Page 21 of The Smuggler & the Society Bride

That flowery speech made Gabe rather ill, but Sadie beamed. ‘I swear, Mr B, how you do talk!’ Bobbing a curtsy, she waltzed away.

Both men watched her display of hips and bottom as she crossed the room. ‘And how you do talk, my loose-lipped lass,’ Beshaley murmured, the gallant tone disappearing from his voice. Looking back at Gabe, he said, ‘A clever man knows goods offered too widely are of lesser value.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ Gabe replied, wondering how many times Sadie had warmed Beshaley’s bed, or how much information he’d prised out of her with gold coins and honeyed words.

Beshaley smiled. ‘I knew you for a man of wisdom. Even goods of small value can be useful, as long as one does not pay more than their worth.’

A moment later, Sadie bustled back with their glasses, but unable to spark a revival of gallantries from either the Gypsy or Gabe, she soon retreated back to the bar.

Ignoring the girl now, the newcomer raised his glass. ‘I did not come here to talk of loose wenches, but to make your acquaintance. Here’s to you, a man of daring, whom I’ve heard commands his vessel like a great horse master does his mount, swift and responsive to his touch. To the confounding of King’s agents and good custom for all!’

Gabe raised his glass and drank the toast. ‘I’ve heard of you, too, Mr Beshaley. As a trader in copper, silver and sometimes other goods.’

Beshaley shrugged. ‘I trade in such goods as interest me at the time. Though I have moved cargoes from Mr Kessel in the past, I deal in other things now.’ He flicked a finger toward the gem winking in his neckcloth. ‘Particularly beauties like these.’

‘Diamonds?’ Gabe asked.

‘Aye, and other gemstones. I’ve a source in the Far East that provides high-quality uncut gems, as well as those already facetted and polished. I also buy and sell stones, both set and unset.’

‘Rather a risky business, isn’t it?’ Gabe asked. ‘Your goods are easily portable, but also highly pilferable. Do you not worry about losses?’

In one swift movement, Beshaley pulled a knife from his boot, then rolled it over his fingers and into his palm. ‘In a village without dogs, farmers walk without sticks, my people say. But in this world?’ Laughing softly, he twirled the knife. ‘No one bothers me—or I bother them, you see? If not with this slender blade, then with the power of my will. Retribution comes to all who cross me. You know the Carlows, sir?’ he asked. When Gabe shook his head, Beshaley continued, ‘A mighty clan who thought themselves untouchable. They know better now.’

The Gypsy cut a compelling, dynamic figure, Gabe thought. There was an intensity about him which made one believe he was the type of man one wanted on one’s side in a pitched battle…and as the innkeeper said, not a man one would want to cross.

‘You seem the sort who gets what he wants,’ Gabe observed.

‘So I do, my friend,’ he replied. ‘And so, I understand, do you. There are many goods to be exchanged. I wonder, with your contacts among the gentry of Ireland, whether you would be interested in some trade?’

Somewhat taken aback, for he’d made no mention of his roots since coming here, Gabe said, ‘And where did you hear that?’

‘A man of enterprise has many sources. Many interests. And pays well to know of what’s afoot.’

Gabe thought of the coin and the pretty words he’d tossed to Sadie. That artless girl probably would be a good source of information about everyone who came and went in the Gull and around the coast.

‘By the bye,’ Beshaley continued, ‘if you have a mind to invest your profits in something easily portable which holds its value and is quickly convertible into hard currency, gems are ideal. If such a proposition interests you, we could talk. But not now! This is not for business, but to toast, as one enterprising trader to another. So you will drink with me, and perhaps talk of business later, eh?’

‘Perhaps,’ Gabe replied.

After draining his glass with a flourish—as he seemed to do everything—Beshaley said, ‘I must go now and visit the mines. Perhaps I will see you when I return?’

‘Perhaps,’ Gabe repeated. ‘As you can imagine, my schedule is…fluid.’

Beshaley nodded. ‘One strikes when the time is right.’

‘If I should not see you here, might I find you in London?’

Beshaley gave him a non-committal wave of the hand. ‘I am in places from Calcutta to Flanders, Cadiz to Cornwall. And occasionally, London. As my people say, A rabbit with only one hole is soon caught. You also know the worth of that saying, lest the revenuers would have confiscated your ship long since. Well, I must go.’

