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She tilted her head back and laughed. “I shall hope I keep my balance.”
“Follow my lead, Mrs. Hobbs. I shall keep your balance.” He should be doing his job—meeting and charming the locals, ferreting out information about the islanders, pirates and the leeward side of St. Claire—but he didn’t care. He’d rather dance with Mrs. Hobbs than breathe at the moment.
“How long have you been on St. Claire?” he asked, still curious how he had ever missed meeting her in London.
She glanced away and sighed. “A little more than five years.”
“Less than ten?”
He felt her resistance to his questions in the stiffening of her spine and her unwillingness to meet his gaze. Mrs. Hobbs was hiding something. He’d seen the signs too many times to be fooled by it now. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, most of the English occupants of the West Indies were hiding from something or looking for a fresh start. Had she just wanted to find a life away from painful memories after her husband died?
He glanced sideways at her hand on his shoulder. Her wedding ring was gone. That was interesting, as was her pretty blush when she noticed the direction of his gaze.
The music ended and he released her with a reluctant sigh, remembering his promise to deliver her to the governor. He offered his arm and led her toward the reception line, which had halted in his absence.
“Ah, here you are,” Bascombe said as they approached. “We’ve been waiting for you, Lockwood. But now that I see what has delayed you, I completely understand.”
“Lockwood?” Mrs. Hobbs looked up at him in surprise.
“Oh? I thought you’d been introduced.” Bascombe looked between them with a touch of reproach, as if to say that they shouldn’t have danced without a proper introduction. “Lord Lockwood, may I present Mrs. Daphne Hobbs? Mrs. Hobbs, please meet Reginald Hunter, Lord Lockwood.”
Unbelievably, Hunt saw a veil drop over her features, as if she had just shut herself off from him. She performed a graceful curtsy and bowed her head. “Lord Lockwood. So pleased to meet you.”
If they had not been surrounded by people, he might have told her to call him Reginald, Hunt or Lockwood, but not Lord Lockwood, or my lord, or sir, or any of the other words that would put distance between them. He bowed, lifting her hand to his lips. She met his gaze over her hand and her expression was guarded. When he released her, she moved away, as if she’d been just another guest waiting in line to meet him.
Oh, no. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment, but he was not about to let her close him out so easily.
Daphne sipped a glass of wine as she stood in the shadows and watched the reception line dwindle. Whatever tryst or liaison she’d fantasized about with Mr. Hunt was now an impossibility. As Lord Lockwood, he would mix with the same society she had fled. He would have heard the scandal concerning her. She was not naive enough to think such a delicious bit of gossip would have been hushed up. She would wager everything she owned that Lord Lockwood would know the name Lady Barrett. It was not every day a peer’s wife murdered him and escaped the country with his family’s jewels and the heir to the title.
As soon as she could make her plea to Governor Bascombe, she would excuse herself and leave. Furthermore, she would ask Hannah to wait on Lockwood if he came to Pâtisserie again. She would immediately remove herself as far as she could from his notice. She’d only been successful in remaining undiscovered all these years by avoiding encounters such as this.
Finally, Governor Bascombe exchanged a few words with Lord Lockwood and moved away, leaving Lockwood with the chargé. She seized the opportunity and went forward to take the governor’s arm.
“Thank you for inviting me,” she said as she led him toward a balcony overlooking the bay.
“Not at all, m’dear. Thank you for coming. You’ve always refused, and that’s what I told Lockwood.”
“The invitation was his idea?”
“Imagine my astonishment to learn that you’d never been formally introduced. Ah, well, that’s fixed now. A very clever way for him to arrange a proper introduction. I think it’s plain that you can expect even more attention from Lockwood.”
Daphne looked over her shoulder to see Lockwood deep in conversation with a local planter. How extraordinary that he would request an invitation for her.
But she could not think of that at the moment. A quick glance right and left assured her that they were quite alone on the balcony. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you, Governor Bascombe. I have a favor to ask.”
“Well, now. I hope it is within my power to grant.”
“The favor is for a friend of mine. Captain Gilbert. He makes the run from London to Washington and St. Claire, and then back to London. He is here at least three times a year.”
“Yes. I’ve met the man. Quite competent.”
“I’m glad you think so, sir. You see, I thought it might make good business sense to offer him a patent to carry official government documents.”
The governor just stared at her, speechless. No doubt he was not accustomed to women meddling in state affairs. This was going to take a little finessing.
“I am concerned, sir, that Captain Gilbert may discontinue the run if it is not more profitable. As he is one of the most reliable shippers to make port in St. Claire, I think it would be expedient to make him the offer. I must say that I depend upon him for my supplies of untainted flour and a number of spices. He has even been known to take small orders for cloth and other items. I’m certain there are some items that you and Mrs. Bascombe have come to rely upon. Surely it would be a detriment if he should forego St. Claire in the future.”
