by Deb Marlowe
‘Mateo, it’s extremely bad manners to throw a statement like that out and not explain it. I thought we suspected this man of trying to steal your company?’
‘Steal your company?’ Averardo straightened in surprise. ‘Oh…’ he grinned ‘…the Portsmouth office. You worked that out, did you?’
‘Somebody had better begin talking to me,’ Portia said through gritted teeth.
‘It’s the story, cara,’ Mateo said gently. ‘The story that so occupied your father and mine through all those years. If I’ve put all the pieces together correctly, then the Countess of Lundwick had at one time, a very different name.’ He smiled at the dawning realisation in her eyes. ‘La Incandescent Clarisse.’
‘But she—’ She went still, then turned to the man at her side. ‘Then you are—’
‘Indeed. I am her son. But your father’s, as well? Or his?’ He gestured in Mateo’s direction and breathed deep. ‘We shall never know.’
‘For years they searched,’ Mateo said. ‘But when did they find you? Where?’
‘When I was fourteen years old, they found me. In Nice.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘When your fathers were thrown into that Naples prison all those years ago, my mother was left alone. Her home had been destroyed; she was reputed to be harmed or dead. It was then, when she begged sanctuary at the home of a friend, that she met Teodoro Donati. He was a wealthy merchant, and he was, naturally, enchanted. He offered her his protection and took her home to Nice.’ He grinned. ‘Quite frankly, I think my mother had had enough of notoriety. Donati sympathised with her, petted her, and treated her like a lady. She was in her element.’
‘Did they marry?’Portia was clearly caught up in the story.
‘Eventually. Donati was also no fool. He wed her after she gave birth to me. She lived happily with him until his death, a spoiled, happy wife.’
Mateo had caught the undertone of tension in Averardo’s voice. ‘And you? Were you happy, as well?’
He hesitated. ‘Yes, for the most part. Always it was clear I was part of the Donati family, but not truly of it. When your fathers approached me with their story, I was…relieved. He eyed them both solemnly. ‘They were great men. I would have been proud to have been sired by either of them.’
‘But why did they never tell us?’ Portia said almost angrily.
‘I believe your mother fell ill, soon after they found me,’ Averardo said to Mateo. He shrugged. ‘I suppose they did not want to upset her. After that…well, we had already established a clandestine relationship. But they were attentive and very kind. They had me tutored in English, and made sure I had a gentleman’s education.’
Another surreptitious glance. ‘They had expectations, as any father would. Leandro took me into the shipping business in small ways and there were other opportunities, as well. Between their patronage and my contacts with the Donati family, I have had a varied career and done very well.’
‘But the will and the conveyance and all of this…’ Portia waved wildly. ‘How did it all come about? Why?’ she asked, clearly growing upset.
Averardo put his hand over hers. Mateo told himself firmly not to mind.
‘Your fathers loved you both very much. They worried for you both. Some years ago they concocted this scheme…’ he laughed ‘…and several variations, as your circumstances changed.’ He rolled his eyes at her. ‘For one, I am very thankful they did not press me into challenging your husband to a duel, but it was a near thing.’
Portia’s face flamed. Mateo hitched his mount to a nearby sapling before crossing to the bench and perching on the arm next to her.
‘I felt bad enough cheating him out of your estate,’ Averardo continued. His face lit up in remembrance. ‘Oh, was he in a frenzy! I began to quite enjoy it. But when I did not immediately press my claim, he relaxed. I swear, I think he forgot all about it as the months passed.’
‘Yes, he might have,’ Portia said bitterly. ‘Stenbrooke meant nothing to him. But it was more likely he just wanted to avoid my wrath while he could.’
‘Your fathers finalised their plans just before your papa died,’ Averardo told her gently. ‘They told me what they had done, and asked for my help.’ He took a deep breath. ‘They had done so much for me, and, truly, they believed that this was their best gift to you.’
‘Gift?’ Portia cried. ‘But Mateo has likely lost a great opportunity! When I think of the anxiety and the anger and all of the…’ Her voice trailed away and she looked to Mateo for support.
