Tall, Dark and Disreputable Read Online Free

fortune with her, Peeve, though I promise not to target any ship that carries your brother back to you. In any case, I’m sure you’ve your own plans you don’t wish me to disrupt. Stand fast, dear girl, as I mean to, and there is little they can do to force us otherwise.
    ‘What’s this?’
    Portia started as the door opened again behind her. Over her shoulder she watched as Dorinda Tofton, her cousin by marriage and companion, entered on the heels of the butler.
    ‘Vickers tells me that you are neglecting your breakfast again, Portia,’Dorinda chided. ‘He also suspects that you are mooning over a letter. Has that woman sent another of her hateful missives? I thought we’d seen an end to this nonsense! I won’t have you harassed—’
    ‘No, Dorrie,’ Portia interjected before her companion could get herself too wound up. ‘I was just going through some old correspondence.’
    ‘Oh. Well. You’re all right, then?’
    Portia hesitated. ‘Of course.’
    ‘Good.’ She shot a brief glance out of the window before focusing on the food spread out on the sideboard. ‘Will you please come and have some breakfast then, dear? I can see that we are in for a beautiful day, but you know how I feel about you disappearing into the gardens without so much as a piece of toast in you.’
    For a long moment, Portia did not answer. The letter she held was the last communication she’d had with Mateo Cardea until last night—and even after so many years it still held the echo of her youthful shock and dismay. With gentle fingers she folded it up and tucked it into her bodice. Right over her heart she placed it—where she would wear it as a reminder and a shield.
    ‘Portia?’ Dorinda paused in the process of making her own selections and eyed her curiously.
    She turned. ‘Yes, of course. I was just sitting down to finish.’
    Dorinda took a seat and tucked into her coddled eggs with relish. ‘What do you mean to tackle today, dear? The damaged bridge on the Cascade Walk?’ She frowned. ‘Or did I hear you say that the dahlias were in need of separating?’
    Portia smiled. Only politeness led Dorrie to ask—she neither shared nor understood her charge’s passion for landscaping. ‘Actually, I mean to stay in this morning.’
    Dorinda brightened noticeably. ‘A wise choice. The sun is quite brilliant today. You know how harmful it can be to one’s complexion.’ Dorrie’s own milky countenance was her pride and joy—and Portia’s significantly browner one counted as a chief worry. She set down her fork and took up her teacup. ‘Perhaps,’ she began, her word choice seeming as delicate and deliberate as the stroke of her finger over the fine china, ‘we might begin to pack some of our winter things? We might even consider starting on the books in the library.’
    Portia set down her toast.
    ‘It’s only sensible to be prepared.’ Dorinda sounded as if she were coaxing a reluctant child. Her voice lowered. ‘We’re running out of time, dear.’
    Portia was a woman grown. She’d been married—and then widowed in spectacular fashion. She’d run this estate entirely on her own for years now. Never had she shown herself to be fragile or weak, and especially not since the day she’d first received the letter tucked into her bodice. Bad enough that her father and brothers hadalways treated her like a nursling—when Dorrie followed their example, it made Portia long to act like one.
    But this was not the time for such indulgences. Instead of treating Dorinda to a screaming fit, she caught her gaze and held it. ‘There is no need to pack, as I’ve told you repeatedly. We are going nowhere. We will proceed exactly as planned.’ She leaned forwards. ‘Even better, we begin today. Had you not heard? Mateo Cardea has arrived in the village. I expect he will call on us today.’
    ‘He’s here at last?’ Dorinda nearly dropped her teacup. ‘Oh, but will he co-operate?’ she fretted. ‘I know you recall him