Tall, Dark and Disreputable (8 page)

‘None at all, sir!’ Dobbins replied happily.

Portia stood, smiling brilliantly. ‘That’s settled, then.’ She held out her hand to Dobbins. ‘Welcome aboard, Mr Dobbins.’

P
erhaps Portia should have felt disheartened. Her simple plan to regain Stenbrooke had suddenly become more complicated. The Michaelmas deadline had acquired a new significance and now she had Mr Rankin working actively against her, instead of just callously executing his duty.

She wasn’t in the least disheartened, however. Oddly, and against all reason, she felt elated. Rankin had been vile and rude, it was true, but he had a long way to go before he could match the habitual coarseness of her late husband. Rankin’s discourtesy had barely moved her—and it was not only because of her more than passing familiarity with a bully’s behaviour.

No—it was because she’d faced it with Mateo at her side. He’d always done that for her, boosted her confidence with his own. Her father, perpetually surprised that he’d fathered a girl after so many strapping sons, had always treated her as if he’d expected her to break, or perhaps just
to break into tears. She’d always thought he’d be equally horrified at either occurrence. To her brothers she’d been a nuisance, or an occasionally amusing target, and as for J.T.…well, she was not going to ruin her good mood by recalling anything about him. But Mateo had always treated her with a simple acceptance, and she had come to crave that heady feeling of equality.

Today she’d had a taste of it again—and she wanted more. She bit her lip to keep from grinning. Watching him stride up Northbrook Street ahead of her, she knew that that wasn’t all she wanted.

Mateo was different in nearly every way from the other men in her life. He just seemed so much
more
. Darker and more handsome, without doubt—also strong enough in character to stand up against the unscrupulous and confident enough to extend a little kindness to the unfortunate. Mateo had never, she felt sure, dragged someone down to lift himself up.

Instead, the opposite held true—he exuded an incredible masculinity that was impossible to ignore. Perhaps it came from being a ship’s captain and the air of command that went with it. Perhaps it was the intriguing dichotomy of knowing that his large, calloused hands were equally comfortable gripping the top rigging of a merchant sloop or a lady’s hand amidst London’s grandest society. Whatever its origin, his appeal was a smoky, nearly tangible thing, reaching out to her and setting her blood to surging until she feared she couldn’t contain her response. Despite the difficulties ahead, she felt hopeful and light.

Unfortunately, Mateo’s temper was not pulling in tandem with hers. Since they’d parted from Mr Dobbins he’d been silent and withdrawn. Lost in contemplation, he’d walked beside her, but without touching her, until his absorption and his longer pace allowed him to gradually draw ahead. He had not even noted her absence, and though she knew he did not deliberately ignore her, and while she could certainly appreciate once more the pleasing prospect of broad shoulders, tight trousers and tall boots, she was not inclined to allow it to continue.

Already he’d reached the side street that led to the livery. ‘Mateo,’ she called as he made the turn. She was still a good distance behind him.

He did not pause.

She quickened her step. ‘Mateo!’ She reached the corner. The crowd was thinner here, but still the street was busy. ‘Mateo! If you pull much further ahead, I’ll lose sight of you completely.’

She saw his head turn and his step falter. He cast about for her and spun on his heel. She waved at him and he strode rapidly back to her.

‘My apologies, Portia.’ He offered her his arm.

‘Since I’m to benefit from your contemplation, I suppose I will forgive you,’ she said lightly.

‘Hmm.’

‘Are you thinking of the trip to Marlborough? It’s a good nineteen miles, nearly twenty by the time we reach Longvale, but we’ll be on the Bath road for most of the trip. We should make it there in a morning’s drive.’

‘Hunh.’

She tried again. ‘J.T.’s curricle is still in the carriage house at home. If the day is fine, and you don’t mind riding in the open, we could make use of it.’

No response. Perhaps she should try another tactic. ‘My ears are purple, your nose is green and since I’m a widow now, I’m contemplating having a torrid affair with a rakehell of the first consequence. I know you’ve connections to the nobility through your cousin Sophie and that you’ve made a few forays into London society over the years. Can you recommend anyone who might do?’

‘Mmmph,’ was the entirety of his reply.

Portia nudged him with an unladylike jab of her elbow. ‘Mateo!’

