by Deb Marlowe
Portia stared at her. She threw down her napkin and started to stand.
‘To your knowledge, my lady,’ Mateo interjected, ‘has Mr Averardo ever gone by the name of Salvestro?’ He asked the question smoothly, as if the answer were of no consequence whatever.
She met his gaze directly. ‘Yes, Mr Cardea, I believe he has.’
Click. Another piece of the puzzle snapped home. The revelations were coming fast, but he could see that Portia followed his line of thinking, at least to a degree. ‘But, Mateo, you said that Salvestro was your agent in Portsmouth…that means…your father knew him, hired him…He’s been working for you, for all these years…’ Her face hardened and she turned to the Countess with determination. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, but surely you know more. We must see this man, and straight away.’
Calmly, the Countess poured herself another dish of tea. ‘Do not fret so, my dear. He will come to you when the time is right.’
‘The time is right—right now. Mateo stands to lose too much if we delay any further.’
‘Then perhaps you must give Averardo reason to come to you.’
Portia was on her feet. ‘This is preposterous. Do you think this is some sort of game? The course of all our lives is at stake here.’
Mateo’s mind was racing. He stood. ‘Come, ladies. I think perhaps our journey is over.’ He levelled a hard look at their hostess. ‘Sometimes life’s journey takes you to places you’ve no wish to see.’
Portia tried a last time. ‘Please.’ She turned a pleading gaze upon the other woman. ‘Won’t you tell us what we need to know?’
The Countess patted her hand. ‘All will be well, dear. You must trust me.’
Portia drew back. Her face set, she walked away.
Mateo bowed low over the lady’s hand. ‘Thank you. I understand that you have said what you can.’ He paused. ‘And, perhaps, done what you can.’
‘You are very welcome, Mateo,’ she said softly. She gazed after Portia’s retreating form. ‘I hope she will forgive me. Will you bring her to visit again?’
He stared down at her, made note of the wistful tone she allowed to creep into her voice. ‘Eventually, perhaps.’
Outside they waited for the post-chaise to be brought from the livery. Several times Miss Tofton opened her mouth to speak, but each time she closed it again and shook her head. Portia stared blankly out at the traffic for several long minutes before she turned to him.
‘Mateo—the same man, all along? All through this…wasted excursion, but further back, as well? We suspected Averardo and the courier might be one and the same. But I’m afraid I don’t understand. Was he also the same man your father mentioned, the one he hired—to take your place here in England?’
She reached out. Proprietarily, she grasped his hand. ‘Perhaps he’s been after your dream all along,’ she said as if she were thinking out loud. ‘Perhaps he’s after your legacy.’ She stared up at him. ‘Perhaps he thinks I will make the trade with him, Stenbrooke for Cardea Shipping.’
He blinked. ‘I confess, I hadn’t even thought of that.’
‘You hadn’t? But something occurred to you in there, I saw it in your face. What does it all mean?’
He tugged his hand free and captured both of hers. He kissed them tenderly, even as she stared in amazement.
‘Peeve, I’m going to ask you do something. I ask it, knowing full well that it may be the most difficult thing you’ve ever attempted.’
She breathed deep. ‘Of course. What is it?’
‘For both of our sakes, I need you to trust me. Completely. Implicitly.’ He feared that she would realise how everything inside of him hovered, awaiting her answer. ‘Can you do that? Will you?’
Her hands spasmed, clutching his. Silence grew thick between them. ‘Yes. Of course I will.’
His heart lurched, his chest expanded. Beside them, the post-chaise rolled to a stop.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, not taking her eyes off his.
‘To see someone I’ve journeyed with in the past.’
Chapter Fifteen
‘The knocker’s up,’ Mateo said in relief. The postchaise drew to a halt in front of the Bruton Street townhouse. ‘We’re in luck.’
He instructed the postillion to wait. When the door swung open, he flashed his most charming smile. ‘Batten down the hatches, Fisher. I’m afraid it is an American invasion.’
‘Yes, Mr Cardea,’ the butler answered formally. ‘I am duly frightened.’ He opened the door wide and bowed Mateo and the ladies in.
‘Before you start counting the silver, will you inform Sophie of our arrival? It might be something of a shock,’ he added ruefully.
