Читать книгу Tall, Dark and Disreputable - Deb Marlowe - Страница 9

‘That’s done it now, Mrs Tofton.’

Portia’s ears still rang from the blow of the mallet. Her foreman’s voice sounded tinny and distant, though he loomed close by her side.

‘You can let go. That’s the last one.’

She did, shaking out the strain in her arms and stepping back. The damaged pedestal of her stone arch bridge was nearly repaired, she saw with satisfaction.

‘Aye, that does it,’ Newman echoed her sentiment. ‘A bit of mortar and it’ll be right as rain.’ He turned as another man splashed up. ‘We’ll not be needing another block after all, Billings. You can throw that one back in the cart. We’re nearly done now.’

Billings turned, but cast a resentful eye back towards the bridge. ‘Can I be gettin’ back to the orchard now? New branches don’t train themselves.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Portia grasped her water-logged skirts and started back towards shore, as well. ‘Thank you, Billings. I am sorry I had to tear you away from your trees.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps next year we shall be able to hire some more permanent labourers.’

‘Aye, well, and if you do, let them waddle after Newman here. I’m fine alone in the orchard, but if you be wantin’ a crop this year or next, you’ll be lettin’ me get on with me work.’

‘Oh, go on, you old crosspatch,’ she said, smiling over her shoulder at him. ‘Newman, can you finish up on your own? I suppose I must get back to the house and change before our company arrives.’

‘You’ve left it a bit late.’ Billings shifted his burden and spat casually into the water. ‘Leastaways, you did if your company’s dark, broad as that yonder oak and near as tall.’

Portia’s gaze followed the thrust of his chin towards the shore before the impact of his words truly hit her. With a gasp, she splashed to a halt and dropped her skirts. A horse stood tethered near the pony cart they had used to transport stone and supplies, and striding down the slight incline towards the water came Mateo Cardea.

Tall and strong, with sun glinting off his dark curls and shining boots, he advanced with a purposeful tread. Portia’s mouth gaped open as he failed to stop at the shore’s edge, but the chiselled lines of his face were set and determined. Without hesitation he strode right into the water and towards her. She stared, noting his furrowed brow and the large straw hat dangling from his fingers.

Water sloshed around her knees as he drew to a halt in front of her. Her breath caught.

And then he smiled.

Unfair! The cry emanated from the vulnerable part of Portia’s soul, the one that she had spent just this morning locking away. It was a nonsensical notion, but the sudden pounding of her heart felt eerily like the bang of a fist on a closed door.

Where was the angry, brooding man who’d hurled insults at her last night? She searched his face, but the stormy countenance and dangerous gaze had fled like clouds before sunshine. And left only the visage that had fuelled her adolescent dreams for years.

The real irony was that it was a face that might have been made for anger and brooding. Bold, dark eyes flashed under arched brows and amidst a longish, angular face. The great Cardea nose might have overwhelmed any other man’s features, but on Mateo was balanced beautifully by his wide, sensual mouth and irresistible tangle of curls. Masculine splendour shone down on her, warmer than the rays of the sun. And suddenly Portia wobbled, as weak in the knees as if she truly had spent too long in the heat.

Mateo stepped close and grasped her arm.

Billings snorted as he sloshed past them. ‘Coming through, Mrs Tofton.’

Newman followed without comment, and without turning his gaze in their direction. Portia barely noticed. She watched, mesmerized, as Mateo’s other hand lifted, rose and disappeared above her head. She jumped, startled at the gentle touch of his fingers moving in her hair.

‘Forgive me,’ he said softly. ‘But—’ Brown and capable, his hand hovered before her face, holding a large chip of stone. Comprehension dawned, along with a flush of embarrassment. She suppressed it and watched him toss the thing into the water. Grasping the straw hat where it dangled beneath their arms, he offered it up. ‘You’ll want your hat, Peeve,’ he said quite casually. ‘Your nose is turning red.’

She lost her fight with the advancing tide of warmth. And just the thought that he might notice turned a simple blush into a spiralling wave of heat. She tried calling herself to task. She’d meant to demonstrate her complete indifference to his anger, to present a picture of a woman occupied with her own pursuits, fully capable of commanding her own destiny. She had not meant to blush like a girl at his first words or to meet him standing knee-deep in the lake.

But this was the Mateo of her youth—and somehow their bizarre situation seemed fitting. He towered over her, one eyebrow elevated, a matching wry grin pulling at the opposite corner of his mouth. Portia drew a long, shuddering breath. It struck her hard—that oh-so-familiar gleam in his dark eyes, full of good-natured mischief and just the smallest hint of irony.

She pulled abruptly away from his touch and struck out on her own for the shore. ‘Don’t call me that, please.’

He followed, literally in her wake. ‘I will not, of course, if you dislike it. But I assure you that today at least, I meant it only in affection.’

‘Nevertheless.’ Portia climbed the springy bank, bent down and grasped her shoes.

‘Shall I call you Mrs Tofton, then?’ he asked with a quizzically raised brow.

