Tall, Dark and Disreputable

by Deb Marlowe

  The postillion’s calls as he pulled his team to a stop awakened her. The Bear Inn loomed, large and hulking in the last of the day’s light. They left the horses in their harness and went in together to fetch Dorinda.

  They found her, looking very smug and awaiting them in a private parlour.

  ‘I hope you’ve no room reserved for the night,’ Mateo warned before Portia had even fully withdrawn from her companion’s embrace. ‘We must go on tonight.’

  Dorrie’s face fell. ‘Must we?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but we do. I’ve nearly given up on making it home in time to see my ships fitted for the Orient.’ His face hardened. ‘Months of work, this has cost me, and perhaps the best chance for my family’s future. But by God, I am going to see this through, and quickly, before he has a chance to throw even more obstacles in our path.’ He waved a beckoning hand at Dorrie. ‘The horses are standing. We’re to London as quick as we can manage.’

  Dorrie sighed, but looked resigned. ‘I’ll assume, then, that your mission did not go well?’

  ‘It went exactly as well as last time,’ Mateo said sourly. ‘Which is not saying a great deal.’

  ‘Then you’ll be happy to hear that I accomplished something here,’ she announced, ‘although not as much as I’d hoped.’

  ‘What is it, dearest?’ Portia asked. ‘You look like the kitchen cat that’s just lapped a whole bowl of cream.’

  Her companion squared her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height. ‘I believe I’ve met your mysterious courier.’

  Portia gasped.

  ‘What?’ Mateo nearly shouted. ‘What did he say? Where is he now?’

  Dorinda winced.

  ‘Dorrie, please, tell us what happened. How did it come about?’

  ‘Of course, but should we not speak in the carriage? I thought we were in a hurry.’

  ‘We were, we are, but you’ll have to tell us now.’ Portia could hear that Mateo was losing patience.

  ‘We have new travelling arrangements, dear. Mateo will be forced to ride outside. Come, let’s have your bags loaded while we hear your story. Then we’ll go on.’

  ‘He arrived before me,’ Dorrie said after the luggage had been dispatched and they had all settled uneasily about the room. ‘He’d just bespoke the last private parlour. I was understandably dismayed when the landlord told me there were none left; I’d said I’d meet you here and I was not going to wait in the public room.’ She shivered. ‘I’d just decided to take a bedroom when he spoke up.He was still lingering and must have overheard me talking to the innkeeper, because he offered to share his parlour. He said he would not need it for long in any case.’

  ‘What did he look like?’ Portia asked, more than a little curious.

  ‘He was very handsome,’ she answered on a little sigh. ‘Tall, with hair even darker than yours, Mr Cardea. Cut too long for my taste,’ she told Portia, ‘but a very dashing fellow, none the less.’

  ‘Did he give you a name?’ Mateo asked.

  ‘Yes, that was my first clue as to who he might be. He used another exotic-sounding name: Giovanni.’

  ‘He used yet another with Lord Dowland,’ Portia told her.

  ‘What makes you sure it was him, Miss Tofton?’

  ‘I was not sure at first. He made pleasant, unexceptional conversation. He asked where I was from and I told him I lived now in the vicinity of Newbury. He said he’d been there, but knew it very little. We talked of London and the foreign places he had travelled. We had a light meal brought in, it was all extremely pleasant.’ She made a face at Mateo. ‘I’m getting there, Mr Cardea, don’t look so impatient.’

  ‘I do apologise.’

  Portia was glad to hear a twinge of humour in his reply.

  ‘I had told him earlier that I was awaiting friends. We’d just finished our tea when he asked if we would be returning to Stenbrooke once my friends arrived.’ She paused and shot them a significant look. ‘I had never mentioned Stenbrooke by name, you see.’

  Admiration flooded Portia and she allowed it to show. ‘That was so quick of you, Dorrie! What did you do?’

  ‘I pretended that I did not notice. I answered his question and told him I wasn’t sure of our plans. Then I asked him if he wouldn’t mind a small fire to chase the evening chill. When he went to see to it, I slipped some laudanum into his drink.’

  Portia gasped again. ‘Dorrie! You didn’t!’