Gabe rose with him and bowed. ‘Thanks for the drink, Mr Beshaley.’

‘My privilege, Captain.’

He strode out with the same fluid gait, exuding confidence and an air of command. He might be a man who’d hold his own in a fight, Gabe thought—but never one to trust.

He’d quickly abandoned his idea of asking about trading contacts. A man who dealt in gems and contraband would hardly be interested in handling a mundane item like mittens.

He’d just drained his ale when Kessel returned to the tap room. ‘So, what did you make of him?’ he asked Gabe.

‘Interesting,’ Gabe replied. ‘And you’re right; I’d be on my guard around him. Have you any specific cause to think him dangerous?’

‘Did you see how he handled that knife?’ When Gabe nodded, he continued, ‘Usually he shows off that skill right away—to put others on guard, I suppose, or maybe scare them a little. One never knows what them Gypsy types be thinking, what with their spells and potions, their hatreds and vengeance. If you’re considering a business venture with him, I’d be careful.’

‘Anything more you can tell me of him?’

‘He first came here…oh, five or so years ago. No sparklers then, dealing only in silver. Asked if we wanted any cargo moved, said he had a buyer in London. He made several runs—a shrewd bargainer, by the way. Don’t know if he paid off the revenuers—or if he spooked them. We’ve not done business for some time. But he’s bolder now, with more of a swagger. If you want my advice when you’ve not asked for it, stick to dealing with good Cornishmen and leave that one alone.’

Gabe nodded. ‘It’s best to know where the shoals are, before sailing into uncharted water.’ Nodding, Mr Kessel walked back out to the kitchen.

An intriguing man, Beshaley, Gabe thought, who wore power and daring like a cloak and carried himself with the bearing of a natural leader. Gabe suspected he’d make an excellent pirate or smuggler, inspiring admiration and fanatical loyalty in his crew. But not an Army officer, who must follow rules and obey orders.

With regret, Gabe decided it was best to dismiss Stephano Beshaley and his offer.

He wished he could dismiss Miss Foxe as easily. She was taking up far too much of his thoughts. Itchy with inactivity, he had a strong urge to invent some excuse to see her. But as with gentling any wild creature, after one catches its attention, in order to lure it into letting down its guard, he’d found it was best to back off and let it follow him, rather than try to pursue.

So he wouldn’t seek out Miss Foxe for a few days.

And if he wanted to keep that resolve, now might be a good time to put Gull to sea, sail toward a falling barometer and take her into a storm to test her new rigging, making sure her ropes would hold through the howling dark, high winds and rough sea that were the smuggler’s natural ally.

And while he was gone, hope the tentative new line he’d strung to Miss Foxe would also hold and strengthen.

Chapter Eleven

A week later, Honoria sat at a table in the converted glass-house-schoolroom while Father Gryffd had the girls go over a page in their primer. In an astonishingly short time, the vicar had managed to convince the families of five girls, ranging in age from six to eleven, to attend school for several hours in the morning, before they were needed home to help their mothers with the chores.

He’d begun by teaching alphabet letters, then reading stories while they followed along, connecting word to sound. Numbers and sums came next, and then before lunch, Mrs Steavens came with Eva, who would go into the garden with Honoria while her mother helped the girls practice knitting. The older girls were already becoming proficient with the simpler stitches.

Since Eva could not sound out letters or respond verbally to words, the vicar used a different method with her. One might not always be able to tell whether or not she was comprehending, but there was no question about her level of excitement or intense concentration, clearly visible in her eager face and beaming smile.

Honoria, though pleased with the progress of her project, found herself still restless. After meeting the captain almost every day, she had expected him to turn up at the school, but she’d not seen him for an entire week. She missed the challenge he presented, the chance to match wits. Of course she missed his handsome face, his teasing banter and, Heaven help her, the potent sensual undertow that pulled her to him.

The prudent side of her warned, as it had on the ride home from the vicarage that first day she’d realized the power of his attraction, to beware his ability to tempt her to imprudence. But his absence and her solitude were hushing that voice.

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