‘It would only be a shock if I were able to inform her, sir. Lady Dayle and the children are currently in Kensington.’
That did deflate Mateo a little. Sophie’s help he knew he could count on. Of her husband’s he was not so sure. ‘And Lord Dayle?’ he asked.
‘I believe he is in his bookroom. I’ll just go and see if he’s at home, shall I?’
Mateo grinned. It took true skill to convey sarcasm through a stiffly proper demeanour. ‘Thank you, but step sharply now,’ he called. ‘There aren’t enough valuables in the entrance hall to keep me interested for long.’
Fisher’s stately pace never faltered.
‘There are likely a hundred inns within a mile of here, Mateo,’ Portia said. Worry created shadows beneath her eyes. ‘Perhaps we should just find one for the night?’
‘That wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, Mr Cardea,’ Miss Tofton chided.
‘Nonsense. Fisher expects me to light a fire under his bowsprit. It’s no more than the man deserves—a name like that and do you know he’s never set foot in the smallest dinghy?’
‘Fisher!’
Mateo turned in anticipation. The call came from above, not from the bookroom down the hall.
‘Fisher—I’ll need an umbrella. The sky looks as if it’s going to open up.’
Mateo stepped for wards as Charles Alden, Lord Dayle, husband to his cousin Sophie, appeared at the top of the stairwell, fastening his cufflinks as he came. ‘Fisher?’
‘Sorry, Dayle. I sent him off to find you.’
The Viscount’s head popped up. ‘Cardea?’ His face lit up in shock. ‘By God, Cardea, it is you, you soupswilling son of a sea-cook!’
Mateo laughed. ‘You’re improving, Dayle. I could almost use that one without shame.’
‘Yes, well, a man should never stop striving for excellence. In all things.’
His cousin-in-law had reached the hall. He reached out and pulled Mateo in for a bracing hug and forceful thump on the back. ‘What are you doing here, Mateo? Does Sophie know you’re in England?’ His eye fell on the two ladies, silently watching. ‘And who is this you’ve brought with you?’ He let his arm fall from Mateo’s shoulder and shot them both a blinding smile.
Mateo stepped protectively towards Portia and her companion. ‘You’re an old married man now, Dayle,’ he objected. ‘Turn it down a bit and allow me to introduce an old family friend, Lady Portia Tofton, and her companion, Miss Tofton. Ladies, this is the Viscount Dayle.’
‘Tofton?’ Dayle frowned.
‘Yes, that Tofton,’ Mateo said in exasperation.
Portia curtsied, and came up with a grin. ‘One might just as easily say, that Lord Dayle. I believe I’ve heard just as much about you, my lord, as you might have about my late husband.’
Dayle laughed. ‘I dare say that could be true. But people change, do they not, Lady Portia?’
‘Some do, my lord,’ she answered non-committally.
‘And some are just destroyed by their own stupidity. Come, Dayle, I’ve been dragging these two ladies all over the south of England for days now. I was hoping you’d redeem me and put us all up for the night?’
‘I hope you’re planning on staying longer than a night? Sophie will skin us both if she misses you. She and all the rest of the family are up to their elbows
in Mother’s latest project: an orphanage in Kensington. They’ll be wanting to give you the grand tour.’
Mateo purposefully did not commit to anything. ‘Thank you, Charles. I knew I could count on you.’
‘Not at all. Look, here’s Fisher. Where have you been, man?’ Dayle called to his butler.
Fisher’s eyes flicked in Mateo’s direction. ‘Counting the silver, my lord.’
‘Not a bad idea, with a pirate in the house. But now I need you to see to these ladies.’ He cast a sympathetic look at Portia. ‘I’d wager they’d like a hot bath, and perhaps a tray in their rooms?’
‘Oh, yes, thank you, my lord,’ Miss Tofton piped up.
Mateo noted that the offer of such homely comforts had dazzled the companion where Dayle’s blinding charm had not. Perhaps days spent under the influence of his own considerable charm had granted her an immunity.
‘There’s a post-chaise out in front that will need taking care of,’ he informed Dayle.
‘Fisher will see to it, won’t you, man?’ Dayle leaned in confidingly. ‘He’s the most sought-after butler in town, Cardea—he can do any number of things at once, and all brilliantly well.’
