by Deb Marlowe
‘Ah, yes, she sounds an exact match for J.T.’
‘I think she was. They might have been happy together indefinitely.’
‘Were it not for money?’ he guessed wryly.
‘J.T.’s lack of it, more specifically. She became more demanding. She wanted a certain, expensive, diamond necklace and he didn’t have the blunt for it. Perhaps it was just an excuse—for she announced that she was moving on to a new protector with deeper pockets.’
‘Poor J.T.,’ Mateo said mockingly.
‘He was desperate to keep her. He came to me, demanding money, but I hadn’t any to give him—and I wouldn’t have given it, in any case. He went back to town and made a bet with her. He would race her through the streets of London, each in a high-perch phaeton. If he won, she would stay with him. Should she win, he’d buy her a necklace and let her go with his blessing.’
‘Oh, Lord,’ he whispered.
‘They set the reservoir at Green Park as their destination. All their low friends and members of the demimonde gathered to cheer them on.’
Mateo’s teeth ground together. ‘Were your brothers there?’
‘No, thank goodness. I like to think that they would have tried to talk some sense into him.’
Mateo was not so generous, but he let it rest.
‘They barrelled down Curzon, then he took HalfMoon Street and she took Clarges. They met at Piccadilly and were racing towards the end when they came upon a carter carrying a load of wooden faggots. His nag had broken down. They never had a chance. The carter was killed outright.’
‘And J.T.?’
‘He was crushed under someone’s wheels. He lived in agony for a couple of days. Long enough for me to arrive—at which point he soundly berated me for ruining his life.’
‘Consistent to the end,’ Mateo said bitterly.
‘The papers reported every dirty detail. And while all of England rebuked him for his careless disregard of safety and consequence, he blamed me for all the shortcomings of his life. Had I been a better wife, he would have been happy in Berkshire. Had I not been the dull, sturdy type more interested in playing in the mud, he wouldn’t have had to stray. Had I not poured all of his money into the wreck of the estate, he could have lived happily in London.’
Hate this hot and potent must be a sin. Mateo couldn’t help it; he dearly hoped that J. T. Tofton currently occupied a particularly nasty corner of hell. He clenched his fists and struggled to breathe evenly.
‘A futile, meaningless death,’ she finished bitterly, ‘that in true Tofton fashion, managed to hurt a great many people.’
She sighed. ‘You can see what happened to her. I suppose she’s been here since the accident. About six months afterward, she began to write to me, demanding money.’
Mateo sat up straight. ‘You didn’t give it to her?’
‘No, though she threatened to take her case to the courts, since she had lost her livelihood.’
‘Ridiculous.’
‘I still had my hands full paying off all of J.T.’s legitimate creditors. But I did take in the carter’s family, brought them to Stenbrooke. Somehow she heard of it and her letters increased in number and malevolence.’
‘My poor girl.’ He gave in to overwhelming temptation at last and touched her. Softly, he stroked her hair, ran a slow, comforting hand over the gloriously thick mass of it, then on into a deliberate caress down the delicate length of her neck.
She tucked her legs up and ducked her head away, pressing her forehead to her knees. ‘So there you have it,’ she said, her voice a bit muffled. ‘Now you are privy to every last humiliating moment of my life. Every hurt, every tragically wrong decision, every mistake I’ve ever made. I’ve done it all in one day—laid myself bare before you, both physically and emotionally.’ She turned her face away, towards the wall. ‘God knows what you must think of me.’
He froze. Reached out a hand, then let it drop. ‘I think you are the strongest woman I’ve ever met.’ He said it quietly, fervently, with all the conviction he could summon.
Her head shot up. ‘Well, you couldn’t be more wrong!’ Her tone rang cold and sharp. ‘I’m selfish, not strong. If I were strong, I would never have married J.T. in the first place.’ Tears ran down her face. They glistened, catching the soft light and stabbing him straight through the heart.