She heard the unasked question. He wondered why she did not use her hereditary title. And deliberately she did not answer. ‘That is my name,’ she answered in the same tone. ‘But why don’t you just call me Portia, as you used to?’ She summoned a smile. ‘I beg your pardon for meeting you in such disarray. My foreman said we had to act quickly to prevent further damage to the bridge, and I’m afraid I cast all other considerations aside.’

She lowered her gaze as he drew close, and caught sight of his ruined footwear. ‘Oh,’ she gasped, ‘your boots!’ She glared up at him. ‘Whatever possessed you, Mateo? There was no need of that.’

‘But it was necessary—after my display of spectacularly bad manners, I feared you would strike out for the opposite shore at the sight of me.’ He still held her floppy hat. With delicate movements, he lifted it high. Moving slowly, as if he worked not to frighten her, he settled it on her head.

She stood stiff and ram-rod straight. He followed the line of ribbons with his fingertips and began to tie them under her chin.

‘I suppose I could not have blamed you if you had,’ he spoke low and his jaw tensed. ‘I owe you an apology, cara. No matter the situation, I should not have lashed out at you like that.’

She flinched at the old endearment. He was too close. She was too flustered. She’d wanted him to look at her, see her, but she’d imagined it at more of a distance. Portia’s heart began to flit inside her chest like a bird in a cage.

She pushed his hands away and stepped back. ‘I’m perfectly capable of tying my own ribbons, thank you,’ she said irritably. She breathed deep, needing to regain control of her wayward emotions and the situation. You aren’t a love-struck young girl any more, she reminded herself fiercely.

‘There is no need for an apology.’ There, that was better. Her tone, at least, sounded tightly controlled. ‘The circumstances are highly unusual. I suppose anyone might have jumped to the conclusions you did.’

His dark gaze roved over her. He said nothing for a long minute, just watched her closely while she fiddled with half-tied ribbons. ‘Ah, but I begin to see now,’ he said. ‘Anyone might have suspected the worst, but you didn’t expect it of me.’

Some heavy emotion weighted his voice. Guilt? Sorrow? She wished she knew which she would have preferred it to be.

‘And that changes much of what I thought would pass between us.’ His brow furrowed as he stared down at her. ‘And what do I do with you now, I wonder?’

Portia stiffened. ‘Not a thing! It’s not your place to do anything at all with me. In fact, I’d say the shoe was quite on the other foot.’

He winced. ‘I deserved that, did I not?’

‘And far more.’ She raked her gaze down the length of him. ‘Hard as you may find it to believe, Mateo, I’ve had important things on my mind—and not a one of them involved a scheme to trap you into marriage.’

He returned her speculative gaze. ‘Do you know—I think it would have been better for me, had you been the villainess I suspected you to be.’

How was she supposed to answer that?

‘Portia! Are you down here still?’

The shrill call saved her from the necessity. She glanced up and caught sight of a glimpse of colour through the trees. Many times over the years, she’d had reason to be grateful to Dorrie, but she could recall nothing like the great tide of relief that swept through her now.

‘Portia?’

‘Here, Dorinda!’she answered with a wave as Dorrie erupted from the trees at a trot.

‘Portia,’ Dorrie called, urgency alive in her expression, as well as in the unusual quickness of her step. ‘Vickers tells me a rider was spotted %h; ’ Her gait faltered. ‘Oh, yes. I see I’m too late.’

Portia fidgeted as the heavy weight of her companion’s gaze fell on her.

Dorrie let out an audible moan. ‘Oh, Portia, dear! How could you?’

From beside her came an unexpected, but completely familiar sound. From this broad-shouldered hulk of a sea captain came an almost boyish snort.

Portia’s eyes widened. How many times had she heard that exact sound? Hundreds, if not thousands. It triggered a whirlwind of old emotion: exasperation, irritation and fleeting camaraderie. Visions danced in her head, of infuriating pranks, of whispered risqué stories she’d tried desperately to overhear, and of the pair of them united, usually to get one of her brothers either into or out of trouble.

It was a sound from her past. But today it ignited a great, yearning well of hope for the future. The old Mateo Cardea would have helped her in an instant. Perhaps he was still in there somewhere.

And perhaps he would enjoy getting to know the new Portia Tofton.

Her heart pounding, she moved forwards, beckoning Dorrie closer. ‘It’s just a little lake water, Dorrie,’ she cajoled. ‘And you’re not late, but just in time to meet Mr Cardea. Come, and I will introduce you.’

Mateo watched Portia hurry away. A great wave of guilt and confusion had swamped him at her earlier words. He allowed it to fade a bit, allowed it, even, to be replaced with a wholly ungentlemanly sense of satisfaction. He’d rattled her. Good.

He had a sneaking suspicion that it would be in his interest to keep Portia unsettled. And a little rattling was no more than she deserved. After all, she’d rocked his moorings loose last night. And she’d done it again today, too, without even so much as trying. Ah, but the picture she had presented just now had been priceless! Pink-cheeked, covered in rock dust and knee-deep in water—Dio, but she’d been the most beautiful sight. He’d seen the contentment on her face and the glint of mischief shining brighter than the gold flecks in her eyes, and he’d forgotten his purpose.