  Mateo only laughed, but Dorrie was preening at the approval in his face.

  ‘You know I always carry a small vial, dear,’ she said. ‘A lady never knows when she’s going to need it.’

  ‘And did he drink?’ Mateo asked.

  ‘No,’ she said with chagrin. ‘I’m afraid I must have given it away. Perhaps I watched him take up his cup a bit too avidly.’

  ‘There’s a lesson for you,’ Mateo said. ‘The next time you think to poison someone, you’ll know better.’

  ‘Mr Cardea! Laudanum is not poison. I merely thought to put him to sleep, so he would still be here when you arrived.’

  Portia could barely contain her impatience. ‘But what happened?’

  ‘He raised the cup to his lips, but then he hesitated. He met my eyes over the rim and then he set it down. He smiled brilliantly at me. Then he arose and took my hand, kissing it in the most improper fashion.’ Her tone had grown a little wistful. ‘He told me I was a woman to be reckoned with.’ A flush spread across her face. ‘Can you imagine? Me?’

  ‘Certainly I can,’ Portia said stoutly. ‘It was a wonderfully brave thing to do.’

  ‘He left then, most cordially, but not before he asked that I be sure to give you both his regards.’ She heaved a heavy sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cardea.’

  ‘There is not the slightest need for you to feel sorry, Miss Tofton. I applaud your ingenuity. It would seem none of us is as crafty as our nemesis.’

  ‘It must be Averardo—they must be one and the same. There’s no other explanation for the way he’s playing with us.’ Irritation grew hot in Portia’s chest. ‘And if he is, there is still no explanation for it!’ Her fists clenched. ‘I suppose I should just be grateful that he did you no harm, Dorrie, but I am growing wretchedly tired of being manipulated!’

  ‘I know, dear.’ Dorrie’s tone was comforting. ‘Have you any idea what he’s about, Mr Cardea?’

  Mateo did not respond. His gaze had lost focus. Portia exchanged a glance with Dorrie. He stared into the fire, his mouth moving silently.

  ‘Mr Cardea?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said distantly. ‘All of those exotic names—surely they mean something. I’m trying to recall…Lorenzo, Cosimo.’ He looked up suddenly. ‘And, yes, Giovanni! Medici!’

  Portia stared. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure I’m right. Prominent Medici names, all!’

  ‘Medici?’ Dorrie’s face twisted in confusion.

  ‘Yes, yes. It’s been nagging at me and I finally remembered. It’s something my father spoke of. It was when he was trying so hard to convince me to—’ He stopped, flushing. ‘When he tried to convince me to abandon the idea of a privateer’s cruise.’

  And suddenly Portia flushed too, because she knew just what else his father had been trying to convince him of, at the same time. Marriage. To her.

  ‘They planned for us to move to Portsmouth, do you recall?’ His voice sounded only slightly strangled.

  She nodded. She couldn’t have forced an answer past her tightened throat if her life had depended on it.

  ‘I was to open the office there. When I…when it did not work out, he hired someone else to do it, a man named Salvestro. He praised the man’s performance repeatedly throughout the years and always made specific mention of his name because it also belonged to the first prominent Medici.’

  ‘They were merchants, as well, yes?’ Dorrie asked, frowning in concentration.

  ‘They were a family who started out in trade and grew into one of the greatest dynasties in Italian
history. It was my father’s dream to see his family prosper in that way. I drove him mad because I would not cooperate.’

  ‘But you worked long and hard for Cardea Shipping!’ Portia protested.

  ‘Eventually I did, but never in quite the direction he wished to go. And always without the proper degree of seriousness,’ he said with a wave of his hand.

  And that was likely another reason why he needed so strongly to prove himself now, she realised.

  He stood abruptly and his chair nearly tipped over behind him. ‘I knew that this had the taste of my father’s handiwork smeared all over it! But how? Why? I’m tired of the manipulation, as well, and I’m damned tired of being one step behind.’

  He started towards the door. ‘We should go, ladies.’ He halted. ‘Or should we, at that? Perhaps we are just playing into his hands?’

