Tall, Dark and Disreputable. Deb Marlowe

possessed—stamped into his laughing dark eyes, moulded into the kindness, the confidence and the absolute assurance of his manner. It called to her, just as it always had. And she could not answer.

      So she talked instead of the choking ivy that they’d had to tear down, the sagging columns that had barely supported the first-floor balcony, the gradual replacement of the casement windows and large sections of the slate roof. She used every excuse to pull away, to walk ahead and remove herself from danger.

      To her relief, he paid close attention, questioning her about the house and grounds, and when they circled back to the veranda he took his seat once more with a shake of his head.

      ‘I admit to being suitably impressed,’ he said to Dorrie as he held Portia’s chair. ‘Portia’s descriptions are so vivid that I can nearly see the sad state of disrepair that she first encountered here. The enormity of what you’ve accomplished is humbling.’ He gazed about at the tranquil scene. ‘I can only imagine the hue and cry and mess of reconstruction. It must have taken an army of labourers.’

      Dorrie chuckled. ‘That’s exactly the remark that all visitors make.’

      Conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the refreshments. Portia poured: tea for Dorrie and coffee for Mateo. Strong, hot and sweet—she recalled exactly how he liked it. The quirk of his lips told her that he noticed. He sat back with a sigh of satisfaction.

      ‘I’m glad you realise the scope of the work we’ve done here, Mateo,’ Portia began, ignoring her own tea. ‘We started with the neglected fields first, and the orchards and the dairy. Once we had an actual income, we began on the house and the gardens.’ She leaned forwards. ‘But we’ve never had an army of hired workers. Everything we’ve done has been through the effort of our small staff and tenants. We’ve all worked hard and made something useful and beautiful. I know that you, of all people, understand what happens when people share goals, work and rewards.’

      He stared. She thought he looked curious and a little resentful. ‘I think I know what you are trying to say, Portia. You’ve done an admirable job here.’ He pressed his lips together once more. ‘I suspect you mean to retain your control of Cardea Shipping, but before you decide, I ask that you listen to me, please—’

      She cut him off. ‘No, what I’m trying to convey is that we are a family, Mateo. All of us here at Stenbrooke.’China clinked as she pushed her cup to the side. ‘And that is why I need you to help me save it.’

      Mateo sat upright, jolted out of his customary lounge by the startling unpredictability of Portia’s words. In fact, that was not remotely what he’d been expecting her to say. He’d thought she’d been laying the groundwork, preparing him to accept her as the head of his company. Instead—

      ‘Save Stenbrooke?’ he asked. ‘From what? Explain please.’

      Her pretty face twisted with pain. ‘You’ve complained that your father betrayed you. I find myself in complete sympathy, for mine failed me.’

      ‘I’m going to require a more thorough explanation than that.’

      ‘First I will tell you one last time—I have had no hand in your misfortune. I had no earthly idea of what your father was about, to will me controlling interest in your business.’

      ‘It is true, Mr Cardea,’ chimed in her companion. ‘I was here when her brother’s solicitor arrived bearing the news. I can testify to her utter shock.’

      ‘I panicked, in fact,’Portia said. ‘I thought something dreadful must have happened to you.’

      Mateo saw sincerity in her eyes and an urgent need to be believed. ‘I’ll accept that—since we’ve met again, I already strongly suspected it. But what does it have to do with Stenbrooke?’

      ‘Nothing yet.’

      Mateo caught his first glimpse of hesitation. He leaned forwards.

      ‘I was bewildered, but Anthony’s man didn’t have any answers. I sent a letter with him back to Hempshaw, thinking my brother would have them—or at least have news of you.’

      ‘And did he?’

      She shook her head. Mateo watched several heavy strands of her honeyed hair fall from confinement and curl against the slender column of her neck. ‘No, neither. So I immediately sent a message to you, asking you to come and help me decipher this mess.’ Her gaze fell away. ‘I realise it might have been short, and perhaps awkward. That was precisely how I felt, considering how long it had been…and especially considering the nature of our last contact.’

      Her hand rose and hovered near the bodice of her gown. Mateo recognised her obvious unease and thought back to her letter. It had indeed been curt and cryptic—and it had helped fuel his rising fury and suspicion. He sighed. It didn’t matter now, he supposed, but he was surprised at the intense relief that came with the knowledge that she had not conspired against him.

      ‘It was only a day or so later that yet another solicitor came calling—but for a very different reason.’ Portia exchanged a pained look with Miss Tofton. ‘He carried with him a deed of conveyance and informed me that Stenbrooke was no longer mine.’

      Mateo shook his head. His brain hurt from the sudden shifts in this conversation. ‘How can that be?’

      ‘That was exactly our reaction,’ Miss Tofton said indignantly.

      ‘It could be—’ and now Portia’s voice rang with bitterness ‘—because of my rotten blighter of a husband.’

      ‘Portia!’

      Mateo felt inclined to echo her companion’s gasp of shock.

      ‘I beg your pardon, Dorrie, but you are well aware of my feelings and Mateo might as well be, too.’

      ‘But to speak so of the dead…’ She shuddered.

      ‘Will not bother him in the least,’ Mateo assured her. He turned to Portia. ‘Please, go on.’

      She nodded. ‘As you said, Stenbrooke came into my possession on my marriage. It was meant to be secured to me and my children in the marriage settlements. Somehow, my father failed to see it done.’ She fought to keep her resentment from overpowering her. ‘I have no notion how my father could have neglected to take care with the single most important thing in my life, but the fact remains that he didn’t. Stenbrooke therefore became my husband’s property, according to law.’ She paused. ‘And I had no idea. It was an oversight that no one saw fit to inform me of.’

      Drawing a deep breath, she continued. ‘J.T. knew of it, obviously. He used the estate as a stake in a card game. He lost my home over a hand of faro—another fact that he neglected to tell me before he went and got himself so ignominiously killed.’

      There was not enough room in Mateo’s head for all his myriad reactions to this conversation. A whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and feelings set his temples pounding. Ridiculous, then, that the one at the top was an ugly sense of satisfaction that perhaps Portia had not loved her husband.

      ‘I am sorry to hear it,’ he managed to say.

      ‘Oh, but you don’t even know the worst of it!’ Miss Tofton exclaimed. ‘This new owner is craven. He didn’t even have the decency to face Portia; he merely sent along a newly hired solicitor to deliver the news. And that dreadful man was in turn evasive and cruel. He said that his employer is an experimental agriculturist who is always in search of new ground for his research. He said it was quite likely that all of this would be ploughed under if ever he got his hands on Stenbrooke!’

      Mateo narrowed his focus, and watched Portia intensely.

      ‘I want you to help me,’ she said simply.

      He exhaled sharply. ‘And how do you expect me to do that? Portia, you must know why I’ve come. I want to make arrangements to buy back your interest in Cardea Shipping.’

      She shook her head. ‘I won’t sell it to you.’