What was he to do now? He closed his eyes. Exactly what he’d intended, he supposed. Her artless confusion and hesitant manner convinced him of her innocence, but changed nothing, really.

Mateo had arrived in England with a purpose. He’d meant to rebuff Portia Tofton, thwart any attempt at manipulation and get his company back. Failing that, he meant to say a last goodbye to his old life—and move on to the new. Old expectations were of no more use than a leaky skiff. A clever man knew when to abandon them and move on.

‘Mateo, may I introduce my cousin and companion?’ She approached again with the new arrival in tow. ‘Miss Dorinda Tofton.’

‘Piacere, Miss Tofton.’ Mateo bowed respectfully over her hand. ‘It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My old friend is fortunate indeed to be surrounded by such beauty.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Miss Tofton agreed with a sweep of her hand towards the lake. ‘Is it not the most charming prospect?’

‘Nearly as charming as her companion.’ He delivered the compliment smoothly, but with just the right touch of sincerity. A flush of pleasure pinked her pale cheeks, but she did not grow uneasy.

‘And almost as pleasant as a reunion with an old acquaintance.’ Miss Tofton knew how to play the game. She glanced over at Portia and her brow creased once more. ‘Please do not allow the manner of our greeting to dishearten you, sir. Though it may not look it, we have been awaiting your arrival with the utmost anticipation.’

‘Yes, yes, Dorrie.’ Portia grew impatient with the fussing. ‘I do thank you for coming today, Mateo. We must talk of your company, of course, and I have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you.’

She called out suddenly to the men preparing to leave in the pony cart. ‘Billings, Newman! Just a moment, please!’

She turned back to Mateo. ‘Dorinda is right, though; I really must change before we speak. Perhaps you would care for a stroll about the gardens?’Mateo caught the significant glance she shot towards her companion and wondered what it foretold. ‘I would love you to see some of Stenbrooke before we discuss our…troubles.’

She smiled sweetly before he could protest. ‘We’ll bring your mount along to the stables, and you can get acquainted with Dorinda.’ Her hand swept towards the bridge. ‘It’s quite safe now, and there are some lovely vistas on the Cascade Walk.’

Again, he was given no chance to respond. In a flash she was gone up the hill and climbing into the cart. One of the labourers hitched his hired horse to the cart and jumped on the back as it jerked to a start.

‘Well…’ Miss Tofton sighed as she waved them off ‘…it’s an unorthodox reception you’ve had, to be sure, Mr Cardea, but as Portia tells me you’ve been acquainted since infancy, I gather you won’t be too surprised by it.’

Curbing his impatience, Mateo laughed. ‘Surprised that Portia let a landscaping project distract her from every other concern? Not at all, ma’am.’

She glanced askance at him. ‘I see you do indeed know Portia well.’

He gestured towards the lake and they set off at an easy pace. ‘Perhaps it surprises you that a half-Italian merchant sea captain should be on intimate terms with the family of an English earl?’

Her denial came quickly, and, if he were any judge, in sincere terms. ‘Not at all,’ she assured him. ‘Portiahas explained how close your fathers were. I have to say, I was more than a little jealous when she spoke of the visits back and forth your families undertook. It sounds infinitely more exciting than my own childhood.’

‘I admit it was great fun, in most instances.’ He smiled down at her. ‘And I will tell you, over the years, in all the months we spent together, there were always constants,’ he said. He held three fingers up. ‘During each and every visit, my father and Portia’s would spend at least one evening drinking and recounting the story of La Incandescent Clarisse.’He folded down one finger and laughed at the sight of her rolled eyes. ‘Yes, I see you are acquainted with the story.’

He ticked off another finger. ‘At least one of Portia’s brothers would rake up a scrape that I would be forced to rescue him from.’ He raised a brow. ‘Again, you do not look shocked.’

The last finger he wagged in her direction. ‘And three—whenever Portia went missing, we all knew to look in the gardens.’ He dropped his hand and sighed. ‘I have only just finished telling myself that in a world of chaos, it is most comfortable to know that some things do not change.’

Miss Tofton tucked her hand a little more firmly into the crook of his arm. For a few moments they walked in silence and Mateo welcomed the cool comfort of the shade as the path led them through a grove of birches.

‘I confess it is a relief to hear you speak fondly of Portia and her family,’ her companion said after a few minutes. ‘I realise that you have not had a chance to discuss…things, but I am very grateful to think that we might have your help.’

Curiosity quickened his pulse. But as so often happened with women, his silence had encouraged Miss Tofton to continue. ‘One thing I know from experience, Mr Cardea, and I would ask you to remember, is that a woman alone does not have an easy path in this world.’

‘None of us alone do, ma’am.’

‘You are right, of course, but I profess that it is particularly hard for a woman; we have so many more obstacles and fewer options, you see. A woman in such a situation must display more courage, resilience and determination than a man.’ She let go of his arm and crossed over to a pretty little bench. She ran her fingers over the scrolled ironwork, but did not sit. ‘Portia in particular is strong in many ways, but vulnerable in others. She’s had a difficult time of it since her husband died. Aside from the obvious repercussions, there’s been the unfortunate notoriety…’ She shook her head. ‘And debt—you would not believe some of the indignities she’s been exposed to in settling James Talbot’s debts.’