He glanced down at her. ‘Yes?’

She rolled her eyes and gave up. ‘Are you fretting about how to deal with Mr Riggs? There isn’t the slightest need.’

‘Is there not? I hesitate to disagree,
cara
, but I have a bad feeling we are about to become mixed up in what your brothers would call a cavey business.’

They’d reached the livery. Portia nodded her thanks as he held the door wide for her to enter the dingy office. ‘A havey-cavey business, they might label this,’ she corrected. ‘While my father would storm about, calling the whole thing a damned hum.’

His eyes widened. ‘But he would not approve of you repeating it,’ he chided.

‘Well, I don’t approve of how he handled my inheritance, so we’d be even. In any case, I suppose that the
question of whether they would be right or not depends on what Mr Riggs has to say.’

The livery attendant was a boy of about fourteen, sleeping soundly on the one rickety wooden chair. Mateo shook him awake and sent him off to ready their mounts. ‘I don’t know what caves have to do with any of it,’ he grumbled as he offered her the questionable chair.

‘I’m sure I don’t, either,’ she said with a smile. The office was wooden, nothing more than a lean-to attached to the side of an ancient barn. Sun shone through cracks in the boarded walls and ceiling, highlighting the straw dust in the air and touching the shabby room with a hint of magic. Mateo perched himself on an empty barrel and gave every indication of going off into deep thought again.

‘But are you not interested in what I have to say about Mr Riggs?’ she asked. ‘I assure you I know exactly how to handle him.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Indeed. I am in possession of the perfect weapon, one that will guarantee he will tell us everything we ask.’

‘Are you?’ he asked with mild interest, running a discerning eye over her sitting form.

‘Yes. You see,’ she said, lowering her tone and leaning forwards, ‘I am intimately acquainted with his mama.’

He choked back a surprised laugh. ‘Do you know, that is exactly the sort of thing that might weight the ballast in our favour?’ He smiled at her with tepid
approval. ‘I swear, I’ve never met a lady so naturally up to every rig.’

Mild interest. Tepid approval. Up to every rig? What utter rubbish. Portia watched his attention wander again and clenched her fists in frustration. There was nothing
mild
about her response to Mateo. Quite suddenly, being treated as an equal became woefully inadequate. She wanted to be seen, to be treated, to be
wanted
as a woman.

Her eyes narrowed. But how to go about it? The old Portia wouldn’t have had a clue; would never have attempted it, in any case. She’d do what she’d always done as a young girl, duck her head and accept her own inadequacy.

But that girl didn’t exist any more. Like a sharp blade she’d been forged by fire and honed by hardship. Portia was no longer content to wait for what she might be given; she was ready to go after what she wanted.

She stood. Gathering her skirts, she straightened and threw her shoulders out. She took a step forwards, positioning herself so a shaft of sunshine caught the golden frogging on her habit, setting her chest ablaze.

He looked up. ‘Well, there’s no hope for it,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I suppose you’ll have to come along to Marlborough.’

She froze. Her heart fell and she let her skirts follow it to the packed dirt floor.

‘You’d meant to leave me behind?’ she whispered.

He nodded.

The gathering cloud of ire inside of her must have
shown on her face, because he hastened to add, ‘But only because I can travel more quickly alone.’

Speechless, she picked up her skirts again and headed for the door.

He stopped her just as she reached the threshold. ‘Portia?’ He took her arm. ‘Where are you going?’

‘We passed a gunsmith, just down the street,’ she snapped. ‘I feel the sudden need to purchase myself a firearm.’

His mouth quirked. ‘Does someone need shooting?’

She jerked her arm from his grasp. ‘Yes. You—for being a great, irritating lout. And me—for being a great, naive fool.’

‘
Cara
, come back.’ His tone rang smooth and caressing. And also insincere and patronising. She knew he didn’t mean anything at all, calling her
beloved
. She’d heard him use the term with his cousins, with her cousins. She was sure he’d used it once with a scullery maid from her father’s kitchens. But she
wanted
it to mean something when he said it to her. ‘Surely it cannot be as bad as all that.’

He really did need shooting.

‘Tell me,’ he said, stepping closer. ‘What is the trouble?’

