by Deb Marlowe
It was then that the idea hit him.
‘Unless,’ he said suddenly, ‘unless you would consent to sign Cardea Shipping back over to me, right away? Before we track down this man who’s won your estate?’ He gripped her leg in his excitement. His mind raced with the possibility. ‘It would not be as effective as leaving for Philadelphia right away, but if I were returned to the helm I could get word back, perhaps send the factor from Portsmouth back to start with the insurers…’
Mateo looked up. ‘I would not leave you, of course, until our business was complete.’ He let all of the naked need he felt show in his expression. ‘I know I have disappointed you, cara, and more than once, but you must know that you can trust me to keep my word. Please, would you consider it?’
Her expression had gone carefully blank as she looked down at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I would not.’ She spurred her mare forwards, and left him behind.
Chapter Six
The ride home passed silent and uncomfortable, but mercifully brief. It wasn’t until they’d reached the boundaries of Stenbrooke that Mateo spoke to her. He spurred his mount up next to her mare. ‘I’d like to speak to Miss Tofton when we arrive, if I may.’
‘Of course.’ Portia nodded. She purposefully curbed her bay’s passion for being the lead in every group, keeping her reined in close, but Mateo had nothing further to say. When they reached the house he helped her dismount, but also curtly informed the groom to keep his gelding ready, as he would not be staying long.
Portia was spared the need to send a servant for Dorinda; she came running lightly down the staircase as they entered the hall. ‘Well,’ she asked, breathless with excitement, ‘did it go as planned?’
Mateo snorted. ‘It did not, Miss Tofton. And I begin to detect an unpleasant pattern. It would appear that nothing in this business is fated to go as planned.’ He shot an enigmatic look in Portia’s direction. ‘I will let Portia fill you in on the details, but we’ve had several obstacles placed in our path.’
Undaunted, Portia returned the look, but he had turned back to Dorinda. ‘If you please,’ he said, ‘we’ll need your help in overcoming them.’
‘We will?’ asked Portia.
He ignored her. ‘We will be travelling to Marlborough tomorrow morning. As it is a good deal further than this morning’s jaunt, I would ask you to come along as Portia’s chaperon.’
‘I don’t need a chaperon,’ she protested. ‘I’m a widow, not a green girl!’
The expression he turned on her shone distinctly ironic. ‘I think it would be wise.’
She folded her arms. ‘And in any case, Dorrie is not a good traveller.’
‘I believe Mr Cardea is right,’ Dorrie interjected. ‘I will manage. It wouldn’t look well for the two of you to be roaming the countryside unescorted.’ Though she looked flustered at the idea, she summoned a smile of approval. ‘Not everyone will be aware of your longstanding friendship. And people do talk.’
He sketched a formal little bow of agreement. Portia didn’t like it a bit. Was this to be her punishment then? she wondered. Was she to be treated with cold formality because she had refused his self-serving request?
‘But the curricle—’ she began.
‘Is not large enough for three,’ he interrupted. ‘I shall arrange the transportation.’ He bent over Dorrie’s hand. ‘If you could be ready to depart early in the morning? At eight, perhaps?’
‘Of course,’ she answered.
He bowed once more and turned on his heel. On the threshold he hesitated. ‘It’s possible we might be forced to spend the night on the road,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘You should both pack a portmanteau.’ Without a further word or a glance in Portia’s direction, he strode out of the door.
She met Dorrie’s wide-eyed gaze with brows raised in answering surprise. In silent consensus they both rushed to watch his departure from the drawingroom window.
‘What on earth did you do to him?’ Dorrie asked in wonder.
Portia hesitated, but gave in to the awe in her companion’s eye. ‘I kissed him.’
Dorrie gasped. ‘You didn’t!’
Oh, but she had. She’d waited a lifetime for that kiss and it had been every bit as sweet and darkly seductive as she’d dreamed.
‘But, Portia!’ Dorrie still gaped at her. ‘How could you?’
She raised a brow and swept a hand towards Mateo’s retreating form. Her appreciative eye ran again over his broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs. ‘How could I not?’