Debt Mateo could well believe. Even as a young man, J. T. Tofton’s tastes had run towards high stakes, fast horses and loose women—tastes that a mere squire’s son could not often indulge. But notoriety, indignities? The companion’s words and manner suggested something more than a husband who lived a little beyond his means. A sharp spike of curiosity peaked inside him, followed by a faint sense of shame.

‘You will be happy to hear, perhaps, that one area in which she has stood fast is in her belief in you, sir.’

‘Indeed?’ Shame quickly outpaced any other reaction.

‘Yes. You must excuse me, but with no personal acquaintance of you, sir, I counselled her to proceed cautiously. I thought you might naturally have wondered if Portia had any prior knowledge of or design in your father’s actions.’

‘Naturally,’ he echoed weakly.

She pierced him with her stare. ‘But Portia stood staunch in your defence and has claimed all these weeks that you knew her better than to suppose so.’ Her expression darkened. ‘I hope you will deserve her faith in you, sir.’

As a warning, it was most effective. Mateo fought back another surge of guilt and tried instead to focus on just what all this might mean: for him and for Cardea Shipping. ‘I hope I will, too,’ he said. He held out his arm once more. ‘Shall we go back and find out?’

Portia changed quickly to dry stockings and her prettiest day gown of palest yellow, the one that Dorrie said made the most of the dreaded sun-kissed streaks in her hair. On the verge of leaving her room again, she gasped. Her hair! She’d nearly forgotten. Bending over to peer in the mirror, she moaned at the liberal coating of rock dust.

Well, she was not going to ring for her maid and wait an eternity to be re-coiffed. Instead, she took up a brush herself and stroked until her arm was tired and her plain brown locks were clean and shining. A quick high knot, a tuck of the wayward strands that would soon be working free in any case, and she was off, tripping down the stairs and rounding the turn at the bottom towards the back of the house.

Vickers stood outside the dining room, giving lowvoiced instructions to a footman. Portia nodded and, trying not to give the appearance of hurrying, she headed straight for the morning room, where double doors led out to the veranda. They stood open, bathing the room in sunshine and warmth. Despite her urgency, she could not resist pausing on the threshold.

Here. This exact spot—her favourite. Her eyes closed. She loved to stand here, poised at the juncture of inside and out, balancing on the common point between untamed nature and domesticity. Beeswax and baking bread scented the air behind her, the earthy smell of the sun-soaked lawn in front. In between. Neither here nor there. The perfect metaphor for Portia Tofton.

Voices sounded ahead. Her eyes snapped open and she crossed to the stone balustrade. There. They had reached the ha-ha; Mateo was assisting Dorrie over the stile at the far end of the lawn. Portia watched closely as they approached. Could she do it? Could she make him understand what all of this meant to her?

Carefully, she tried to gauge Mateo’s mood. Certainly he appeared relaxed as he talked easily with Dorinda. Portia stared, transfixed as the breeze tossed his curls and he laughed out loud. Their words were indistinct, lost in the crunch of gravel underneath their feet as they crossed the path, but as they approached her spot on the edge of the veranda, his tousled head rose. He looked up and met Portia’s gaze.

They grew closer, and he continued in his steady regard, until gradually it turned into a slow survey, down the length of her and back up. Something shifted inside of her, a thrill of awakening excitement, long gone but not forgotten. She gripped the balustrade beside her.

‘Portia,’ he said gravely as they reached her, ‘I was just telling Miss Tofton how impressed I am with your gardens.’

Dorrie smiled. ‘And I was just about to tell Mr Cardea how much more impressed with Stenbrooke he would be, had he seen it before all of your hard work.’

Mateo’s brow furrowed. Portia could see his mind working, remembering. ‘It was not in good shape, then?’ he asked, but he said it as if he already knew the answer.

Portia merely shook her head.

‘You know,’ he mused, ‘at first, as I rode in, I could only think of harried crews of seamen struggling to keep your more exotic specimens alive to make it in to port.’ He smiled. ‘But I also thought to myself that one of the great landscapers must have had a hand in all of this.’

‘Yes,’ Dorinda said firmly. ‘She did.’

‘Oh, don’t tease him, Dorrie.’Portia smiled and lifted her brows at the pair of them. She wanted Mateo at his ease for this interview. ‘Thank you for giving me a moment to repair myself.’

His gaze travelled once more over the square neckline of her gown. ‘It was my pleasure.’

Her pulse jumped. ‘Come,’ she said. She gestured to the elegant table and comfortably padded chairs set up in the shade. ‘Please, join us for some refreshments. This is one of our loveliest spots.’

‘Thank you.’ After he had seated them, he took his own chair and cast a smile at Dorinda. ‘When you mentioned the state of the place, I suddenly recalled the time when Portia’s aunt passed on and we all discovered that she would inherit this estate. It wasn’t until just now that I remembered that it was supposed to be a run-down old spot. Her brothers teased her unmercifully.’

