stood her ground, though her eyes widened, and her fingers crushed the velvet of her ribbons. ‘I believe you have let the Cardea temper and your own imagination run away with you,’ she said. ‘I sent an urgent request for you to come and discuss this situation. There is a vast distance between urgent and peremptory.’
‘Ah, it is my mistake,’ Mateo growled. ‘Yes, I am sure your urgent need of a long and thorough gloat required my presence. Well, I can assure you, I feel your triumph keenly enough without such a humiliation.’
‘But I—’
He swung his arm in a sharp gesture and cut her off. He was close enough now to clearly see the puzzlement in her great brown eyes. Good, then. There was one question that had hung between them for years. He would answer it one last time and put an end to this entire farce. ‘We’ve both trod this ground before, have we not? It was not enough that you and our fathers sought to manoeuvre me into marriage? But I won that battle—so now you must find a new way to steal my future. Once again you have played a game without informing me I was a participant—and just as before you will find that I refuse to act as the prize.’
She gaped up at him. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Do not play the innocent with me, Portia, not after you have conspired to steal all that I value,’he growled. ‘Perhaps it is not so inappropriate for you to be here tonight, after all. It is a fitting setting for you to learn that I will not be bought like a whore, no matter the bait that you dangle in front of me.’
Portia gasped. Behind him, Etta echoed her. The innkeeper dropped his cloth and took a step towards the corner of the bar. ‘That’s enough, now.’ He cast a conciliatory eye in Portia’s direction as he came around and approached them. ‘I don’t claim to know what there is between the two of you, but the gentleman was right the first time, Mrs Tofton. You shouldn’t be here, let alone at this hour. If word got out, your credit would suffer, and so would mine.’
All of Portia’s colour had faded at Mateo’s last heated words. As the innkeeper’s objection penetrated, her flush returned with a vengeance. Her chest heaved as an angry red wave crept upwards from beneath the standing collar of her pelisse. ‘I’m sorry for it, sir, but surely the damage is done.’She cast a neutral glance at Etta and then regarded Mateo with the sort of loathing his crews reserved for an empty rum casket. ‘And well worth it, I must say, for suddenly I find several things have become clear.’
She looked away and this time it was she who took a step back. ‘I never thought—I can scarcely believe—’ She dropped her head, placed her hands on her hips and actually paced back and forth a few steps, seemingly lost in thought. Some of Mateo’s ire began to fade as he took in her air of bewilderment and the forgotten bonnet swinging against her knee.
She stopped suddenly, caught at the apex of her trajectory. Her chin lifted and at last he caught a glimpse of answering anger in her gaze—but there was hurt there too, and something bleak and sad.
‘I wished you to come because I needed your help.’ She spoke low. ‘I thought it possible that you might have some insight into why your father and mine would have acted so contrary to expectation and good sense. I know nothing of why your father made the choices he did. I’m sorry he died, but I was as shocked as you were to hear the contents of his will.’ She paused. ‘My father is dead, too, Mateo. And my husband, as well. Together they have left me in a dilemma as terrible as yours.’
Her words doused the burn of fury inside of him, but she was not done yet. At her side, her fists clenched. ‘I came here tonight to chide you, for I was unable to fathom why I had to ask you to come to sort this mess out in the first place, and why you would dally so long once you set out, in the second. But now I see.’
He watched her pull her bonnet on with shaking fingers. ‘I had no notion that your opinion of me had sunk so low, but truly, it matters naught. I ask you, please, to come to Stenbrooke tomorrow.’ She tied the strings with short, jerky movements. ‘You are both right. This is neither the time nor the place. But if you will come tomorrow, we will discuss this business.’ She swept the room with a glare that included all three of them. ‘Business, and nothing else. I trust I make myself clear?’ With an all-encompassing nod, she turned on her heel and strode out of the taproom and into the night.
The towering heat of his anger had faded to mere embers. She had cut the legs out from under him. Still, Mateo managed an involuntary step after her. The tavern owner deliberately put himself in his path. ‘Mayhap, sir, you don’t have all the facts you need,’ he said gently.
‘Aye, I fear you’re right in that.’Mateo stepped back, scrubbed a hand from brow to jaw, and cocked an enquiring eye to the man. ‘She tells the truth, I think?’
The innkeeper shrugged. ‘They do say as she’s one for straight dealing, hereabouts.’
‘I would say it is either truth she’s given us,’ Mateo paused, ‘or a beautiful performance.’ He sighed. ‘I feel like the Mariner—discovering the world has shifted and the sun is rising in the west.’
‘A woman’ll do that to a man, eh?’
‘I fear so.’ Mateo glanced back at Etta. ‘Look at me. Knocked off my pillar of righteous anger in the space of a few minutes—and damned if I’m not exhausted from the fall.’ He reached beyond the man to grasp his ale and drained it in one long haul. ‘I am for bed,’ he declared. ‘It seems I’ve a mess to straighten in the morning.’
The innkeeper nodded his approval. ‘I’ll see that you are not disturbed.’
Mateo shook his head. ‘It’s far too late for that, my friend, but I thank you just the same.’
Chapter Two
A glorious morning dawned the next day, spilling sunlight into the breakfast room at Stenbrooke. A breeze drifted, rewarding early risers with the taste of heavy dew and the fresh scent of green and growing things. Never had Portia felt more out of harmony with the start of a beautiful day.
For once immune to the call of her gardens, she stood at the window while her breakfast grew cold behind her and the light limned the fair hairs on her arm with gold. The parchment in her hands glowed nearly transparent, grown worn with time and tears and frequent handling. And though she hid the letter when her elderly butler came in to shake his head over her untouched plate, he would have been hard pressed to read the faded ink in any case. Portia, of course, had no need to read it; its message had long ago been etched into the darkest corner of her heart.
Philadelphia, 11 July 1812
Your curst brother has arrived safely, Peeve— it began without preamble—bringing with him details of this preposterous scheme our fathers have hatched between them. I cannot believe they have risked him at such a time of conflict between our two countries, and I am inclined to agree with Freddy when he wonders what put such a maggoty idea as marriage in their brains. I know we spent a good deal of time in company together when last I was at Hemp shaw, but surely they must realise that was years ago and we were only friends, besides?
In fact, I feel that I owe you a most profound apology—for this must be my father’s doing. He is grasping at straws because I mean to sign a letter-of-marque bond. It’s a surety he’d rather see me occupied with a wife and marriage than a privateer’s cruise. I am deeply sorry to have caught you up in such a muddle but what must we do to break free?
