Arnaud grunted, but his frown didn’t ease as Thad propelled him into the warm sunshine. “No one made it into port today. Did you learn anything?”
“Nothing we did not already know, though I had hoped news of Napoleon’s defeat would loosen a few tongues.” He glanced down the street, at the bay with its ships too long at anchor. His was there, the masts barely visible beyond his warehouse. Other than a few scouting trips up the Patapsco River, the Masquerade had scarcely pulled anchor since he slipped past the British blockade a year ago. It was enough to bring a man to tears. “We need to get back to the Caribbean to rendezvous with the privateers. Napoleon’s defeat will surely mean more British forces sent here.”
“I have already made the arrangements. The Demain will be easier to get to open waters than the Masquerade.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, unaffected—but the words pulled Thad to a halt and made his brows knit. “You cannot go.”
Arnaud had long ago perfected that look, the one that labeled Thad a dunce. “Of course I can. I gather my crew, we make our way to the estuary, meander back out to the bay, and voilà. Open water.”
Thad crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “And what of Jack? No. I will go and you will stay with your son.”
A string of low, blistering French slipped out. Arnaud shook his head and took off again, heading away from the bay’s gray waters.
Sometimes the man could be downright pigheaded. “Alain, you know I am right.”
“I know you think yourself the only man in America capable of doing what needs done, but you are wrong, mon ami.” Pivoting at the corner, Arnaud spared him a scathing glance. “Delegate.”
“But—”
“But what? The Demain is the faster.”
And it never ceased to irritate him. “But—”
“You have the better contacts on land.”
Unfortunately, some did still view Arnaud with suspicion simply because he was born a European noble. “But—”
“But?” Quick as a flash, Arnaud went from scowling to laughing. “But you are jealous and want to get back to the sea.”
The mere mention was enough to make Thad yearn for salty wind and a pitching deck. He loosed an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, to take a few prizes. Sink a few British ships. Swash a few bucklers.”
“And if Congressman Tallmadge were not relying on you…but for now, you know well it is I who must go.”
Blast. He hated it when Arnaud was right. But he put on a smile and tipped his hat when a few pretty young ladies exited a shop. “Mrs. Caldwell, Miss Raines.”
“Captain Lane.” Miss Raines fluttered her fan and dimpled. “Are you still planning on attending my parents’ ball this Saturday?”
Unless he could find a way to make Arnaud keep his next appointment with Tallmadge and escape to the sea… “Certainly. Will you save me a dance?”
“Of course I will!”
Mrs. Caldwell offered her own smile, a bit flirtatious given her new marriage. “We look forward to seeing you there.”
Arnaud’s hands moved in a series of quick, muted motions. Too much, if you ask me. Thad had to work to keep his own smile neutral. Leave it to his friend to use the family’s language of signs, developed by his grandfather for the sake of the deaf Great-Grandmother Reeves, to be droll.
The young ladies, oblivious, giggled their way down the street and disappeared into another shop.
Arnaud rolled his eyes. “I am afraid I will have to miss the event, Miss Raines. My apologies. But thank you so much for inquiring.”
Chuckling, Thad gave him a friendly shove to get them moving again. “According to Philly, you are the most handsome man in Maryland—after her own husband, of course.”
His friend’s gaze went suspicious. “There is never any arguing with your sister. But I assume you have some less-flattering point?”
He tilted his head toward the shop into which the ladies had disappeared. “To get their attention, a little charm is more useful than a pretty face.”
“Pardonnez-moi?” Were it not for the outrage on his face, Thad might have thought Arnaud had lost his command of the English language. “I am not pretty.”
Taking in his friend’s slight, lithe frame, the dark curls tossed by the wind, and the chiseled features, Thad had to laugh. “Pretty as a picture, ye are,” he said, borrowing Johnson’s salt-laden speech. “All ye be needin’ is a ribbon for those bonny curls.”
“I ought to…” Arnaud pulled back his hand, but a grin bullied its way onto his mouth. “And though I prefer not to be ignored, I have no desire to charm anyone.”
Thad sighed and, after waiting for a wagon to rumble past, crossed the cobbled street. He had bitten his tongue for a good while now, but… “Alain, it is time. Jack needs a mother, and you—”