The trouble was that he stood too close yet again. Sensation rippled from the top of her head and took a swirling detour round the front of her, raising her nipples to stiff peaks. She shivered and all the fine hairs on her nape and along her arms stood on end, straining towards
him
, no doubt.

‘The trouble is that I have been silently singing your praises,’ she grumped.

He grinned. ‘It does not sound so bad.’

She crossed her arms in front of her. ‘It is. All morning I’ve been thrilled because we were acting as equals in this endeavour. Now I see I was mistaken.’ She turned away again. ‘You are no different from any of the men in my family—dismissive and in no way inclined to believe that I have a brain and an idea how to use it.’

‘No—not so!’ he exclaimed. He grabbed her hand as she tried to walk away again. ‘I was rude, it is true. I am most sorry, Portia. Of course we are equals, just as you asked. Partners in this damned rum.’

‘Hum,’ she said. Which was exactly what her body was about, humming, even while her brain was slowing, ceasing to function altogether. Warmth, thick and rich, spiralled from their clasped hands, crawled up her arm and slid downwards, settling low.

But Mateo had grown serious. ‘Truly—I thought only of speed,’ he said earnestly. ‘You must understand, it is very important that we finish this as quickly as possible.’

Disappointment nearly choked her. Aghast, she could only marvel at her own stupidity. Of course he wanted to be done and gone quickly. Of course his interest in her was only mild at best. She’d come a distant second to adventure nine years ago. She placed further behind his business interests now.

Mateo reached up and squeezed both her shoulders
in what was meant to be a comforting grip. Letting his hands slide, he grasped both her elbows and pulled her close. ‘Now,’ he said with a warm smile, ‘was that all that was bothering you?’

It was the smile that did it. She wished he’d snapped at her. She wished he’d agreed that she was a woman, and of no use. But he stood there, smiling that easy, encouraging smile and she couldn’t help herself. It blended into all the countless other times he’d teased her, heartened her, made her feel special and
alive
. Fondness swamped her, along with exasperation and a great flood of hot and molten desire.

‘No,’ she said. She gripped his arms tight, stood on her toes and leaned in until her breasts pressed against the hardness of his chest.

His eyes widened, and then darkened. His heart beat against hers, quickening to match the racing tempo of her pulse.

‘There’s more,’ she whispered, right before she leaned in further and kissed him.

She’d caught him by surprise. But experience and a seaman’s instinct to seize life’s bounty as it came had him quickly entering into the spirit of the thing. And perhaps there was another reason, as well. The thrum of a familiar chord sounded in the back of his mind, a twang of awareness and want that he’d been ignoring. He listened to it now, and let his tension melt away, returning her eager kiss, deepening it, in fact, and sliding his hands along the length of her trembling
arms. Tenderly, he pulled her in and wrapped her in his embrace.

For several long, delicious moments he indulged them both. Her mouth was sweet, their kiss languid and deep. But then, at last, he settled his mouth against the white, endlessly tempting turn of her neck. And the chord thrummed deeper, more primitive and carnal. Inside him it echoed like a growl of satisfaction.
Mine
.

He had to acknowledge it then, the sense of recognition that had struck him when first she barged into the tavern the other night. It overwhelmed him, sweeping over him like a great wave over his bowsprit, leaving him muddled with longing.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t formulate a thought past his need to see her as overcome as he. Slowly his lips and tongue travelled, dancing over the pulse point at the base of her elegant throat and on to the one just below her ear. She let out a whisper of a moan, a sound of pure pleasure. The resonance of it, low and throaty, vibrated against his searching mouth and sent a surge of lust straight through him.

She turned her head, capturing his mouth with her own, moving her hands along a sensual path around his ribcage and across the breadth of his back. She trailed naughty fingers down to his buttock, making him writhe against the slow, soft circles she drew there.

Not a nymph, then, his Portia, but a siren, full of mischief and devilry of the most appealing kind. He measured the weight of her breasts in his hands, stroking his thumbs over nipples already peaked in
desire. His erection strained further and he pressed it against her. Let her feel what she did to him with her bold mix of confidence and need.

He stilled, his caressing hands slowed. The sudden realisation of where she had come by such confidence struck him like a blow. J.T.
Dio
, she’d been married to that snivelling boy. He’d had the teaching of her, had the right to put his hands all over her, in just the way Mateo did now. And more.