  Portia stepped up beside him and laid a hand upon his arm. ‘What choice do we have, truly?’ She squeezed. ‘Let’s see this thing through. All of us, together.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. But damn it! You know I’ve always been one to lay my own course.’ He shook her off, then held the door and gestured for them to proceed. ‘Let’s go then. The postillion says his teams can make it to Reading tonight. We can get a short night’s rest and we’ll be in London early tomorrow afternoon.’His tone grew grim. ‘Just in time for a social call.’

  They’d reached the narrow hallway. At his words, Dorrie came to an abrupt halt. Impatient, Mateo pushed past her. ‘I’ll just be sure everything’s ready.’

  ‘Reading?’ Portia winced as Dorrie grabbed her arm and stalled her. Her companion’s whisper sounded harsh in her ear. ‘We’re stopping in Reading? Do you think that’s wise?’

  ‘This is the first I’ve heard of it,’ Portia said, trying to calm the sudden racing of her heart.

  ‘But she lives in Reading. Every time those horrible, impudent letters arrived, they were posted from Reading. And all the papers, when they wrote of her origins, they called her an innkeeper’s daughter.’

  ‘I know that, Dorrie.’ The thought of running into…her was bad enough, but to do it with Mateo at her side…She shuddered.

  She struggled for composure. ‘But we’ll be getting there late and only stopping for a few hours’ rest.’ She grimaced. ‘There are at least three inns in Reading that I can recall. We’re not likely to run into her.’ She frowned. ‘And even if we do, what can she do? I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Dorrie sighed. ‘As if we weren’t facing trouble enough.’ She folded her arms stubbornly. ‘It’s asking too much of you, I’ll just explain to Mr Cardea—’

  ‘And tell him what?’ Portia’s chin lifted. ‘Lord, Dorrie, I would like to keep just one of the many humiliating episodes of my life to myself! Does the world need to throw evidence of every one of my shortcomings in his face? Please, I cannot stand the thought of him looking at me with…with pity and with…knowing.’

  ‘But, there’s a chance—’

  ‘It’s a chance I’ll take,’ she said firmly. ‘Because the odds have got to be higher that nothing will happen at all.’

  Chapter Twelve

  It was late when they arrived in Reading and the streets lay dark and quiet. Dorrie clung to her side as Portia climbed wearily down from the post-chaise. Mateo had already completed his transactions with the postillion and the stables, now he went ahead of them into the inn to make arrangements for their short night’s stay. Portia watched him go, in the torchlight only an indistinct form topped with broad shoulders and a tangle of dark curls, and considered how different her mood might be right now, had Dorrie done as she’d suggested and gone home.

  Ouch. Dorrie was still very much present, as evidenced by the vice-like grip she was maintaining on Portia’s arm. Her head bobbed and swivelled like a weather vane, searching corners and shadows with nervous, darting looks.

  ‘Relax, please, Dorrie. It’s late. No one is about at this hour.’

  ‘No one we’d wish to meet,’ she returned.

  ‘Come, let’s go in then.’ They followed in Mateo’s footsteps and found him finishing with the innkeeper.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Mateo leaned in close as the landlord called for their baggage to be carried up to their rooms. He nodded towards Dorrie, who had steered Portia as far from the public taproom as possible and was now scanning the darkened hallways. ‘What is she looking for?’

  Portia shivered. Fatigue seeped into her very bones and undermined her defences. The warmth of his breath on her cheek only served as a reminder of everything she longed for and could not have. ‘I think we’re all just tired,’ she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

  ‘Indeed we are.’ Dorrie had come back. She claimed Portia’s arm once more. ‘Thank you, Mr Cardea, but I’m taking Portia straight up to our room.’

  ‘Goodnight, then.’

  His gaze followed them, a palpable sensation down the length of her spine as they climbed the stairs. Portia wanted to turn back, to meet his eyes and allow him to see all the turmoil and fervent desire seething inside of her. She did not. And not just because she feared the lack of a similar conflict in his eyes. Though it took all of her will, she kept her face turned forwards, towards the future. Because soon enough this would be over and that’s what she’d be left with. Her future, alone and independent, just as she’d wished.

  She did as Dorrie bade, kept her gaze down and followed her companion’s swinging skirts into their small room. Just the one bed, big enough to share, an empty wash stand, a small table and one chair before the unlit fireplace. Dorrie shut the door with a sigh of relief. Portia stared at the bed with a mix of longing and regret.

