Tall, Dark and Disreputable (9 page)

No
. It was an image that he could not endure. He kissed her again, purposeful, urgent and hot. He was desperate to drive the image of J. T. Tofton from his mind, the memory of him from hers.

But the heavy fabric and high neckline of her habit frustrated him. He ran his hands along the length of her, delighting in the sweet turn of her waist, rejoicing in the abundant curves of her breasts. He pulled her close, wrapping himself around her, as if in that way he could claim her, make her his own.

She pulled her mouth from his, breathed his name in his ear. Her voice rasped, husky with need.

Portia
. He stiffened, torn reluctantly away from desire once more. This was Portia in his arms, tempting him, driving him wild and making him forget.

But he ought to remember. No matter how much he burned for her, he needed to remember who she was and why he was here. Remember that only yesterday he’d accused her of the vilest betrayal. Remember that people were depending on her. That others looked to him for their livelihoods and on top of that responsibility he
also carried the weight of a centuries-old family tradition.

How weary he was of carrying so many burdens. He yearned to dump them overboard, leave them behind as so much flotsam and return to the discovery of this new and intriguing facet of his relationship with Portia. But could he do it? No doubt it was exactly what his father would have expected him to do.

He pulled away. Stepped back.

‘We cannot,’ he said, holding on to her hands, meeting the question in her eyes with regret. ‘This has to stop.’

Her eyes filled. She ducked her head. ‘Does it?’ she asked the floor.

‘It does,’ he affirmed. He let her go and retreated across the tiny office. ‘I’m sorry.’

She raised her head then and took a step towards him. ‘I’m not.’

‘No,’ he said again. ‘Portia…’ he turned her name into a caress ‘…my impetuous Peeve, you do not understand all the issues I am faced with.’

‘Then tell me,’ she said simply.

He ran a hand along his jaw. How to make her understand? Turning away, he braced a hand on the door frame and looked out over the small courtyard and the street beyond. But it was the thought of Philadelphia that occupied him, and a clipper he saw in his mind’s eye, heavy in the water as she fought an icy sea.

‘First I have to make you understand how things are at home.’ He sighed. ‘Twenty years ago, Philadelphia was the greatest seaport in America. Our ships, builders
and seamen were famous, our reputations earned us the greatest respect. But war and blockades, the rise of other ports, shifting markets, they have nearly broken us.’ His head dropped. ‘You have been to my home. You know how all of my family is involved in Cardea Shipping, in one way or another. If the ships do not sail, if the warehouses sit empty, then my uncles and cousins and their wives and children do not eat.’ He shrugged. ‘Yet our port has fallen into an unprofitable pattern of revival and depression that must be broken.’

‘And you have an idea how to do that?’ She sounded interested, despite herself.

‘Everybody does,’ he snorted. ‘Many of my competitors have turned their backs on the sea altogether and now they ship coal from the interior on crude, box-like boats.’ He shuddered. ‘I have done what I can, what my stubborn father would allow me to do. I have searched out new markets. I fought to establish a presence in Baltimore’s rising hold on foreign goods.’ He paused to look over his shoulder and catch her eye. ‘Now Cardea Shipping is on the eve of its most important venture.’

He breathed deep. ‘Ships from Philadelphia were the first to break the monopoly of the East India Trading Company. Twenty years ago there were forty of our vessels engaged exclusively in regular trade with the East. It is a difficult market, yet the rewards are great. And I mean to revive it.’

He gripped the frame hard in his passion. ‘Any day now the
Sophia Marie
will be beating her way home. Near a year and a halfshe’s been gone. Mycousin Giorgio
captains her—he and her crew will be weary from the long trip from the northwest and the difficult journey around Cape Horn, but her holds will be stacked high with the deep-piled furs that the Chinese adore. I have a warehouse stocked high with the ginseng they crave.’

He turned back to face her. ‘The risks are high in a voyage like this, but the odds become more favourable for a caravan of ships. For several years I have toiled, putting together this enterprise. I have spoken endlessly, cajoled shamelessly and forced compromise on a handful of uneasy, rival merchants. I’ve battled my father and risked my reputation putting this arrangement together. It was to be the biggest opportunity of my lifetime.’

He could see the comprehension in her eyes. ‘Until the reading of your father’s will.’

He nodded. ‘Until I was no longer the head of Cardea Shipping, nor even the eventual heir to the business. I was only a man whose own father had passed him over, whose father had given control of his business into the hands of a woman a continent away rather than see his son take over.’

‘Oh, dear. Oh, Mateo,’ she breathed. ‘I am sorry.’

