The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(16)

“I meant to say,” she corrected, “will ye be fishing here until pilchards are out of season? Looe is famous for its seasonal yield.”

Her eyes locked with his, branding him, seeking hidden truths he dared not reveal.

Tread carefully, Pierce. You cannot afford complications.

“We will be staying until we snare our quota of fish, Miss,” he replied.

She glanced at Jarvis and McHugh, then produced a weak smile. “And what will ye do once your yield is met?”

Jarvis crossed his arms, cocked a brow, and smiled. “Celebrate.”

“How?” she asked.

“We’re fishermen,” Jarvis said and then snickered. “What’s more satisfying than a good mug of ale, eh?”

She smiled, her green eyes glistening like foliage on a dewy spring morning. “There’s nothing more satisfying than making a good profit.”

Other pleasures came to mind, but it was monetary value she spoke of, making him wonder how an inn between Looe and Polperro could make a profit. “While giving back to those less fortunate,” he pointed out.

Her face hardened. She crossed her arms, stretching the fabric tightly over her breasts and absentmindedly revealing more of their ample size. “I’ve learned to be a shrewd businesswoman. I manage.”

“Your customers wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t.” Walsingham glanced around the tavern, but he wasn’t truly looking at the patrons. He was looking for signs of potential danger. Did anyone else know what she kept in a vault in the cellar below? Was it Carnage’s mysterious cache she was using to aid widows in the area and orphans near Porthallow?

“High praise, Mr. Hunt.” Her lips thinned as she turned to glance at Old Bailey as the fiddles stopped. “I rely on fishermen and merchants who barter in trade to restock my cellar. What ye see here is the result of hard work. Nothing more.”

Smugglers’ trade or law-abiding merchant exchange?

She swiped an errant hair dancing across her forehead and smoothed it away from her face. “The inn hasn’t always been profitable. Since my father . . .” Distress filled her eyes before she blinked. “Well, I’ve made it my life’s work to restore this place.”

She had been about to divulge something about her father, and Walsingham’s heart began to race. He had to be careful about how he approached this topic. “Are the rumors true?” he asked softly.

“What rumors?” she asked, a note of displeasure creeping into her voice.

McHugh plunked his fork down on his plate. “Hunt, maybe ye shouldn’t—”

“What? Speak about free traders?” Walsingham studied Miss Thorpe. “Everyone who comes here knows the Thorpes have dabbled in free trade.”

“Not anymore,” she snapped. “As I said, I run a respectable business. My mother had grand ideas about the Roost, and I mean to see them realized.”

“And where is your mother now?” he asked with a genuine smile. “I’d like to thank her for bringing such a courageous woman into this world.” The woman must have been a saint to have nurtured such a treasure beneath Gabriel Thorpe’s nose.

“Gone.” Her green eyes misted momentarily, glittering like emeralds before the emotion dissipated. “Ye ask a lot of questions.”

“May I speak truthfully?” If he didn’t ease her suspicions, no one else would believe their disguise. “After Frank’s troublesome conduct, I’m merely concerned for your welfare and hope to discover that you are not unprotected.”

Her eyes flashed a gentle but firm warning. “Ye barely know me. Why does my life concern ye?”

Her quick defensive rise filled him with alarm. “Frank isn’t the only one threatening you, is he?”

“What gives ye that impression?” Her voice rose an octave, and her fingers tightened around the pitcher of ale. “I’ll have ye know, that is none of your business. I can take care of myself.”

“After witnessing how you handled Frank, I have no doubt of it, Miss.” He changed tactics. “I merely wonder why the men in your family have left you to the whims of these devils.” He shook his finger, indicating the men sitting at the tables throughout the room.

“Ye suppose one too many things. I am no servant here, sir.” She lifted her chin. “I own the Roost.”

He smiled reassuringly. “But is it wise for a woman of your . . . youth and inexperience to operate a tavern without protection?”

“Inexperience?” Her gaze sharpened, boring into him as she set the pitcher on the table forcefully. “Ye take too much upon yourself, Mr. Hunt. I am not without protection.”

Indeed, she wasn’t. “Wouldn’t life be easier elsewhere?” he asked.

“Where exactly is this conversation going?” Anger shot from her eyes, and her cheeks flushed, making him realize too late the implications of what he’d just said.

“You misunderstand.” Damn, he was doing a terrible job trying to ferret information from the woman without making her suspicious. “You seem well educated, Miss. I merely wonder why you aren’t a teacher.”

At that, she calmed somewhat, though her eyes were as unreadable as stone. “I do like children.”

“Employment as a governess, then?” he suggested.