  Had she ever been this tired? Had any woman ever been subjected to a day so filled with soaring highs and despairing lows? And would she ever stop wondering what might have been with Mateo, had circumstances been different?

  With a sigh she sank down on to the foot of the bed. She smelled of horse, of wind and sun. And passion. She wondered if Dorrie could detect it, if she already knew what she had begun with Mateo today, in that dark, secluded wood. She thought of tomorrow, when she would see London again, wear a pretty day dress instead of this increasingly heavy habit, when she would meet a wicked Countess and perhaps discover the reason they’d been sent on this frustratingly wild ride.

  She leaned her head against the bedpost. What she truly longed for—quite inexpressibly—was a bath. A long, steaming bath in which she could close her eyes and examine the triumphs and soak away the humiliations of the day—and prepare herself for the gains and losses of tomorrow.

  Not a practical wish in the middle of the night. Abruptly, she stood. ‘I’m going back downstairs, Dorrie, to request some hot water—enough to wash in, at least. I can’t even begin to imagine climbing into bed in this condition.’

  ‘Poor dear,’ Dorrie crooned, ‘you’ve been through half of Berkshire today.’ Her companion sat beside her on the bed. Sympathy and a perhaps more disturbing understanding showed in her face as she reached over to tuck a stray curl behind Portia’s ear. ‘I’ll go; you stay safely here and rest. I’ll ask for coal for the fire, too, so you won’t catch a chill.’

  It wasn’t worth an argument. The door snapped shut behind Dorrie and Portia closed her eyes and leaned again against the bedpost. Mateo’s room was right across the hall. Was he falling straight into bed? She hoped he dreamed of her tonight. She hoped all the wicked, erotic sensations of the day—the sight of her bare breasts, the damp feel of her, and the sensuous sound of her release—had been burned into his brain. It was no less than he deserved. No less than she had already suffered, locked for hours on the inside of that post-chaise, reliving the taste and feel of his hands and lips and tongue all over her.

  She jumped as the door opened again. ‘Hot water and coal are on the way,’ Dorrie said from the doorway. ‘The landlord’s sending a girl right up. Since we are not retiring right away, I’m going back to the kitchens to see if I can find us
a bite to eat.’

  ‘Thank you, Dorrie.’

  ‘Sit down, dear.’ Dorrie nodded towards the comfortably plush chair in front of the fire. ‘You look exhausted. I’ll be right back.’

  Portia pushed away from the post. She had to stop this. She could not continue daydreaming over Mateo. Their paths were clear and separate. He’d made his stance plain. She would only make herself miserable and him ill at ease. They had enough trouble to contend with, without her rampant desire adding to everyone’s discomfort.

  She curled into the chair, staring into the empty hearth. But that was the trouble, wasn’t it? She didn’t feel uncomfortable with him. She only felt right, happy, at home in his regard for her.

  They’d crossed a boundary today, and not just in a physical sense. She’d been deliberately prickly since he’d arrived, had worked hard to show him only the strong, determined, independent side of her. Until today. Today she had cracked. She’d let him see her soft, flawed interior—and he’d met it with the same simple acceptance and admiration that he’d shown before.

  Heady stuff, that. She felt a sudden pang of sympathy for some of J.T.’s opium-eating friends. She could easily come to crave something that felt so good.

  More significant, perhaps, Mateo had gifted her with a glimpse inside of him, as well. For all of his insouciance and charm, she knew him for a deeply private person. Laughter and smiles were his shields and he’d allowed her to slip past them today. It had felt like a beginning, a tantalising glimpse of the deeper, more meaningful rapport that could exist between them. Except that it never would exist. Instead, tomorrow they faced the end. One way or the other, they’d go their separate ways.

  The thought nearly stole her breath.

  But life was short and full of hardships. And truly, Portia knew herself for one of the fortunate few. Whether her plans for Stenbrooke were granted or not, she’d been given the gift of a new beginning—and this time around she was determined to do things differently. She’d reached for a way out last time. She’d accepted the least evil of all her options and tried to make the best of it—or so she’d told herself.