dropped the coins in his palm and broke the contact. “I shall get change, sir. If you will come back later, I will have it for you.”
Chains and an anchor wouldn’t keep him away. “Count on it, Mrs. Hobbs.”
Hannah Breton elbowed Daphne in the ribs as they craned their heads out the half door to watch the tall stranger walk back down Broad Street. “You’ve brought another visitor low with your charms, Daphne.”
She’d brought him low? She rather thought it was the other way around. It was a rare occurrence, indeed, when a man could so take her by surprise that she could not think. She must have looked an absolute fool.
“You should have mentioned you are a widow,” Hannah continued.
“Even if I were interested—which I am not—he did not even bother to introduce himself. Besides, I do not want a man.”
“And a crying shame, if you ask me,” Hannah teased. “You use that gold ring to keep them away. When are you going to take it off? There’s certainly no shortage of men for a woman like you.” Hannah sighed, then glanced back down the street. “But not many with eyes that blue.”
Not blue. Deep, deep periwinkle. Almost violet. And it should be a crime for a man to have lashes so dark and long.
But his eyes hadn’t been his best feature. No, that would be his smile. Sensual lips drew back to reveal straight, even teeth and a tiny dimple in his left cheek. Almost boyish, and completely charming. Daphne always noted a man’s smile—or the lack of it. Men who did not smile made her very nervous. She always suspected them of an ill nature.
Hannah chuckled and nudged her with an elbow. “There, that little sigh gave you away. And if you do not want a husband, who’s to say you cannot take a lover? You’re alone, after all.”
She shivered. Impossible! For so many reasons. And she’d never even been tempted before looking into those amazing eyes.
When she’d seen the Gulf Stream in the harbor this morning, she knew there would be strangers in San Marco—and she knew they’d be gone soon. The dark, compelling stranger was no exception. No one ever came to stay on St. Claire. And that was exactly why she did.
A knock on the kitchen door interrupted Daphne’s thoughts. The egg delivery, no doubt. Hannah put her spoon down and went to open the door.
“Here they are!” their visitor exclaimed. “The treasure of St. Claire.”
“My goodness! Captain Gilbert! Where have you been?” Hannah asked, an expression of pleasure curving her lips.
“Around the world and back again,” he teased. “But I came to see you all the moment I could.”
“How long will you be here this time?”
“A week. Perhaps a fortnight. Need to take on cargo and make a few repairs before I return to England.”
“Then we’d best stock up on pineapple cakes.” Hannah smoothed her apron as she went back to her kettle.
Daphne faced the captain. He was graying and tall, had a warm smile and clear blue eyes with creases at the corners from squinting into the sun. “Hello, Captain Gilbert. Nice to see you again.”
“How nice?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.
She laughed. He knew she was always happy to see him, and not just because he always brought her an issue or two of the London Times. He was the kindest man she knew. “Hannah, would you fetch the captain a pineapple cake?”
Hannah nodded. “Why don’t you take Mrs. Hobbs out back for a little catch up, Captain? I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea.”
Daphne lifted her apron over her head and slapped a puff of flour from her patterned skirt before following Captain Gilbert to the small courtyard outside the back door.
He took a seat at the little wrought iron table and laid the newspapers on his lap. She knew he wanted conversation. He had once confided that he missed female conversation since he was always at sea and his wife had died many years ago.
“Tell me, Captain, how was your voyage and what have you been doing?”
He fell silent as Hannah brought a tray with a teapot, cups, sugar, milk and lemon, and a small pineapple cake on a delicate china plate. She raised her eyebrows at their silence and left as quickly as she could. Hannah would want an accounting of the conversation later.
Knowing his preferences by now, Daphne poured the tea and added a bit of sugar and a squeeze of lemon. He took the cup and sipped, then nodded his approval.
“Working hard, Mrs. Hobbs. It is becoming more and more difficult for an honest man to make a living. But I get by. Made enough last trip to carry me through another voyage. My underwriters are charging an absurd price to insure my cargo. Damn pirates.” He sighed and shrugged. “But what else can I do?”
“Not much, I suppose,” she agreed. “I fear goods from home are costing me dearly, too. You wouldn’t believe what I pay for tea, cloth, paper and ribbon.”
“Aye, it hurts on both sides, Mrs. Hobbs. Here and there. Wish there were a way around it. For now I’m just trying to carry the items most in demand in London. Pineapples, this trip. And parakeets and mahogany.”
“Have you considered applying for a patent to carry government documents? They wouldn’t clutter your cargo space and would provide a nice little bonus at the end of the voyage.”
“I did, in fact, apply in London, Mrs. Hobbs, but with so many naval vessels in the Caribbean, they have been providing that service.”
Daphne frowned. The Royal Navy did not provide that service for St. Claire. It was a rare occurrence when one of His Majesty’s ships put in at San Marco. Perhaps she could ask Governor Bascombe. Yes, she’d speak to the governor, and then tell the captain if the result was favorable.
The captain finished his pineapple cake and set his fork aside. He returned his teacup to the saucer and stood. “Now I’m off to arrange the repairs. I want everything in readiness for the arrival of the pineapples. They don’t keep well in a warm hold, you know. The ton pays a pretty price to have them on their tables, and I don’t want to dock with a hold of rotten fruit.”
She stood with him. “The repairs will require a week or two, will they not?”
“Aye.”
Good. She’d have time to talk to the governor.
“Oh, by the way, I’ve brought a Times or two.” He dropped the papers on the table and grinned.
Daphne affected surprise. “Oh! You shouldn’t have, Captain. But thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
He patted her shoulder as he passed her on his way down the alley. He never said goodbye. She wondered if that was a sailor’s superstition.
She gazed at the newspapers. There was no time to linger now. The chores of closing lay ahead. But tonight, at home, she would sit and read every word, savoring the little nuggets of gossip and the latest scandal to occupy wagging tongues—any news at all of her family or friends.
