"I know exactly what you mean, sir," Frank said.
Cole took the brandy and settled down in one of the comfortable, overstuffed armchairs scattered artfully around the room. On a small table next to the chair was a humidor containing fine cigars from Cuba. Cole considered smoking one of them, then decided he wasn't in the mood. He sipped the brandy instead and listened to the low buzz of conversation going on around him.
His thoughts drifted back to Annabel. He was rapidly discovering that being apart from her only deepened his appreciation of her beauty. It was difficult to believe that this morning, as recently as this afternoon, in fact, he had not known her, had never even seen her. She seemed to have burst on him like a bombshell, filling his mind and occupying his thoughts. From the moment she had opened her eyes and looked up into his, he had thought of her and almost nothing else.
Why? Why should he feel this way about her? It wasn't her beauty alone—he was convinced of that. Nor was it the fact that she was so lost and abandoned. He had a feeling that once she had gotten over whatever event had shaken her so badly, she would be perfectly capable of handling things. There was strength and confidence in the way she carried herself and in the keen intelligence in her eyes.
He took another sip of the brandy and realized what it was about her that was so compelling to him: She was a mystery. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to know where she was born and where she had grown up and what her family had been like and whether or not she had had any pets. She claimed to be a lady fireman, and he decided he wanted very much to know about that, about where she worked and how she had come to be in such a profession.
He wanted to know what her favorite flower was, and whether she liked the taste of wild strawberries, and how her hair would smell if he buried his face in it, and how soft and warm her lips would be if his mouth came down on hers, stroking and exploring. . ..
"Cole?"
He jumped slightly and looked up as a chuckle followed his name. He saw a tall, angular, white-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard sitting down in a nearby chair. The man pointed with the cigar in his hand and went on, "You looked like you were about to snap the stem of that brandy snifter, my boy. Thought I'd better bring you out of whatever daze you were in."
Cole set the snifter on the table next to his chair and said, 'Thank you, Commodore. My thoughts had certainly wandered off."
The Commodore chuckled again. "They wandered far afield, from the looks of your face. I take it there was a young woman involved?"
Cole smiled faintly. There was no hiding things from the Commodore. He hadn't gotten to be the third-richest man west of the Mississippi by being slow on the uptake.
"Perhaps." That was all Cole would allow for the moment.
"I'm glad to hear it. Your father was always worried that you'd never produce an heir. Too busy with that firefighting foolishness of yours. His words, not mine. I'm glad the fire department has such dedicated men in its ranks."
"My father never understood anything except business," Cole said.
The Commodore inclined his head. "Thomas Brady was my friend for forty years, but I have to agree with you there. Ah, well, at least you weren't sitting here brooding about Wing Ko."
Cole sighed in exasperation and said, "Does everyone in San Francisco know that he sent his men to see me?"
"Quite possibly," the Commodore drawled. "What are you going to do about him?"
"I sent him a message making it very clear that I wasn't interested in doing business with him. I was very respectful about it."
The Commodore put the cigar in his mouth and nodded. "Good lad," he said around the Havana. "So, who's the young woman who has you so starry-eyed?"
"I wasn't starry-eyed," Cole said, though he was afraid that he might well have been. "But her name is Miss Annabel Lowell."
"Lowell, Lowell," the Commodore repeated. "Old New England name, isn't it?"
"I don't know, but she just arrived in the city today."
"And you've already taken her under your wing? Fast work, my boy."
"It's not like that," Cole insisted. "She needed some assistance, and I happened to be on hand . . ."
"Fortuitous, indeed. And where is the young lady now?"
"At Miss Mellisande's Emporium. She, ah, was in need of some clothes, since all her baggage was lost in an accident."
"I see." The Commodore took the cigar out of his mouth and leaned forward. In a quieter tone, he said, "I don't have to tell you to be careful, do I, lad? Sometimes people are not what they seem, and that applies to young women, too, unfortunately."
"That's just it," Cole heard himself saying. "I don't know what Miss Annabel is, and I want to find out."
The Commodore's shrewd eyes regarded Cole intently for a long moment, then the old man gave another bark of laughter. "You're lost, lad," he said. "Once a man finds himself actually curious about a woman, it's too late."