‘The journey,’ Mateo told her. ‘The chance for our lives to converge again—that was what they considered a gift.’
‘You do see,’ Averardo said, nodding in approval. ‘I have not given you enough credit.’
Mateo glanced down at Portia. ‘They are still matchmaking, the pair of devils,’ he said simply.
‘They sought to give you an opportunity,’ Averardo corrected. ‘Your father, in particular, Mateo, felt very strongly about it. He gambled his life’s work because he believed that you would make the most of it.’ He stood. ‘Whether you do or not is entirely up to you. I will send the deed to Lord Dayle’s house.’ He tipped his hat and stepped away.
‘Wait!’ cried Portia. ‘I finally have a brother worth knowing! You can’t go now!’
Averardo hesitated. He looked over his shoulder, his face softening. Then he cast a questioning look in Mateo’s direction.
‘I just have one question.’ Mateo said.
Averardo turned. ‘Yes?’
‘What is your name?’
‘Not Cosimo, I hope,’ said Portia with a shudder.
His expression remained serious. ‘Not many people know my true name.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Marcus. My name is Marcus Donati.’
Mateo extended a hand. ‘Welcome to the family, Marcus.’
Chapter Seventeen
A cheery fire burned in the grate of Lord Dayle’s bookroom and Portia sat before it, warmed through. Mateo’s acceptance of Marcus had enabled them all to return to the Viscount’s town house where Marcus had presented her with a thick roll of papers. With a flourish, he had said, ‘The conveyance on Stenbrooke. I doubt it would have held up, in any case, as is it not even in my legal name.’
Portia had none the less greatly enjoyed feeding the thing to the fire and watching it go up in smoke.
Now she drowsed in a comfortable chair and let the men’s animated talk flow over her. Sleepily, she let her gaze roam over the pair of them. Last week Dorrie had been the only thing preventing her from feeling completely alone in the world. Today she had a new brother. And a lover. She sighed. Yesterday she had been worried that her longing for Mateo sprang from a fear of being alone. Tonight she knew that some deeply buried part of her had thought him safe precisely because he was certain to leave her alone.
For so long she’d dreamed of independence, of finally having control of her own life. Thanks to these two men, she finally had it. Even more importantly, she knew she deserved it. But for the first time she feared it wouldn’t be enough.
She closed her eyes against the pain of that realisation.
When she opened them again, the room had gone quiet. A glance told her that the fire had burned low. Mateo sat in a chair nearby, watching her.
‘Did you know that you snore?’ he asked conversationally.
She sat up. ‘I do not.’
‘You do. Just the tiniest rasp.’ He got up, crossed over to her and cupped her jaw with his large, calloused hand. ‘It’s adorable.’
‘I’d wager you snore, as well,’ she said irritably, ‘but I doubt it’s adorable.’ She was perversely annoyed because she didn’t know for certain.
His other hand rose to frame her face. ‘It’s our last night together,’ he said quietly. ‘Everyone else has gone up to bed.’
She leaned into his caress. He kissed her then and she knew that she’d been right, this was not enough. She would miss the incredible connection they shared, miss the comfort of his company, the sure know
ledge that he knew her thoughts almost before she did, and found them amusing and worthwhile. Years loomed ahead, years that suddenly seemed empty because they wouldn’t be filled with him.
But he’d said it himself—they were so different. He needed the sea, needed a sense of freedom just as he needed air to breathe. And he needed the chance to show the world what he could do. He could never be happy if he was forced to give those things up.
And was she any different? She spared a moment’s thought to the idea of giving up Stenbrooke. A wrenching pain squeezed her heart, and a healthy dose of fear, but she thought she could do it. A lifetime with Mateo would be more than a fair trade.
But the same, she feared, could not be said of him. And what would happen to her heart if he refused the idea? Or worse, if he agreed and came to resent being tied to her?
‘You’re thinking too loud,’ he said softly in her ear. ‘And tonight is for feeling. You can think tomorrow.’
