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trust me, but I certainly can’t turn her out, now can I?” He couldn’t, right? Oliver looked back at Eloisa. Why did he want her approval so badly?
    His guest reared back. “I should hope not. You wouldn’t be that cruel.”
    “I promise not to turn her out onto the street to beg, but you must know, once my ship is repaired, I cannot very well have her accompany me on voyages.”
    “Well, you could. I suppose a healthy dose of stubborn runs through those Darrington veins. Imagine what she could learn.”
    What had she heard about his family? Sure, he couldn’t deny his relations were rather opinionated and stubborn, but was that a trait she looked for in acquaintances? Never had he regretted being out of pocket more. He responded to her last statement instead. “Yes, a fat lot of bad habits no woman should,” Oliver rejoined without thinking.
    “Arrogant man.” Then she muttered something in a language that sounded familiar to his ear, yet he didn’t understand it. Italian perhaps? And not just any words. They rang of vulgarity.
    “Are you cursing in Italian?” He couldn’t help his grin.
    “I am.” Eloisa returned the grin. “I apologize. In times of stress or high annoyance, I tend to slip into that habit.” She uttered a self-deprecating laugh. “I learned from my cousins in Italy the last time I was there.” A hint of a blush stained her cheeks. “It relieves the occasional bout of tension.”
    “You’re part Italian then?” How refreshing to find an English woman who’d let emotion get the better of her.
    “Yes, on my mother’s side. She married an English diplomat then came here upon their marriage.” Eloisa held out a hand to Daniela. An eternity seemed to go by while they waited, but the girl didn’t take her hand, merely stared at it. “A couple times a year, my sister and I visit those relatives.”
    “A rather expensive and dangerous undertaking during these times.” He frowned. Did she and her family not care about spending coin or guarding their safety?
    She shrugged. “I understand that, but Charles—my brother—is a bit snooty since he married and hasn’t returned to his old self. Truth be told, I’d wager his wife doesn’t like him to do anything that pulls attention from her. In recent years, he’s become rather reckless where it comes to his wife’s fortune.”
    “I see.” Typical story, that. “Do you enjoy that country?” Try as he might, he couldn’t picture her tripping through the lush countryside or dusty roads. No doubt she’d spent all her time indoors, fearing what the sun would do to her complexion, which was fair and creamy like any pampered miss.
    “It’s nice, very picturesque if you’re in the proper frame of mind.” She looked at him, her expression guarded. “You should go.”
    What did the woman hide? “I’ve been. Some of their coastal cities are among the best in the world.” He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps his return to England had left him a trifle jaded, but he wanted to know what she didn’t say and why it colored her conversation and judgment. “I didn’t think Italian women were pale, petite, or blonde. I expected them all to be tall, dark-haired, and passionate.” Once the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to smack himself for the insult. Perhaps he’d been away from polite society for too long if he couldn’t manage to conduct himself with charm.
    She arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t think ship captains were so soft-spoken or lacking in common sense. Aren’t viscounts supposed to appear cultured and polite?” In the last second, when she lowered her hand, Daniela crept closer until she touched Eloisa’s knee. The girl lingered there with sticky hands, her dark eyes fixed on him, but she wasn’t crying. That was something. “It’s quite scandalous for an Englishman to swagger about with sun-kissed skin and chin whiskers, don’t you think?”
    “Point taken.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw where the stubble