Portia looked back once as the ladies were led away. Mateo nodded encouragingly. Dayle observed this silent communication, but did not comment. Neither did Mateo.
‘Come on. Let’s find some brandy. You look like you could use one.’ He laughed. ‘You’re the perfect excuse to keep me from Lady Ashford’s ball tonight, and for that I owe you.’
Dayle waited until they were settled in the bookroom with cigars and brandies before he eyed Mateo’s relaxed slouch with scepticism and asked, ‘What sort of trouble are you into now?’
‘I wish I could say it was the usual sort, but I’m afraid it’s gone a bit worse than that.’
‘You know I’ll help, in any way I can.’
Mateo blew a smoky cloud of relief. ‘Thank you, Charles.’ He sat up straight. ‘Here’s what I’ll need.’
Chapter Sixteen
Early morning light painted Mayfair with a dazzling brush, reflecting off immaculately swept steps and bright, shining windows. On Bruton Street, the sun sparkled off Lord Dowland’s newly washed post-chaise and flashed amidst the jingling traces of the freshly harnessed team.
Lord Dayle worked fast. Portia ruefully eyed the carriage and then her agitated companion.
‘Are you certain about this?’ Dorrie asked, her tone low with concern.
‘It’s as good a plan as any,’ Portia sighed. ‘Averardo has watched us so closely all along, he must be doing so now.’ She tried not to peer about the seemingly empty street, but it was a difficult urge to conquer. ‘Even if he’s not watching himself, he’s likely hired someone to keep an eye on us. We have to make this look authentic.’
‘You know I don’t like leaving you.’
‘It’s just for a short time. I’ll follow you home soon enough, perhaps as early as tomorrow if Mateo’s plan works.’ She gripped her companion’s hands. ‘We have to finish this. And when we do, Stenbrooke will be ours and we’ll never have to worry about losing it again.’ She smiled. ‘And I will be travelling alone this time, not in Mateo’s company. So you may relax.’
Dorrie lifted an ironic brow.
‘I’ll be all right, Dorrie. I promise.’
Her companion’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘Yes, I know. You trust him.’ She sighed. ‘And that’s as good a recommendation as I’ll ever hear.’ She hugged Portia close, and then stared intently into her face. ‘Now I wish you would begin to trust yourself.’
Portia swallowed.
Dorrie relented, and hugged her once more. ‘Now, I hope to see you tomorrow.’
Portia nodded, her throat too thick to speak. Part of her returned the sentiment. She firmly squashed the other part.
Behind them the door opened and Mateo and Lord Dayle emerged, blinking into the bright sunlight. Mateo carried a travelling case in his hand.
‘Well, I hope all of this sun presages an easy journey for you, Miss Tofton.’ Lord Dayle bent low over Dorrie’s hand. ‘It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
‘And yours, as well. Thank you for your generous hospitality.’ Dorrie curtsied and then extended a hand in Mateo’s direction. ‘Mr Cardea…’ She stopped and gave a little shake of her head.
Portia’s eyes filled as Mateo ignored the outstretched hand and pulled Dorrie in for an embrace. She forgot her tears, though, when she saw him whisper something in her companion’s ear.
‘I think that is precisely what I’m afraid of,’ Dorrie told him tartly, but her eyes looked suspiciously bright, as well.
‘Portia will be home with you soon,’ Mateo told her as he handed her into the chaise.
‘Goodbye, Dorrie!’ Portia called as the vehicle moved away. She watched and waved until it turned a corner, and her companion was gone.
But there was no time to brood. One of Lord Dayle’s grooms was already leading a saddled horse up. Mateo lost no time before strapping his case behind the saddle. Once he had it secure, Lord Dayle grasped his hand and gripped him tightly on the shoulder.
‘It was damned good to see you, Cardea. I hope next time you’ll be able to stay a while.’
‘I will. Give Sophie my regrets.’ He winced. ‘And my apologies.’
Lord Dayle laughed. ‘Yes, you’ll have hell to pay when next she sees you. Sure you won’t reconsider?’
‘I wish I could.’
Portia felt the impact when his eyes slid to her.