She’d quite amazed herself, finally reaching out for what she wanted, and the pride she’d felt had only enhanced the pleasure of at long last being in Mateo’s arms. A thrill went through her at the mere remembrance. It was heady stuff, being kissed by Mateo Cardea.
He’d kissed her mindless, breathless, until the shabby office, the livery, indeed all the world had dropped away. There had existed nothing in her universe save the two of them and the spiralling heat of their desire. She’d forgotten Stenbrooke, her people, herself. She’d been ready and willing to follow wherever he and their mutual passion led.
For make no mistake, it had been mutual. J.T. might have had occasion to mock her womanly skills, but she knew enough to recognise when a man was in the throes of sexual desire.
Dorrie still stared. Poor thing, she looked utterly perplexed. ‘But what did he do?’
‘He enjoyed it,’ Portia replied firmly. Thoroughly. ‘Until he recalled that he enjoys running Cardea Shipping even more, and that the running of it will not be nearly as profitable if he allows a “dalliance” to slow his return.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Dorrie said. She sounded puzzled, but sincere. ‘Aren’t I?’
‘I’m not,’ Portia answered with resolve. ‘I didn’t plan it, but it happened. I took a chance, something I’ve never done, except here, at Stenbrooke. And it’s something we both must become comfortable with, my dear. It’s a chance we are taking, setting ourselves up to live alone here. And though it didn’t work out with Mateo, I am determined that it will for us, for our home.’
‘Of course it will,’ Dorinda said stoutly. ‘But I still don’t know what happened with the solicitor!’
Briefly, Portia sketched an outline of the morning’s events.
‘Well! Eventful indeed, and still you found time to press yourself on Mr Cardea?’ Dorinda’s disapproval rang clear. ‘You have had a busy morning.’
‘Oh, don’t scold me, Dorrie,’ Portia pleaded. ‘Mateo did the job for you.’
‘Well, I am glad that he did.’ Her gaze was troubled as she pulled Portia away from the window. ‘Do not mistake me,’ she said. ‘Of all people, I know that you deserve some happiness at last.’
She led Portia to the couch and kept a hold of her hand, stroking it gently. ‘But I worry for you, dear. It has been long enough—were you discreet, no one could fault you for seeking a little pleasure. But you must be careful.’ She hesitated. ‘There is something in your eyes when you look at Mr Cardea—and it is in no way discreet. I think your heart is more involved in this that you might realise.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t wish to see you hurt again.’
Portia bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Now she was beginning to be sorry she’d ever looked at Mateo Cardea with desire. And the worse part of having to listen to everyone counsel against a liaison was the knowledge that they were right. And not because she would be difficult to leave, although it had been sweet of Mateo to insinuate such a thing. She knew better than to believe it, though. Clearly she was not the sort of woman who could tempt a man away from his other interests. Her husband had proved that point, repeatedly.
She swallowed against the sour taste in her mouth. No, Dorrie had the right of it. Her feelings for Mateo ran too deep. She was supposed to be seeking her independence, not handing her heart over to someone with the power to destroy it.
‘You know I appreciate your concern, Dorrie dear, but you may relax. Mateo possesses a plethora of reasons why we should not becom
e more intimately involved. Not the least of which is that he has no wish to prostitute himself while getting his company back.’
‘He said that to you?’ Dorrie asked, shocked.
‘Right before he asked me to turn Cardea Shipping over to him. Now. Before we have Stenbrooke back in our possession.’
Her companion glanced back in the direction of the window. ‘I am beginning to rethink my favourable impression of the man.’ She turned back, looking troubled. ‘What did you answer?’
‘I said no,’ she said flatly. Was she supposed to just trust him to keep his end of their bargain? Lord, but she’d wanted to. She’d looked down into those pleading, dark eyes and she’d wanted to please him, to ease his worry. Even after he’d rebuffed her advances, even after the repeated offences he’d dealt her, she’d wanted to say yes.