She sighed. But he was right. So she would savour the moments that they’d already shared and she would fill this night with more. Her arms crept up around the expanse of him and buried themselves in the tangle of his curls. She kissed him with all the longing in her past and future.
He pulled her tightly against him, as if he could not get close enough. There was a desperate urgency in them both that fuelled their feverish touches, but which somehow added another layer of tenderness to every caress.
Time slowed to a crawl. Perhaps it stopped altogether as they played, touching, tasting, laughing softly with each button that came undone and each tape that came untied. At last he was standing naked and she was left only in her stockings. She bent to undo the rosebud fastening of her garter.
He put out a delaying hand. ‘Don’t. I like them.’ He fingered one frilly garter admiringly. ‘Especially the roses.’
‘Well, what did you expect?’ she said tartly. ‘No doubt if I were a dockside doxy I’d have fish, or anchors or something nautical on my garters.’ She laughed. ‘What do you suppose the Countess has on hers?’
He didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead he dropped to his knees and pressed a hot kiss to the tender skin her stockings left bare.
She gasped.
Torture. That’s what it was. He nipped and teased the soft flesh of her thighs, even moving behind her and paying lavish homage to the back of her legs. His hands roamed down over her calves and up over her buttocks, setting her to squirming.
‘You said you trusted me.’ His warm breath tickled her right through her stocking.
‘I do.’ It was a vow.
‘Then put your hands on the arm of the chair.’ His voice was soft, but there was a ring of command in it, as well. Her heart pounded, but she did as he asked.
‘Lower,’ he said. ‘Brace yourself on your elbows. And spread your legs.’
She did, swallowing back a surge of anxiety. She was open before him, on display, exposed and vulnerable. But it was Mateo who asked, Mateo who had taken such tender care of her spirit, she could not but trust him with her body. Tense, she waited.
‘You are beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘Gorgeous.’ He slipped a finger along her woman’s crease as he said it and she started, then groaned in pleasure.
She was wet and ready for him. His fingers lingered, teasing back and forth, threatening her sanity. He reached further and teased the swollen centre of her passion. Her sex pulsed with arousal.
‘Dio, but I cannot wait. I wanted to make this last all night long, but I have to be inside of you.’
‘Don’t wait,’ she said. And discovered that there was a power in her ability to overthrow his control.
He raised her from the chair and positioned himself behind her, between her legs, the length of him a burning brand against her. She gasped as he pushed gently across her achingly wet folds.
And then he slid home, entering her fully on one hard thrust. She cried out at that pleasure, at the wonderful stretching of her body and the incredible pressure of his.
He clutched her hips and began to move. She ached with the joy of it, with the intensity of her need, and she pushed back against him, demanding more. He gasped for breath, his grip on her tight, his thighs tense against her own.
His pace began to grow more frantic. He reached around and cupped her, his finger finding her swollen bud. It was all she needed. With a cry she went over, shaking, shuddering, her body gripping his in waves of undulating pleasure. And he followed, crying out with a hoarse voice as deep inside her he throbbed to a violent release.
Eventually they stilled. Mateo withdrew gently from Portia’s body and, still holding her tight, he twisted so that they landed in the chair, with her on top of his lap. Softly he kissed the honeyed glow of her hair.
‘It’s not enough,’ he whispered. ‘I want more, all of you, in every way. I want you all night long, to make up for the nights ahead.’
‘Mmm.’ She gave a tiny wiggle against him, not lifting her head from his shoulder.
He laid his head against hers. ‘I’ve come to care for you, Portia.’
Her finger drifted across his chest. ‘I know.’
He pulled back, a little annoyed. ‘You know?’
She smiled lazily up at him. ‘You might not have said the words, but you’ve shown me in a hundred ways.’
‘I didn’t mean for it to happen,’ he said testily. ‘In fact, I tried damned hard to prevent it.’
‘I know,’ she said again, but her smile took some of the sting from her words. ‘I care for you, too, you know.’
