he ignored them. “After that, you have to ask?”
“Besides that,” Mathew said with a cocky smirk.
Though the kiss had left him more than randy, a casual stroll with a friend held more allure than being bent over the next available surface. “It’s a long walk, but we could go see the salt farms on the east side of the island. Have you ever seen them?”
“No, I have not. Lead the way,” Mathew said, whispering, “lover.”
Studying his feet as they walked, Rief attempted to hide the stupid grin on his face. Damn, he liked the sound of that word. Lover.
Wishing more than anything he could take Mathew’s hand in his, walk with him the way real lovers did, he buried his hands deeper into his pockets as they headed through the wharf. The exuberant cry of a gull above, the fold and crash of the waves, and the laughter of sailors filled the fresh salt air. So close to the water, everything smelled better, crisp and perfect. The sun had broken free of the clouds, warming his skin and promising a pleasant afternoon.
Even the weather rejoiced being near Mathew.
A man led a mule laden with panniers of oranges from Havana across their path, the sweet scent of citrus adding to the exotic aroma of the wharf. Another man even had a healthy display of pelican pouches to carry one’s tobacco in. They passed by a crew of spongers, their bushy gold wares strung up on pikes in clumps.
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