But she’d stopped herself in time. She could not risk it. Every man she’d trusted had put his own concerns before hers. Nothing Mateo had said or done so far had convinced her that he would act differently. His priorities were firmly fixed on himself and his business.
A loudly clearing throat distracted her. Vickers hovered on the threshold, a tray in his hands. ‘The post has arrived, Mrs Tofton.’
She knew before he’d crossed the room what was on the tray. She could see the worry and distaste he tried to hide. She glanced at the single letter once, and then tossed it back on to the tray.
‘Burn it,’ she said.
Dorrie had gone tense. ‘Is it from…Reading, then?’
Portia nodded.
Dorrie jumped to her feet. ‘Oh, that horrid woman! I felt sorry for her once, you know.’
Portia did not answer.
‘Is there nothing to be done about her? It is harassment she’s subjecting you to! Perhaps a magistrate—’
‘Just burn it,’ Portia instructed Vickers. ‘Right away.’ She turned back to Dorrie, fierce with determination. ‘We have to look after our own interests. For if we don’t, no one will.’
A sea captain intimately understood the value of patience. Frustrating as it might be to wait out bad weather, he knows to keep his vessel close-hauled upon the wind and wait for fair wind and sea before he unfurls his top-gallants. Many times as a privateer, Mateo had held his breath and his crew at a stop, waiting for his enemy to be caught in exactly the right position for a broadside volley. Hell, at the tender age of fourteen, the men in his mess had lectured him on how to stall his own pleasure, to be sure of his lady’s. But not once, in a long and varied career, had Mateo ever had a greater need for patience than he did right now, dealing with Portia Tofton.
She would not trust him to keep his word, but she was willing to take him to her bed? What sort of logic was that? He snorted in disgust. Women’s logic—the sort tailor-made to drive him mad.
And therein, perhaps, lay part of the problem. For until she had pressed that deliciously curved body up against him, he hadn’t allowed himself to think of Portia as a woman. First he’d painted her as a scheming opportunist; once he’d realised that he was mistaken, still he had not truly looked at her. Instead he’d overlaid her with a picture of the unassuming, unfailingly suppor-tive young girl he’d once known.
In reality, she was neither. Portia Tofton was proving to be far more complex than Portia Varnsworth had ever been. She still was as he’d remembered and expected, but she’d grown, too. No, he had not expected to encounter strength, steel and determination. She’d become a woman of fascinating layers. Were this any other time and circumstance, he’d enjoy nothing more than slowly peeling them away. One by one, he’d work his way from the lovely, rounded outside to the sweet and juicy kernel within.
Dio knew he was tempted. She’d kissed him—so hot and sweet—and he’d longed to loose her hair until those sun-kissed streaks curled about him. Her arms had held him tight, and he’d ached to go further until they were snarled together in a passionate knot. But he suspected that neither of them could tangle limbs without also involving hearts and lives. In the end, she would be hurt, and he was just beginning to wonder if he might not be, too. It would not be wise for either of them to indulge themselves.
Unfortunately, Mateo was a master at indulging himself. Keeping away from her was not going to be easy—especially not now that he’d had such a tantalising taste. He’d never been good at denying himself the things he was not supposed to have. As a child he’d always filched the buccellati his nona set out to cool. As a young man eager to learn of life at sea, he’d stowed away on one of his father’s ships and earned the right to be called a son of Neptune.
And now Portia had lit a great, blazing light in his mind and body. It shone unrelenting on the attraction, the desire and the possibilities between them—and he was going to have to keep himself in the dark.
He sighed. Devil-may-care, his mother had called him with affection. And now, in more ways than one, his past was coming back to haunt him. If he wanted a future, he was going to have to overcome it.
His course was clear: he would keep his distance, exercise a little restraint and do his best to keep them both off the rocks.
He was off to a good start this morning. He’d hired a well-sprung carriage for the trip to Marlborough, and though it was roomy enough, he’d also hired a hack for himself. He was glad enough for it when Portia had emerged from Stenbrooke’s front door.