“Er, yes,” he replied. “Hmm. I suppose there would be no harm in it.”
She gave him an admiring smile. “The only one who could say nay is the king, and I do not think he would have much interest in such a matter.”
The governor rubbed his chin. “I will take the matter under advisement, Mrs. Hobbs.”
“That is all I ask, sir. I trust your judgment and know you will make the right decision.”
Governor Bascombe preened as she led him back into the glittering ballroom. The interview had gone marginally better than she had anticipated. She’d summon her gig and be home within an hour.
Scarcely attending the conversation, Hunt watched the doors to the balcony until he saw the governor and Mrs. Hobbs reappear. He had a sudden twinge of jealousy that Mrs. Hobbs and the governor might be…no, impossible! The man was nearly twice her age, and his manner, when he introduced them, had been quite formal.
“I say, Lockwood, I cannot blame you! Mrs. Hobbs is rather tempting, is she not?” his companion asked.
Unaccountably annoyed by Doyle’s comment, he shrugged. “I’ve scarcely seen lovelier. Does she have…is she involved with anyone?”
Doyle chuckled. “Not that anyone knows. She’s quite reclusive. Believe me, if I’d found an opening, I’d have tried. She has a Spanish housekeeper, and the rumor is that they are—” He paused and gave an eloquent shrug.
“Impossible,” Hunt said.
Doyle laughed again. “Ah, you’ve been struck by the thunderbolt. As delectable as she is, she really is not suitable, Lockwood. Well, for a discreet affair, perhaps, or to be your mistress. But how would you ever explain that Lady Lockwood had been a tradeswoman? She’d never fit in, you know.”
Lockwood was well past worrying what was suitable and what was not. There was a world of difference between taking a mistress and getting married. He watched as she curtsied nicely to the governor and headed for the foyer. Ah, the innocent dove! Did she really think she’d escape unnoticed?
Chapter Four
D aphne stood on the bottom step as she waited for her gig to be brought around from the stables. She could still hear the strains of a waltz, and sighed. She’d enjoyed her dance with Lord Lockwood. Perhaps too much.
Back in London, the year she had been presented to society, she had loved to dance and had often waltzed until dawn. Barrett had dogged her every footstep and courted her relentlessly. At first she’d been flattered, but when he’d somehow bribed her brother, she ceased to be amused. In the days and years that followed, Lord Douglas Barrett proved to be as bullish and relentless a husband as he had been a suitor.
She shuddered at the memory and closed her eyes against the visions. She had lived the horror too often and dared not give it a foothold now. Her peace had been too hard-won.
A breeze tugged a few long strands of hair loose from their pins and caressed her cheeks. She brushed them back impatiently, thinking that she was coming undone in more ways than one.
“Do you have a chill, Mrs. Hobbs?”
Oh, that deep baritone! She did not need to open her eyes to know who had joined her. A frisson of warning raced up her spine. She placed a smile on her face before she turned. “Lord Lockwood. Shouldn’t you be at your party?”
He grinned and shook his head. “I’ve met everyone, Mrs. Hobbs, and as far as I’m concerned, the best part of the party is right here.”
A scorching heat infused her cheeks. How could he unnerve her so? Could anyone so glib be trustworthy? “Then it is a pity that I am going home.”
“Can I persuade you to honor me with one more dance?”
In the moment of her hesitation, a stable boy brought her gig around from the stables. She shrugged. “Sorry, Lord Lockwood, but here’s my gig. Nellie doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“And who can blame her?” He went forward and stroked Nellie’s forehead. The mare blew out softly and pushed her nose against Lockwood’s shoulder. “A beautiful girl should never have to wait. Where’s your driver?” he asked.
“Here,” she admitted, tapping a finger against her chest.
He seemed at a loss for words for a moment, then regained his composure. He took the ribbons and flipped the boy a coin. “Bring my horse around, will you, lad?”
The boy was off at a run and Daphne realized what Lockwood intended. “Please do not inconvenience yourself, Lord Lockwood.”
“You cannot expect me to stand by and allow you to hazard weather, brigands and a broken axle alone?”
“I am not your responsibility, sir. And I drive the road alone every day.”
“In the daylight,” he amended. “There are hidden dangers in the dark.”
Not the least of which was him. “Really, my lord, there is no need—”
“I won’t hear of it. If you will not permit it for your sake, permit it for mine. How would you expect me to live with myself if anything should happen to you on your way home tonight? What if you were attacked by brigands? How could I ever call myself a gentleman again?”