Lord Dayle cleared his throat. ‘Well, then. I’ll let you two say your goodbyes.’ The Viscount gave her hand a squeeze and retreated inside the house.
Silently, Portia turned her gaze to Mateo. Mere inches of pavement separated them, but in her heart she felt the gap between them widening. She jumped a little when he reached out suddenly to grasp both her hands.
‘I’ve an idea how we can ensure this appears convincing.’
Her mouth quirked. ‘Do you?’
He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss upon her. It was a feat of strength not to lean in and silently ask for more.
‘I’m not sure I’m convinced,’ she said when he pulled away.
A laugh bubbled up. ‘Perhaps you can drum up a tear or two?’ He kissed her hand and then climbed into the saddle.
Their eyes met once more. ‘What did you whisper to Dorrie?’ she asked suddenly.
Her favourite laugh lines appeared at the corner of his eyes. ‘I promised her I would do the right thing.’ And with that he nudged his horse and was on his way.
Portia stood rooted in her spot for a long time, long after he had turned the corner and disappeared into the London traffic. Her reaction came startlingly close to her companion’s; she very much feared Mateo did intend to keep that promise. Tears did come then, easily. She let them fall. One last look over her shoulder at Lord Dayle’s welcoming home, and then she did as she’d been bid, and walked away.
Berkeley Square was a green blur that she passed right by. She followed Berkeley Street all the way down to Piccadilly, then crossed into Green Park. She kept her directions firmly fixed in her mind and tried her best to walk casually. She was supposed to appear selfabsorbed and not horribly on edge at the idea of being observed and followed.
The park was nearly empty at this time of the morning: a wide, green expanse occupied by only a rider or two, and a few children with their nurses. Portia ambled along her prescribed route, until she found a bench near the reservoir. She sat, staring over the peaceful scene.
She waited. And she tried desperately not to think.
A bank of clouds passed over, blocking the sun. The water before her grew nearly black beneath it, a painful reminder of storm-swept eyes that darkened in anger, and lit up in laughter, and softened in love. The tears started to fall again.
She ducked her head as a finely dressed gentleman passed on the nearby footpath. He tipped his hat to her, but came to a halt when he glimpsed her f
ace. ‘Miss? Are you in need of assistance?’ He whipped out a handkerchief and presented it with flair.
‘No, thank you. I’m all right.’ She wiped at her tears, but did not take the handkerchief.
Sheepishly, he stuffed it back into a pocket. ‘Don’t know why women don’t carry the cursed things, when they are so often in need of them.’ He smiled and plopped down on the bench beside her. ‘Now what’s amiss? You’re too pretty to be so sad.’
Portia’s tears dried as she stared at him. Her eyes narrowed. ‘But I know you. Don’t I?’ She considered his impeccable clothes, his handsome features…and his long, dark hair, which, tied tightly back, was not noticeable immediately. ‘Yes. I saw you at the inn in Marlborough.’
She saw the truth of it in his face, but before he could answer a horse thundered up behind them, pulling to a stop right behind their bench. Portia turned as Mateo swung down from the saddle.
‘My, that was fast, Peeve.’ He cast a hard look at the man on the bench beside her. ‘I see you’ve met your brother.’
Her heart stilled. The gentleman jumped to his feet. But Mateo was watching him with a mock frown. ‘Or perhaps he’s mine?’
Mateo had never quite realised how many reactions—and at such a clip, too—could show in a man’s eyes. Like the swiftly turning pages of a book he saw the rounding of surprise, the swift narrowing of anger, the hardening of calculation and, finally, a rueful easing of respect.
Fluid and graceful, the gentleman—his brother?—slid back into his seat. ‘Now there’s a question for the ages,’ he said wryly. ‘And one I wish I knew the answer to.’
Portia glanced wildly from him, to Averardo—for lack of a verified name—and back again. ‘What are you talking about?’
But their adversary’s gaze never left his own. ‘How did you know I’d follow her?’
Mateo smiled and lifted a shoulder. ‘One thing I do know about you—you’re not stupid. Given the choice between the three of us, I’d certainly choose her.’
Portia still looked bewildered, and increasingly not happy about it. He noticed the tracks of tears on her face and his stomach clenched.
