Tall, Dark and Disreputable (4 page)

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.’