‘It’s incredibly foolish of us.’ He sighed.
And it was. The Countess of Lundwick might spout on about journeys, but it was Portia who had come the farthest. Dio, but he was proud of her—of the tough determination she’d shown in the face of adversity and the extraordinary courage it had taken to allow him past it.
He’d seen the fierce joy in her eyes when that deed of conveyance had gone up in flames. She’d battled hard for her independence and now she had won it. He’d done his best to help her reach it—how could he even think about asking her to give it up now?
It would be the height of selfishness to consider it. And the height of foolishness, as well. He clenched his teeth. More than just geography and temperament kept them apart. This was Portia’s chance to live her dream, bask in her triumph. She deserved the opportunity to stand on her own two feet, to discover her own strength firsthand.
‘I’ll have to leave tomorrow,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘You’ll take a piece of me with you.’ Her voice shook with feeling.
He reached out to caress her, stroked her hair. And ignored the fact that his hand was shaking, too. ‘It’s the most precious gift anyone has ever given me.’ He lifted her chin and stared into her gold-flecked eyes. ‘I will treasure it always.’
‘Tonight is a gift, too,’ she said, reaching for him. ‘For both of us.’
He pressed his lips to hers. ‘Then let’s make the most of it.’
Chapter Eighteen
The Lady Azalea rocked, resisting the tug of the tidal surge. Mateo stood alone on the quarter deck, enjoying the feel of the wind washing over him, waiting for the tang of sea air to fill him with anticipation and joy. Deliberately, he faced south. The sea was there, just beyond the mouth of the harbour. A siren, she tempted him with her call. For the first time in his life, he hesitated to answer.
Over the last week he’d found one reason and then another to delay their departure. His chief mate was growing restless, his crew had begun to look at him in wonder. Still, he could not bring himself to give the order to heave anchor and cast off.
Other voices filled his head, drowning the siren’s song. His father’s rang loud and often. What are you looking for, son? Portia’s often followed. Have you been looking for it, do you think? For peace?
He had not been looking for it. But it had found him anyway. Because that’s exactly what Portia gave him: peace and companionship, calm acceptance and uncon
ditional trust. All the things he’d refused to acknowledge he’d been seeking as he wandered.
But the real beauty, the great, grand wonder of Portia was that she also gave him adventure and desire, opposition and laughter. Everything that he’d embraced as a substitute, and come to crave.
In Portia he’d found everything, all rolled up in a saucy, delectable package.
Dio, but he was a fool to even think of leaving her behind.
His mind churned as he stared unseeing at the busy harbour. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way. Deliberately he turned from the rail and went to his cabin. Now anticipation set his heart racing, but he held himself in check, adopting calm as he sharpened a quill and pulled a fresh stack of paper from his drawer.
He had a lot to put down, and it took quite a while. He had just finished, and was sealing a thick packet of documents when his mate knocked and entered the cabin.
‘Oh, there you are, John,’ Mateo said pleasantly. ‘Order me up a boat’s crew, please. I’m going ashore.’
The man looked at him in surprise. ‘Actually, the boat’s manned and ready, Captain. We’ve just had a signal. There’s a passenger wanting to sign on.’ He paused, considering. ‘We can fit him in if we bunk Hatch in with the men.’
‘Good, but tell him and the crew, too, that it will be several days, likely a week before we set sail.’
‘Another delay, Captain? The crew will—’
‘The crew will do as I say, as always. Anyone who wants to question that can head ashore and find berth on someone else’s ship. Now go and make sure that boat is manned, John.’ He handed over the sealed packet. ‘And see that this is delivered. I’ve written down the address. I’m going to Berkshire. You’ll have the ship while I’m gone.’
‘Aye, sir.’
The boat weaved through the harbour traffic and Mateo fought the urge to hurry the men as they pulled. The Portsmouth docks loomed ahead, indistinct in the evening light. Mateo’s mind ranged ahead, trying to calculate how long it would be until he could reach Stenbrooke, trying to anticipate Portia’s reaction to his plans.
