"What if she is? It's no matter to me." He drank again. "I just want my sight bills paid, in coin as agreed, not in bales of their damned worthless tobacco."
She seemed not to hear. ". . . when she's too busy ridin' that mare of hers to so much as nod her bonnet to an honest woman who might have need to make a living. . . ."
"All right." He set down his tankard. "I'll take you."
"Pardon?"
"I said I'll take you."
"Now you've gone totally daft." She stared at him, secretly overjoyed he'd consider asking. "Can you fancy the scene? Me, in amongst all those dowdy Puritan sluts! Stuffing their fat faces whilst arguing over whether to starve their indentures completely to death. Not to mention there'd be general heart seizure in the ranks of the Council, the half of which keep open accounts here on the sly. Only I'm lucky to get paid in musty tobacco, let alone the coin you 're dreaming of." She laughed. "And I warrant you'll be paid with the same, love. That's assuming you're ever paid at all."
"As you will." He took a sip of sack. "But since you're so worried about the women, don't forget who else'll probably be there."
"Who do you mean?"
"Remember what the Portugals say: 'E a mulata que e Mulher’.”
" 'It's the mulatto who's the real woman.' " She translated the famous Pernambuco expression, then frowned. "I suppose you mean that Portuguese mulatto Master Briggs bought for himself when you took them all down to Brazil. The one named Serina."