He turned his gaze to Portia and she noticed tiny lines at the corner of his dark eyes. ‘Brothers do tend to believe in the right to cruelty towards their siblings, no? And in Portia’s case, I believe they regarded it as a sacred duty. Especially when they heard the estate was to come to her on her marriage. They spent hours speculating how decrepit this place would become before Portia found someone to marry her.’

Dorrie choked back a laugh. ‘Well, marry she did, and a good thing it was for me too,’ she said staunchly. ‘I’ve hardly been as comfortable and happy in my life as I have since Portia graciously took me in.’

Portia returned her fond smile, but Dorrie continued. ‘And despite their meanness, her brothers were not that far off the mark. Of course, I was just a visitor then, but the house and grounds were both in a terrible condition when Portia and James Talbot moved in.’

Perhaps Portia should not be watching Mateo so closely. Tension throbbed through her until she thought he must be able to sense it. But if she had not been paying such close attention, she might have missed it. There. Just the smallest wince at the corners of Mateo’s eyes. Not a smile line, either; it showed up at the mention of J.T.’s name. She had the fleeting thought that it resembled pain—or perhaps she only thought so because of the stabbing clench of her stomach that occurred for the same reason.

He hid it well, by turning his gaze about him. Despite her anxiety, Portia felt a thrill of pride. She could not be falsely modest about the beautiful prospect; she’d worked too hard to achieve it.

‘Do you mean to say that this—’ he gestured ‘—is all your design?’

‘It is,’ Dorrie answered for her. She glanced at Portia and then graced Mateo with a determined smile. ‘And since there is yet no sign of the tea cart, why don’t the two of you walk along the front of the house? Portia can tell you about the changes she’s made.’

‘A tempting notion, Miss Tofton, were this a social call. But it is not. Portia has stated that she had no notion of my father’s intentions and I’ve offered my apology for jumping to conclusions, but I would like to hear the particulars, if you please.’ Mateo paused, his lips pressed tightly together.

‘Ah, the devil!’ he finally exclaimed, pushing away from the table. ‘This is a damnable snarl we’ve found ourselves in and whether it goes your way or mine in the end, we need to get it untangled—and the sooner, the better.’ He sighed. ‘But I suspect that first we must find out how we ended up here. To begin with, I’d like to hear more of the dilemma you mentioned last—’

Portia jumped to her feet. ‘Please, Mateo?’ she interrupted before Dorrie could catch a hint of her late-night activities. ‘I promise your questions will be answered. And, in fact, there may be a solution to make both of us happy. But if you will bear with me, I’d like to start by showing you some of the history of this house.’

‘Portia…’ He sighed. ‘Cara, for me, this is already painful enough. I just wish to be done with it and truly there is some urgency…’

She turned a pleading gaze on him and he trailed to a stop. She thought he meant to balk—but then he heaved a sigh.

‘For amoment,’ he relented. ‘And then, Portia, wetalk.’

Grudgingly, he stood and offered his arm. She took it, and then led him on a slow revolution about the house. She spoke ardently as they went, trying to convey her passion along with a picture of the estate as it used to be. And trying to subdue the hum of passion that coursed through her with every step.

But it was difficult. Her head might know how useless and more, how stupid, it was to fall into old patterns. Her heart might shrink, fearful of trusting the man who’d scorned her first, fledgling love and bruised her tender, young soul. But her body—her traitorous body didn’t care. It lit up for him, surging with awareness, trembling with intense response to his nearness.

How could it not? He was Mateo, and he was beautiful. Not the right word, perhaps, for a sun-browned example of strong and robust manhood, but the one she chose none the less. It was the beauty of character that he possessed—stamped into his laughing dark eyes, moulded into the kindness, the confidence and the absolute assurance of his manner. It called to her, just as it always had. And she could not answer.

So she talked instead of the choking ivy that they’d had to tear down, the sagging columns that had barely supported the first-floor balcony, the gradual replacement of the casement windows and large sections of the slate roof. She used every excuse to pull away, to walk ahead and remove herself from danger.

To her relief, he paid close attention, questioning her about the house and grounds, and when they circled back to the veranda he took his seat once more with a shake of his head.

‘I admit to being suitably impressed,’ he said to Dorrie as he held Portia’s chair. ‘Portia’s descriptions are so vivid that I can nearly see the sad state of disrepair that she first encountered here. The enormity of what you’ve accomplished is humbling.’ He gazed about at the tranquil scene. ‘I can only imagine the hue and cry and mess of reconstruction. It must have taken an army of labourers.’

Dorrie chuckled. ‘That’s exactly the remark that all visitors make.’

Conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the refreshments. Portia poured: tea for Dorrie and coffee for Mateo. Strong, hot and sweet—she recalled exactly how he liked it. The quirk of his lips told her that he noticed. He sat back with a sigh of satisfaction.

‘I’m glad you realise the scope of the work we’ve done here, Mateo,’ Portia began, ignoring her own tea. ‘We started with the neglected fields first, and the orchards and the dairy. Once we had an actual income, we began on the house and the gardens.’ She leaned forwards. ‘But we’ve never had an army of hired workers. Everything we’ve done has been through the effort of our small staff and tenants. We’ve all worked hard and made something useful and beautiful. I know that you, of all people, understand what happens when people share goals, work and rewards.’