In a spring-green dress with a tightly fitted bodice, she made him wish he could once again don those blinders he’d been wearing. There was no doubting her womanliness today, or her pique with him. Oh, she greeted him with all politeness, but she barely met his gaze, even when he took her hand to help her into the carriage.
And though he’d just set his course for distance and restraint, he couldn’t help but admire the view. The square neckline and cunning wrap-around collar of her gown exquisitely framed the creamy expanse of her chest and throat. Dio, but he’d been a fool not to see what was right in front of his eyes. He made up for lost time now, staring until she moved past him and all he could see was the few inches of her nape between her collar and bonnet.
And right then, for a shocking instant, he could not catch his breath. Right there. His hand convulsed around hers. He’d kissed her right there and laid claim to that sweet, tender spot. And he wanted quite fiercely to pull her back and do it again.
But then she was in the coach, and her hand left his and the moment passed, thanks be to the heavens. Mateo stood a moment, flexing his hand where it had touched hers. Hell and damnation.
‘Mr Cardea,’ Miss Tofton said patiently. Mateo started. Was it the first time she’d addressed him? She twinkled up at him, and he thought it likely was not. ‘Do you know just how old Mr Riggs might be?’
‘Dorrie.’ Portia called the warning from the coach, but did not look out of the window.
‘What?’ her companion asked, all innocence. ‘A woman should prepare herself for all eventualities, dear. And just because you have no interest in marriage does not mean that I do not.’
Mateo blanched. Miss Tofton noticed and laughed outright. She held out her hand for his assistance.
With all alacrity he handed her in. Just as he closed the carriage door behind her she held his gaze and met it with a slow wink.
For the first time Mateo began to fear he was outmatched. As quickly as possible, he made sure the luggage was loaded and saw them all off.
Fortune smiled upon them. The weather held fair, the roads were wide and well kept, and the horses were fresh. They covered the first half of their journey in good time. They made Hungerford, the halfway point, by mid-morning. His mood much improved, Mateo called a halt at the Bear Inn.
All lay quiet at this time of day, which meant there was no shortage of ostlers and grooms to come to their assistance. ‘Ladies, I confess,’ Mateo said as they emerged from the coach, ‘despite the beauty of the day, the dust of the road has me longing for the clear wind and clean deck of my brig.’ He raised an enquiring brow. ‘Since that’s not to be had, I
’ll presume to propose a substitute. I dare say you won’t mind a short break?’
If anything, Portia’s mood appeared to have worsened. She did not answer, but climbed wearily down, her face set and wan.
‘That would be lovely, Mr Cardea,’ Miss Tofton answered apologetically. ‘I fear neither of us is as seasoned a traveller as you. I, for one, would appreciate a chance to stretch my legs. Thank you.’
‘Come, Peeve, look lively!’ Mateo had never known her to object to travelling. ‘We’ve made dashed good time. Stenbrooke will be back in your hands all the sooner because of it.’
‘Let’s hope Mr Riggs will be as co-operative as the weather,’ she agreed. Mateo stared at her. Her eyes were closed, her shoulders drooped. It came as something of a shock. Listlessness was not something he’d ever heard or seen out of her.
‘Having doubts?’ he teased. ‘We’ll just have to hope he has a high regard for his mama.’
She didn’t respond to his sally, and he could see the strain in her expression as she looked about. ‘There’s the innkeeper.’ She pointed. ‘Shall I go and bespeak us a private parlour?’ she asked.
At his nod she hurried off. Mateo watched her go, then turned his questioning gaze on her companion.
Miss Tofton didn’t pretend to misunderstand his look. ‘It’s my fault, I fear,’ she fretted. ‘I should have considered that an enclosed carriage…I just didn’t think…’ She let her words die away.
‘It’s not motion sickness?’ Mateo could not suppress a sailor’s disgust for such a notion.
‘No.’ Her mouth twitched at his dismay. She glanced about at the flurry of men seeing to the horses and carriage. Stepping away, she raised her brows. ‘Hungerford is such a pretty little town, is it not?’
Curious, Mateo followed her. ‘Yes,’ he said for the benefit of their audience. ‘The thatching on all the cottages is particularly charming.’