Perhaps she was right. Perhaps she was not strong yet, but she damned well was on her way to getting there, after oppression and hardship had done its best to beat her down.
‘You are not selfish.’ His voice registered barely above a whisper. ‘You are incredibly brave, and I am awash in admiration of you. Life is hard. But you don’t run. You don’t hide. You meet it head-on, you take your blows and, by God, you keep on fighting.’
There were those layers again. He’d been judging her on the tough, outer layer she’d developed in the years since he knew her. The one she’d needed in order to survive all the blows life had thrown her way. And he had delivered some of the worst, he realised with horror. But at her core still lived an uncertain girl. A little bruised. Most definitely alone. Such strength and hope it must have taken for her to risk herself again—with him, who hurt her first and perhaps most of all.
He’d done everything wrong. Hurt her again and again with practically every word, every encounter. Now was his chance to make it up to her.
Yet he hesitated. It was terrifying having such insight into another person—because it was never one-sided. He could see through the window they’d opened between them, straight into her soul—and she could see him just as clearly.
A delicate, dangerous situation. One he’d spent his life carefully avoiding. To allow someone full view and sincere knowledge of your true self? He shuddered. It granted them such power, such ability to do real harm. His mother’s death had proven how horrendous the pain could be when you were left alone at the window. His father had shown that it was just as bad when the window was deliberately closed.
And in his and Portia’s case, the pain was a certainty. Their lives were too different, too separate for the window to last. The wrenching hurt of separation was inevitable. He would have to leave soon. And this would make it so much harder. There would be no deflecting this hurt, no outrunning it with a quick wit or a busy schedule or even a fast ship. It would live with him, inside of him. Already he missed her impudent mouth and her stubborn independence. The sweeping curve of her nape and the feel of her breasts spilling out of his hands and into his mouth. If he took this step, he’d have so much more to haunt him, so much that he knew would be impossible to forget.
But for her he would face it. She’d shown such bravery, risked so much, and she needed to know how beautiful she was—how good and strong and lovely—on the inside and out.
He’d been silent too long. She’d turned her head on her knees and was watching him.
Abruptly, he stood. He reached a hand down towards her. ‘Come with me.’
She stared up at him. ‘Where?’
Impatient, he beckoned again. ‘There’s a gorgeous view waiting for us—and we need to see it together.’
Chapter Thirteen
Just what she’d expected to happen after wrenching her emotions out and displaying them for Mateo, she wasn’t sure, but Portia knew it hadn’t been this.
Her hand gripped tightly in his, he pulled her away from the stairs and down the hall. He paused in front of his room. Shook his head. Then he dropped her hand and pushed her to the wall. ‘Wait here. Just for a moment.’
Bemused, she watched as he left her. She was grateful for his kind words. Intensely so. He’d listened to her without judgement, responded with sensitivity and generosity. Just as he always did. Her shoulders slumped. When would she learn? Why could she never stop wishing for more from him?
And just what was he up to now? Gingerly, he tested the knob on the door next to his. ‘Locked,’ he whispered. Taking a step back, he cast a measuring look up and down the hallway.
‘Mate
o,’ she said low. ‘I should go back…Dorrie will—’
‘No! Stay here,’ he hissed.
He headed down the hall, passing one door by, stopping and listening at another. Finally he hovered in front of the last door on the opposite side. He pressed his ear against it. Ever so slowly he turned the knob. The door swung open. Holding a commanding finger towards her—a silent order to stay put—he disappeared inside.
She waited. Several quiet moments passed, then a soft glow of light emerged from the room he’d entered. He leaned out of the doorway and beckoned her.
She shook her head and raised questioning hands at him.
With a huff of exasperation that she could hear from this distance, he stalked down the hall towards her. ‘You never backed down from a single challenge your brothers threw at you,’ he whispered. ‘Are you going to turn craven now?’
She reared back and stared into the challenge in his face. ‘No!’