He stared. She thought he looked curious and a little resentful. ‘I think I know what you are trying to say, Portia. You’ve done an admirable job here.’ He pressed his lips together once more. ‘I suspect you mean to retain your control of Cardea Shipping, but before you decide, I ask that you listen to me, please—’

She cut him off. ‘No, what I’m trying to convey is that we are a family, Mateo. All of us here at Stenbrooke.’China clinked as she pushed her cup to the side. ‘And that is why I need you to help me save it.’

Mateo sat upright, jolted out of his customary lounge by the startling unpredictability of Portia’s words. In fact, that was not remotely what he’d been expecting her to say. He’d thought she’d been laying the groundwork, preparing him to accept her as the head of his company. Instead—

‘Save Stenbrooke?’ he asked. ‘From what? Explain please.’

Her pretty face twisted with pain. ‘You’ve complained that your father betrayed you. I find myself in complete sympathy, for mine failed me.’

‘I’m going to require a more thorough explanation than that.’

‘First I will tell you one last time—I have had no hand in your misfortune. I had no earthly idea of what your father was about, to will me controlling interest in your business.’

‘It is true, Mr Cardea,’ chimed in her companion. ‘I was here when her brother’s solicitor arrived bearing the news. I can testify to her utter shock.’

‘I panicked, in fact,’Portia said. ‘I thought something dreadful must have happened to you.’

Mateo saw sincerity in her eyes and an urgent need to be believed. ‘I’ll accept that—since we’ve met again, I already strongly suspected it. But what does it have to do with Stenbrooke?’

‘Nothing yet.’

Mateo caught his first glimpse of hesitation. He leaned forwards.

‘I was bewildered, but Anthony’s man didn’t have any answers. I sent a letter with him back to Hempshaw, thinking my brother would have them—or at least have news of you.’

‘And did he?’

She shook her head. Mateo watched several heavy strands of her honeyed hair fall from confinement and curl against the slender column of her neck. ‘No, neither. So I immediately sent a message to you, asking you to come and help me decipher this mess.’ Her gaze fell away. ‘I realise it might have been short, and perhaps awkward. That was precisely how I felt, considering how long it had been…and especially considering the nature of our last contact.’

Her hand rose and hovered near the bodice of her gown. Mateo recognised her obvious unease and thought back to her letter. It had indeed been curt and cryptic—and it had helped fuel his rising fury and suspicion. He sighed. It didn’t matter now, he supposed, but he was surprised at the intense relief that came with the knowledge that she had not conspired against him.

‘It was only a day or so later that yet another solicitor came calling—but for a very different reason.’ Portia exchanged a pained look with Miss Tofton. ‘He carried with him a deed of conveyance and informed me that Stenbrooke was no longer mine.’

Mateo shook his head. His brain hurt from the sudden shifts in this conversation. ‘How can that be?’

‘That was exactly our reaction,’ Miss Tofton said indignantly.

‘It could be—’ and now Portia’s voice rang with bitterness ‘—because of my rotten blighter of a husband.’

‘Portia!’

Mateo felt inclined to echo her companion’s gasp of shock.

‘I beg your pardon, Dorrie, but you are well aware of my feelings and Mateo might as well be, too.’

‘But to speak so of the dead…’ She shuddered.

‘Will not bother him in the least,’ Mateo assured her. He turned to Portia. ‘Please, go on.’

She nodded. ‘As you said, Stenbrooke came into my possession on my marriage. It was meant to be secured to me and my children in the marriage settlements. Somehow, my father failed to see it done.’ She fought to keep her resentment from overpowering her. ‘I have no notion how my father could have neglected to take care with the single most important thing in my life, but the fact remains that he didn’t. Stenbrooke therefore became my husband’s property, according to law.’ She paused. ‘And I had no idea. It was an oversight that no one saw fit to inform me of.’

Drawing a deep breath, she continued. ‘J.T. knew of it, obviously. He used the estate as a stake in a card game. He lost my home over a hand of faro—another fact that he neglected to tell me before he went and got himself so ignominiously killed.’

There was not enough room in Mateo’s head for all his myriad reactions to this conversation. A whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and feelings set his temples pounding. Ridiculous, then, that the one at the top was an ugly sense of satisfaction that perhaps Portia had not loved her husband.

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ he managed to say.

‘Oh, but you don’t even know the worst of it!’ Miss Tofton exclaimed. ‘This new owner is craven. He didn’t even have the decency to face Portia; he merely sent along a newly hired solicitor to deliver the news. And that dreadful man was in turn evasive and cruel. He said that his employer is an experimental agriculturist who is always in search of new ground for his research. He said it was quite likely that all of this would be ploughed under if ever he got his hands on Stenbrooke!’

Mateo narrowed his focus, and watched Portia intensely.

‘I want you to help me,’ she said simply.