‘You can imagine the value my judgement holds now. The caravan, the entire Eastern enterprise, began to unravel. My investors have fallen away. The insurers will no longer do business with Cardea Shipping until they hear from
you
.’

She bit her lip, but he pressed on. ‘Do you understand now why I must finish our transactions as quickly as possible? Cardea Shipping began generations ago in
Sicily. My grandfather brought it to the New World. All my life I’ve planned to carry on the tradition left by countless Cardea men. This was meant to be the making of the business, setting us up for success for years to come.’

She exhaled slowly. ‘I begin to see just why you were so angry with me.’

‘I was laughed out of port, Portia, for losing my business to a woman,’ he said bitterly. ‘I am anxious to restore my reputation, yes.’ He met her gaze with a hard, direct stare. ‘And what do you think would be said of me, should it became known thatwe…’ he gestured ‘…were involved.’

‘That you were a man of great good taste and refinement?’

He did not smile. ‘No, and you are naïve to think so. I have no wish to for ever be the man who prostituted himself to regain his legacy.’

She shrugged. ‘It happens every day in the aristocracy.’

He began to grow impatient. ‘It does not in my world. And even were we to remove that consideration, still it would not be a good idea.’

Mute, she looked away from him.

‘Your father and mine might be gone,’ he said, folding his arms in front of him. ‘And I have more than a passing suspicion that my father’s mind was running along exactly these lines, but do you think I would betray their memories so?’

She waved a dismissive hand. ‘There is no betrayal between consenting adults. You don’t need an excuse, Mateo, a simple “No” will suffice.’

He should let it go. Clearly she was ready to do so. But for some reason his mind kept scrabbling around and around the idea. ‘I only consider the gossip that would arise about you. We were raised as a family in spirit, if not in blood. Your opinion of me must be abysmal indeed if you think I would dishonour that tradition and treat you so shabbily.’ Oh,
Dio
. He greatly feared that he was trying to convince himself, not her.

She looked at him squarely. ‘You are being dramatic again, Mateo. And you forget that I have been out in society a little. I did pay attention, you see. Married and widowed women have gentlemen admirers all the time.’

‘Is that what you want? A gentleman admirer?’ he asked bluntly. ‘Because your kiss told me that you are more interested in a lover.’

She stiffened. Perhaps he should not have been so crude. But she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. ‘And if I was? You are free and so am I. There would be nothing shameful in such a…relationship.’

She put on a brave front, but he could see the start of tears swimming in the depth of her dark eyes. The sight caused his stomach to clench. ‘I do not mean to hurt you,’ he said gently. ‘It is more than evident that I desire you,
cara
. Perhaps it is because of our history, but I cannot regard you so casually.’ He took the risk and approached her again. He caught her hand. ‘It is not in me to love you and leave you,’ he said softly.

She said nothing, only gazed up at him, hunger in her gaze.

And a warning clanged sharply in his head. ‘No—it
could be nothing else. We’ve explored this avenue before, Portia.’

‘I know.’ He could barely hear the words.

A sudden fear set him to say, ‘I am too restless for married life. You, of all people, should know that, Portia. I cannot even stand still for long! Nothing in my life has prepared me for such a thing. I would be abysmal at it.’

‘I don’t recall asking you,’ she snapped.

He raised a brow.

‘A kiss!’ she nearly shouted. ‘I wanted a kiss. I’ve had it. I thoroughly enjoyed it. But that is all.’ She wrenched away from him. ‘Men! A lady asks for an inch and they fear you mean to steal a mile!’

Had he been wrong? ‘I am sorry,’ he said. Again.

‘Yes, I know,’ she said bitterly. ‘And you are not ready to be anything else. I understand. But all of this talk, if you ask me, is the true damned hum. We could have “dallied” seven times by now and no one would have been the wiser.’

He let loose a short bark of laughter. ‘Of course they would. People know. They always do.’

As if to prove his point, the attendant and a groom at that moment appeared in the courtyard outside, leading their mounts. Trying to silently convey the full weight of his regret, Mateo extended his hand and led her out to meet them.

But when the groom had gone and they stood alone next to her restless mare, he gave in to temptation once more and touched that wayward lock curling so prettily
against her nape. ‘Can you see how a dalliance,’ he said quietly, ‘no matter how tempting, would not be wise?’

She looked up at him, her brown eyes shining, but did not answer.

‘You have Stenbrooke to get back to and I must make haste back home. A quick finish to our business and then we must say goodbye once more.’ He wrapped his hands about her small waist and lifted her easily into the saddle. She hooked her leg over the pommel and settled in.

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.

T
he 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 become 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.