She paused. This was not like Barrett’s heavy-handed manipulation. Lockwood was half cajoling and half serious. She almost believed he really was anxious for her safety. “There are no brigands on St. Claire,” she said, only half convincing herself.
His forehead creased and doubt narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain?”
Was she? Crime was more prevalent on St. Claire than in London. The waterfront brought all types here, most of them trying to hide aboard a ship or lose themselves in a new land.
Her indecision made up his mind. The stable boy arrived and Lockwood looped the reins of his horse to the box behind the passenger compartment of the gig. He handed her up and waited for her to settle herself before climbing in and taking the ribbons. At the end of the drive, he asked, “East or west, Mrs. Hobbs?”
“West. Are you certain I am not taking you out of your way?”
“I am now.” He turned west at the end of the drive onto the coastal road.
She looked sideways at him and realized that this was what she’d wanted. Despite her protests, she’d been secretly hopeful that he’d find a way to persuade her. Oh, but what was she thinking? She should be avoiding him, praying he wouldn’t remember her face five minutes after he embarked for London!
Tomorrow. She’d avoid him tomorrow. And every day after that until he was gone.
“How long will you be on St. Claire, Lord Lockwood?”
“Longer than I’d originally planned.” He gave her a crooked smile and her heart lurched. “And we need to come to an agreement about the way you address me. Reginald, Hunt or Lockwood would be my choices. I’d rather leave my title behind, if it’s all the same to you.”
“But why? A title is a great advantage in society.”
“Not when it puts distance between me and what I want.”
“What do you—” She cleared her throat and turned back to the road. “A fortnight, then? Or longer?”
He laughed and she knew he was amused by her embarrassment. “A fortnight at the least,” he said. “A month at the most.”
She gazed out at the passing landscape, eerie in the night shadows, and clasped her hands in her lap, wondering what she should do. Lord Lockwood was an outrageous flirt, yet she was captivated by his easy charm and intrigued by the hint of danger beneath it. And tempted—for the first time since…
“What brought you to St. Claire, Mrs. Hobbs?”
“A frigate, Lord Lockwood.”
He grinned but did not press. Instead he reminded her of his wishes. “Lockwood. Reggie. Hunter. Hunt. Surely you can find one you like?”
She breathed deeply and exhaled her tension. It was only a ride home. He did not seem like a Reginald and Hunt seemed somehow too…intimate. “And what brought you here, Lockwood?”
His pause was fractionally longer than natural and she realized he was hiding secrets of his own. “I’ve been debating whether to sell my interests here or to keep them.”
“Are they profitable?”
“Moderately so. Since I am a planter, my profits are tied to seasonal vagaries.”
She nodded. “As are those of most islanders who are not engaged in shipping and trade. But since St. Claire is small, I doubt it will ever compete with other islands in goods or shipping.”
“Is that your conclusion, or that of most islanders?”
“Mine, I suppose. When the St. Claire Planters’ Society decided not to cultivate sugarcane, it limited growth. Most of our exports, with the exception of mahogany, are delicate or perishable, which makes transport difficult.”
“Do you disapprove of that decision, Mrs. Hobbs?”
“I do not necessarily see growth as a desirable thing.” More settlers from England would mean more likelihood of recognition.
He nodded and looped the ribbons through his left hand with the casual grace of one accustomed to taking the reins. With his right hand, he swept the moonlit vista ahead of them. “It would be a shame to lose all this. But I find myself wondering what the attraction might be for a woman like you. In London, you’d easily make a good marriage and have a life of ease. Instead, you’ve chosen to labor on a distant island with an uncertain future.”
“Some things are preferable to marriage, Lockwood.” As soon as the words were out, she realized what she’d given away. She cleared her throat and hastened to add, “And the…memories were too painful to remain in London.”
“You could have removed to the country.”
“I did not want my husband’s family managing my life.” She frowned at him, hoping that would be enough to discourage further questions.
Undaunted, Lord Lockwood seemed to consider her statement. “Hobbs. Hmm. I wonder if I knew him. I believe there are Hobbses in Devon, are there not? What was his given name?”
“I would not imagine you ever met him. We did not travel in such lofty circles as yours.”
He glanced at her in surprise and she wondered if he had detected the lie in her voice. “I did not mean to offend you, Mrs. Hobbs. You think I’m prying, do you not?”
“Aren’t you?”
He looked apologetic. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I am. I tend to see the world as a Chinese puzzle. I want to know how all the pieces fit. The curse of an orderly mind, I fear.”
Some of her tension eased and the edge of panic receded. “I dislike speaking about the past. The memories are painful.”
“Then we shan’t,” he said. “What shall we discuss instead?”
“You, Lord Lockwood. Why is it that every time I ask you a question, you give me a short answer and turn the conversation around to me again?”