‘Then come on, Peeve.’
She balked at the nickname, digging in her heels.
Very seriously, he turned and gripped her by her shoulders. ‘I can only begin to imagine what you might feel at the sound of that nickname, but do you want to know what it does to me?’
Did she? She wasn’t sure. She only looked at him beseechingly.
‘It takes me back, to a blissful, happy time in my life. It brings to mind a stubborn little girl in plaits and a pinafore, a girl who never once backed down from any challenge her brothers could dream up. It conjures up a shy, pretty adolescent, who could none the less pull off elaborate pranks that boggled the mind, a young woman who listened, without judgement or recrimination, in a way that I’ve never encountered since. It reminds me of you, Portia, and all the laughter and anger and joy and tears that we’ve shared.’
Each word was a gift, a surprise that burst inside of her, utterly defeating the cold insecurities dragged up by the night’s events. Portia blinked back tears.
‘So I will stop using it out loud, if you insist, but you should know that you’ll always be Peeve to me.’
He wrapped a warm arm about her and guided her to the open room, while she struggled to regain her equilibrium.
It was another guest room, but clearly for a different level of guest. This one loomed spacious, with a high, wide bed, a screen and a standing mirror in the corner and an elaborately carved wardrobe along one wall. He’d lit several candles and placed them on the mantel. She folded her arms. This room did lack one important thing.
‘Mateo?’ She turned to find him closing the door after them. The click of the lock sounded loud in the quiet. ‘There are no windows in here.’
‘I know.’ He went past her to the corner of the room.
‘Then how exactly are we to share the view?’ She suppressed a wry grin. ‘You aren’t going to ask me to view your sketches, are you? My mother did warn me about such things, you know.’ She ran a finger along the thick down coverlet on the bed. ‘If you are not careful, I’m going to think you bent on seduction.’
‘I don’t have any sketches,’ he said. His voice strained as he lifted the large mirror. She stared. The thing was as tall as he. He placed it carefully in front of her. ‘I had something altogether more lovely in mind.’
He came to stand behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her so that she squarely faced her reflection. ‘And I am absolutely bent on seduction.’
‘You are?’ It came out as a squeak. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and met his gaze in the mirror.
‘Of course.’ He waved a negligent hand and sat on the foot of the bed. ‘But first, I want you to look—’ he gestured towards the mirror ‘—and tell me what you see.’
Her heart tripped, then took off at a run. ‘Mateo, I—’
‘Ah, ah…’ He wagged an admonitory finger, then pointed at the mirror. ‘Tell me.’
His nonchalant declaration had left her whole body a-tremble, but in no way was she going to give him a chance to change his mind. She bit her lip and did as he bade.
‘What do you see?’ he asked again, softly.
Her fingers went to her collar. ‘Buttons undone and red, puffy eyes?’
‘Look again,’ he ordered. ‘Look deeper.’
She rather liked this autocratic side of him. She definitely liked what it was doing to her insides. She tore her gaze from his and looked again. ‘A dishevelled widow lady who has just had a shouting match with her dead husband’s mistress,’ she said ruefully.
He sighed. ‘I’m disappointed in you, cara. Clearly you need a lesson.’ He stood, stepped behind her and pressed his body close to hers. ‘Shall I tell you what I see?’
His breath stirred her hair, seared her scalp and the top of her ear. She shivered, delighted with the delicious feel of it. Gooseflesh travelled down the length of her arm and her nipples tightened. ‘Yes.’
He reached up, plucked a pin from her hair, and cast it on to the bed. ‘I see courage,’ he breathed. ‘The sort that never backs down from hardship, but isn’t afraid to ask for help when it’s needed, either.’
Another pin followed, then another. Her hair sagged, heavy and loose. ‘I see a good mind and a saucy spirit—a combination that makes every moment in your company a joy.’