He exhaled sharply. ‘And how do you expect me to do that? Portia, you must know why I’ve come. I want to make arrangements to buy back your interest in Cardea Shipping.’

She shook her head. ‘I won’t sell it to you.’

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the twisting of his stomach. ‘Perhaps just the Baltimore office, then. I started that branch myself, in the face of my father’s opposition. I confess, I don’t have enough ready capital of my own to buy you out completely, but I could likely manage just the one office.’

She shook her head again.

Now there was anger churning inside of him along with everything else. ‘Portia—’

‘No.’ She interrupted him yet again. ‘There will be no sale.’ Tension shone apparent in the thin line of her mouth and in every stiff angle of her body. ‘Instead I propose a simple trade. Stenbrooke for Cardea Shipping.’ Her hands gripped the end of the table until her knuckles whitened. ‘Buy Stenbrooke, Mateo, and sign it back over to me. Give me my life back, and I’ll give you yours.’

Portia clenched her teeth, her fists, and every muscle at her command as she waited for Mateo’s answer. He would agree. Of course he would. He had to.

His gaze, staring so boldly into hers, broke away. He exhaled sharply and pushed back from the table, crossing over to the stone balustrade. Leaning heavily, he stared out over the garden and beyond for several silent minutes. Portia’s head began to ache with the strain.

‘Why do you not go to your brother for assistance?’ he asked at last.

‘I have,’ she said, helpless against the bitterness that coloured her tone again. ‘Nothing there has changed since we were children. I am still the youngest, the baby of the family, and a woman besides. What need have I to live alone on my own estate?’ She rose to her feet and crossed over to the potted rosa rugosa. With quick, sharp movements she began to pick fading leaves off it, keeping an eye on his bent, still form all the while.

‘Anthony cannot spare the expense, and if he had that sort of ready income, he’d be honour bound to put it into his own estate. He sees no reason why I should not be happy to pack my things and move back to Hempshaw. His countess is overrun, you see, exhausted from birthing four boys in six years, and could use a bit of help with keeping them in hand.’

Mateo let loose a sharp bark of laughter, although there was little humour in it. ‘That is Anthony all over.’

‘Yes,’ she said flatly. ‘But I won’t have it. I am tired of being let down by the men who are supposed to have my best interests at heart. I want my home, Mateo. I want my independence.’

‘At the very least she should be allowed to use the London house,’ Dorrie complained. That had been her favourite plan for their future. ‘But her brother is adamant about saving expenses and has leased it out.’

Finally Mateo turned and looked at her.

‘The rest of the world would no doubt agree with my brother,’ she said. ‘But I had hoped that once you were here, and saw what we’ve done, you would understand. We’ve both had everything we wanted in our grasp, only to have it snatched away.’

His expression was carefully blank, but she could see the tension in the stiff line of his jaw. ‘I don’t have enough to purchase an estate like this.’ He gestured about him.

‘Perhaps not, but between the two of us, together in possession of a company like Cardea Shipping, surely we could, ah, liquidate some assets?’ Her spine had gone as rigid as stone, but she would not plead, even now. ‘I realise that the prospect is not pleasant, but it must be better than the alternative.’She let the unspoken threat hover.

But Mateo’s head had come up. ‘I suppose it could be done. We’ve the Lily Fair just in at Portsmouth with a cargo of flax-seed and fine walnut. And the agent there is as good as any we have in the company. The cargo itself will fetch a fair price, but once she’s unloaded, we could put it about that we’d like to sell her.’ His hands clenched on the balustrade behind him. ‘Dio, but I hate to give her up. She once made the run from Philadelphia to Liverpool in sixteen days, just two off the record.’

He stared unseeing at the terrace. ‘Her captain will be fair disappointed. I’ll have to reshuffle, offer him something special to keep him and his crew content. I’ll have to see her refitted, renegotiate with the insurers.’ He sighed then, and met her gaze. ‘But there’s no doubt she’ll fetch a fine price—perhaps enough so that with what I have set back, we won’t need to sacrifice any others. I’ll start the process.’ He grimaced. ‘And with both of our signatures upon the papers, there can be no questioning the order.’

He abandoned the balustrade and began to pace, his expression lighter than she’d yet seen. ‘There’ll be no need for me to linger, though. With her reputation, she’ll sell quickly. Our agents can handle the rest. And all you really need is funds. My own ship is waiting. A few days to draft up the exchange, leave instructions for proceeds from the sale to be sent to you, and I can be on my way.’

‘No,’ Portia said yet again.

Mateo stopped. He pivoted on his heel and turned to face her.

‘You must stay,’ she explained. ‘My brother is seriously annoyed that I will not let Stenbrooke go. He tells me there is nothing to be done and has forbidden his solicitors to aid me in this. After all the strife following his death, my husband’s solicitor will not even admit me any longer.’

Now she was on her feet and moving. ‘I have serious questions about the validity of this conveyance, but no one will give me any answers. I broached the subject of buying the estate back with the new owner’s solicitor, but he would not even agree to present the idea to his employer. This whole transaction seems cloaked in mystery, and no one will see it.’ She turned away, allowing sour frustration to leak into her words. ‘I am shushed like a child, patted on the head and ordered to pack my things.’ She spun back. ‘I am sick to death of it.’

