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.
Chapter Four
Better a serpent with two heads than a man with two minds. It was advice that his nona had always delivered earnestly to his female cousins. Mateo had suddenly developed a more perfect understanding of what she had meant.
He’d been horrified at Portia’s flat refusal to sell him back her portion of Cardea Shipping, and then he’d nearly shouted out his pleasure and relief at her proposal. Of course he had. It was a good solution—one that he would likely have come up with, had he found himself thrust into her unenviable predicament.
Cardea Shipping would be his again. Soon enough he’d have the freedom of the open sea before him, and the streets of Philadelphia underfoot. And then, at last, the autonomy to steer the business where he believed it needed to go. He clenched his fists. The family’s docks would be a hive of activity again, their warehouses full to bursting. And those who had long scorned his ideas and lately laughed at his misfortune would soon be eating their words. He would prove to the merchant community of Philadelphia at last that they must let go of their past to secure their future.
His elation would be complete—were it not for the delay. Time was of the essence. Cardea Shipping had been on the brink of their most important venture in years when his father had died, and Mateo was going to have to hurry to salvage what he could of it. He could only hope that this business with Stenbrooke would go quickly.
And truthfully, something else had him swallowing a bilious rush of anger, even as he left the gloom of the inn and stood blinking in the bright morning sun. In his head he understood and even empathised with Portia’s position, but he could not completely subdue the small, ugly ball of resentment churning in him.
She didn’t trust him—and, oh, how that stung. The wound of his father’s mistrust still lay open and now she rubbed it raw.
Purposefully, Mateo breathed deep and brushed such small thoughts aside. Where was his mount? The sooner he set this devil’s bargain in motion, the sooner he’d have his business back on course.
He turned back and opened the inn door. Impatient, he called for the innkeeper. Abbott, he’d discovered the man’s name to be, an irony which he found to be humorous on several levels.
‘Abbot!’ he called. ‘I thought you’d sent word to the stables?’
The man came from the kitchens, brushing his hands on a stained apron. ‘Yes, sir, I did. It’ll be just a minute, though. We had a late customer come in. He was up early and bespoke my last nag for hire. I’ve sent to the livery in town for another.’
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