Her spirits soared, even as her hair tumbled down. He watched it fall in the mirror, and she caught the blaze of excitement in his eyes. He moved closer still and buried his face in the length of it.
Intent and aroused, she stared at their reflections. Almost, she could see herself through his eyes. Certainly she did look different, with her hair tumbling down over both of them and her body pressed back into his.
He inhaled, a great, gulping breath as if he were a drowning man and she a sky full of clean, fresh air. ‘I see a great heart.’ He breathed into the heavy mass, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror’s reflection. ‘One that is able to forgive the callousness of an old friend and even the misplaced wrath of a shallow, deluded woman.’
Oh, Lord. The warmth of him sent the blood rushing to her skin. His scent engulfed her, so rich and exotically different from her own. Man. It spoke to her and awakened long-neglected yearnings. Mateo, it said. Longing and heat spiralled inside of her, pooled in her belly and sent her answer back to him.
So long it had been—but, no, that was not a thought she could finish. She’d never felt like this. Mateo’s body awakened hers, his sheer physical presence sent ripples of excited sensation all through her.
But his words—his words flowed over her, inside of her. They were a balm to her cracked soul, soothing hurts she’d scarcely been aware of.
His hands clutched her hips, steadied her against him as he nuzzled her neck. ‘I could sing your praises all night long, if you’d like,’ he whispered.
‘Touch me instead,’ she answered. ‘Show me, Mateo.’
Against the small of her back she felt him stirring, growing in response. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Clever enough to know what she wants—and courageous enough to ask for it.’
‘Stop talking now,’ she said, turning in his arms. Rising up, she traced her finger softly over those lovely, tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. ‘I love these,’ she whispered. He smiled and they deepened under her touch.
She claimed his mouth with her own. He tasted of wine, vibrant and rich, of hot lust and wild desire. Or perhaps that was her. Her mouth slanted over his, their tongues danced and their souls tangled.
His fingers drifted up, over her curves and into her hair. They dug into her scalp and she arched in pleasure. He accepted the silent invitation and buried his face in the nape of her neck. Then suddenly he was working at the intricate fastenings of her habit. He’d got most of them undone and reached inside before she’d caught her breath.
‘Wait,’ she gasped. She smiled up at him. ‘It’s my turn.’
She stepped back, and trailed a teasing finger across his chest. She moved slowly, inching her way until she stood behind and to one side of him. She me
t his gaze in the mirror and cast him a slow, sultry smile.
‘Minx.’
She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth close to his ear. ‘Only with you,’ she breathed.
He moaned.
She didn’t waste her breath on words. Instead she let the press of her body and the soft whisper of her caress tell him of her gratitude and of her desire. Lightly, she ran the tips of her fingers up his sides, across the expanse of his chest. His nipples pebbled, tiny echoes of her own arousal, and she brushed a light caress there too.
In the mirror she watched him. His avid gaze followed the sensuous path of her fingers. Suddenly his eyes lifted and locked with hers. ‘Are you going to tell me what you see?’ he asked hoarsely.
Her hand stopped at the edge of his trousers. Beneath it, his belly heaved and the heat of his flesh seared her.
‘You, Mateo. Only you. That’s all I need to see.’
He stilled. Time slowed and an incredibly long moment passed. ‘Portia,’ he said quietly and in a voice full of regret, ‘I want you, more than you could possibly imagine. But we cannot go further until we both acknowledge that this can only be temporary.’
She pressed a kiss against the hard muscle of his arm, then stepped in front of him and snuggled into his arms. ‘Do you remember what I said—?’ She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘Was it only earlier today?’ She chuckled and smiled up at him. ‘We’re in a unique position, caught between our pasts and our future. We’ll likely never see another time like this in our lives.’With a raised brow and a challenging grin, she reached down and cupped the fullness of his erection. ‘We might as well make it memorable.’
Mateo groaned and thrust himself further into her hand. Memorable? Every second he’d spent with her in his arms had already etched itself into his soul.