She watched Mateo draw a deep breath. The excitement drained from his face even as it began to settle into an expression of exaggerated patience.

‘I’m afraid you don’t understand,’ he began. ‘There are business matters—’

She fought back a gasp. ‘Don’t you dare!’ She could not believe it. How did he dare to patronise her after all she’d told him? ‘Do not even think to speak to me in that reasonable tone! I’ve reached my limit, Mateo. I tell you now that I do not care what pressing business awaits you in Philadelphia. It has become painfully obvious that no one will take me seriously in this matter. Well, I am done being bullied, silenced and ignored. Clearly I need a man to aid me in this—and you are the only viable candidate.’

Anger flashed in his dark eyes and his jaw clenched. He moved away from the balustrade and began to pace from one end of the veranda to the other.

‘You will stay and help me with this matter until Stenbrooke’s deed is in my possession. Only then will I give you Cardea Shipping.’ Though she suffered a pang of guilt at his resentment, on that she must stand firm. ‘I am sorry to have to insist, but every other avenue is blocked.’ She tossed him a bitter glance. ‘I suppose I should not have hoped for sympathy. I doubt you have any notion how it might feel to be left without choices.’

‘Until now?’ he ground out.

She raised her chin.

‘And you would be wrong in any case,’ he continued bitterly. ‘You knew my father.’ He heaved a sigh of resignation. ‘He was a good man, as I know you will agree, but a hard one, as well, and one absolutely committed to his own path. You cannot imagine the frustration I have felt, the times I thought I must be crushed under his thumb. And now I find myself back in the same position.’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Albeit, under a smaller, daintier thumb.’

Portia’s breath hitched. She’d been a fool to hope that they could get through this without harming each other’s feelings once again. But she would be free at last. She was determined. She was also fully aware of the great irony here; that the one man she must force to help her gain her independence was the only one she’d ever truly wished to give it up for.

She straightened her shoulders. ‘I would not place you in such a position if I could think of another way. So I suppose it is you who must decide. In the end you will get your legacy back, but you will have to wait, and I am afraid you will have to adjust to the weight of my thumb.’ She summoned her courage. ‘So—what will it be? Will you allow my hand on the rudder? Or is it too great a price to pay?’

His eyes glittered. ‘You may have the upper hand here, Portia, but I must insist that you keep your hands off my rudder.’

Careful. His pride had already been dealt a massive blow. She must handle this delicately, but the thought of surrendering her fate into the hands of another man made her reckless.

‘This is a crucial point, Mateo. We act as equals, or we do not act at all. I will not blithely turn this over for you to handle, while I sit at home. If you cannot accept me as a partner in this, then you will not get Cardea Shipping back.’

It was incongruous, the sight of him and his restless energy and gathering ire. He drew the eye, demanded attention, and looked completely out of place here in the midst of her green and tranquil haven. She blanched as he spun on his heel and approached her. The storm clouds were back, gathering across his brow.

‘So you do not trust me with your business, Portia?’ he asked in an acid tone. ‘No doubt you think I’ll be distracted by a stray wench and forget the weighty matters at hand.’He frowned. ‘Careful, cara, you begin to sound like my father.’

‘Nevertheless.’ Her chin thrust even higher. ‘What is it to be, then? Will you accept my terms? Or is the price too dear?’

‘Almost, it is,’ he growled. ‘Almost, you tempt me to fling your offer back in your teeth. But I will do it. As you knew I would. I’ve no choice, really, do I?’

His words cut the taut line of tension running up her spine. She collapsed, sinking back onto the support of the balustrade. Relief and a fierce, hot joy blossomed in her chest.

‘Give me a name,’ he demanded. ‘Where do I find this man and his deed of conveyance?’

It took a moment for her to gather her thoughts. A great weight had been lifted from her. For the first time in months she felt…light. Hopeful. Happy. She sucked in a breath, wanting to smell and taste and wallow in it.

‘Portia? Dear, are you all right?’ Dorinda eyed her with concern.

She breathed out. ‘Of course. Mr Rankin is his name,’ she said to Mateo. ‘He has offices in Newbury.’

‘How far?’

‘Less than an hour’s ride.’

‘I’ll see him tomorrow. You can be sure that I will only ask questions, scope the lay of the land. I’ll not make a single decision,’ he said sourly, ‘and I’ll call when I return to tell you of the outcome.’ He turned away from her and sketched a brief bow in Dorrie’s direction. ‘Miss Tofton, it was a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ Without hesitation he turned and strode for the steps.

‘But…Mateo, wait!’ Portia crossed the veranda in a hurry and leaned over in the exact spot he had so recently vacated.

‘No. By God, I have no patience for any more today.’ He paused and looked up at her. She recoiled at the annoyance and frustration suddenly visible in the depth of his dark gaze. ‘I do not know how you do it, Portia, but always you poke and stir in just the right spots to send my temper flaring. I leave now, before either of us gets burned.’

Abruptly silenced, she pursed her lips and watched him stride away.