“I won’t have you ruining your hands for your brother. No more soaps and chemicals, do you hear me? I’ll talk with Mrs. Devlin.” He rubbed his thumbs over the delicate skin of the backs. Her attempts at escape ceased, and her hands lay pliant in his. So small, yet strong. Like the woman herself. Lord knows, regret and guilt dogged him over things he couldn’t change. However, this he could, and would.
“I don’t require special treatment, Lord Drummond. I must see to my duties.” He loosened his grip, and she yanked her hands away, stalking off with her empty laundry basket. Even though her grey woolen dress was almost in tatters, she carried herself as if she was about to meet the Prince Regent himself. Nothing could disguise her pride.
* * * * *
Spending a good half-hour pacing in her room, Minerva’s mind alternately worried over what Hampton’s arrival portended and the ungodly warmth that coursed through her at the feel of Rafe Drummond’s hands. Both situations caused nervous fluttering in her stomach. One she could only ignore and wish away, but she resolved to find Simon, hopefully in a more congenial mood, to continue their discussion.
His room, adjacent to where the tack was stored in the stables, was small but clean and cozy. It was also empty. Walking down the row of horses, she called his name.
Tom Donahue popped around the corner, a bucket swinging in his hand. “Master Simon’s not here, ma’am.”
The pit of dread that had been planted at the sight of Hampton flourished, making her queasy. “Do you know where he might be?”
“He got dressed in fine clothes and took a horse into town. Said he had Drummond’s leave to meet a friend.” Tom’s hooded gaze glanced over to her as he refilled his bucket with oats.
“Fool,” she whispered, half at Simon and half at herself. She should never have let him walk away before pressing him for more details. “Tom, I need Sparrow saddled. Simon shouldn’t be out tonight. He has a long day in front of him tomorrow.”
A weak attempt at a smile accompanied her request. What would Tom do if he realized Simon had left without permission? She breathed in and out of her mouth and concentrated on not casting up her stomach in his clean stable.
With his usual efficiency, Tom bridled Sparrow while Minerva hauled over a saddle. Running her damp palms down her skirt, she forced positive thoughts. She could easily make Lipton before darkness fell, and Simon would escort her back. Everything would be fine. Drummond wouldn’t even notice their brief absence.
“Let me ready a horse and escort you,” he said.
“No,” she exclaimed and then added in a softer tone, “No, thank you, Tom. You have work to finish, I’m sure.”
“A groom then? Let me scare up young Henry.”
“Thank you, but it isn’t necessary. It’s still light out and my brother will escort me home.” Minerva used the mounting block, afraid Tom would stop her, but he allowed her to depart.
The sky was awash with purple clouds swirled in orange and red, the beauty and tranquility at odds with her dire situation. What if she kept riding? Rode until either she or her horse gave up? Maybe they’d make Scotland. The outskirts of Lipton brought reality crashing down.
She stopped at the inn to leave Sparrow in the care of the hostler. “Did a tall blond gentleman leave a horse as well?”
The hostler’s gaze wandered over her worn, dirty gown. “Aye. Some time back. You looking for the nob?”
“Yes, could you point me in his direction?”
The hostler leered, his gaze lingering on her bosom. Clearing her throat, Minerva drew herself up and favored him with her most cutting glance. Adam’s apple bobbling, the man dropped his gaze to where he fingered her reins. “He and another gent headed toward the Happy Harpy. Down the alley there.”
She stepped off the main thoroughfare and was swallowed in the darkened maw of the alley. Skimming close along the bricks of one building, she hunched her shoulders in a protective stance, and the leaden weight of her feet carried her forward with tremendous effort. A base instinct of preservation called her to turn around. Duty to her brother forced her to ignore the voice and carry on.
Catcalls accompanied her approach to the tavern. Gathered around the entrance like a gauntlet, men held tankards of ale and socialized. She stared straight ahead, vowing to yank Simon out by his bollocks for putting her in this untenable situation. Her anger lent her courage, and she lifted her chin high, pushing past the men and blocking out the disgraceful insinuations.
Inside the tavern, things improved marginally. A handful of men occupied tables, and although she garnered attention, they kept to their seats. The interior was dim and fogged with smoke, which only partially masked the putrid smell of rotting food and unwashed bodies. A middle-aged man with a baldpate stood behind the bar. He cleaned glasses with a grey rag trailing blackened water. Minerva swallowed hard and examined the row of dusty bottles lining the back wall.
She touched the edge of the bar but snatched her hand away. Years, perhaps decades, of sticky grime coated the wood. She wiped her hand down her already filthy dress. “Good sir, I’m looking for my brother. He’s tall with blond hair, dressed well. Is he here?”
The man gave no indication he’d understood a word of her request, working his tongue around his mouth and out his lips. Blank, slow-blinking, rheumy eyes stared into hers. Did he not speak English? Was he a mute?
“Ye got coin?” The man finally spoke in a thick country accent, revealing a shocking lack of teeth. It took a moment for his words to register, but when they did, she silently castigated herself. Lipton had seemed like such a wholesome country village. She hadn’t known such places even existed here and hadn’t considered the need to grease palms for information.
“As it happens, I don’t, but my brother does.” If he hasn’t lost it all. The thought tumbled her already upset stomach. “I’m sure he’ll reward you if you’d take me to him.”
Smacking his lips together, the barkeep motioned for her to follow him. He led her through a dingy hallway and opened a door set at the end. She hesitated on the threshold. Three tables of men played cards. Laughter, groans or whoops of victory overlaid each other, depending on the state of play. A thick fog of smoke hung low. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. With her every muscle tensed, she looked around the room like a wild animal assessing its chances of survival.
The men scattered at the tables were rough and common, on par with the men outside the tavern. Simon and Hampton played at the farthest table away. Their two opponents looked almost identical with blunt features and greasy, lank hair. The kind of men who kept a rusty knife or two tucked away in case of emergency. Hampton slouched in his chair and aimed a sly smile at Simon, who pounded the table and laughed.
A shiver of fear flowed from her spine outward, making her knees and hands tremble. She forced a step into the room anyway. An almost empty bottle of liquor sat between Hampton and Simon. While she wanted to turn and run, she gathered the pieces of her armor and became the ice princess, ready for battle. If real courage were beyond her, she would pretend.
She grabbed Simon’s arm. “We’re leaving.”
His bleary-eyes registered shock, and his mouth hung agape like a simpleton. Recovering his composure, he guffawed, snorting and hiccupping. Ignoring her, he turned back to the table. “Gents, my sis has ordered me to my room. I hope she doesn’t take away my toys.”
“Look at me.” She screeched the words like a crow, muffling nearby conversation. He turned to her, wearing a smirk. With a mind of its own, her hand flew at his cheek. The resounding smack silenced the room, and every head swiveled in their direction. It was the first time she had ever hit him.
Breathing hard, she twisted his ridiculous cravat in her hand and whispered in his ear, “You will come this instant. You will not ruin both our lives.” She straightened but held his gaze. “Settle up. Now.”
His
eyes clear once again, he rubbed at the red imprint of her hand on his cheek. “My luck is ready to turn, if you’d—”
“Now, Simon, or I swear to God, I will curse you until the day I die.”
“Good Lord, Min, no need for theatrics. I’ll come. You joining us, Hampton?” Simon rose from the chair and swayed. Minerva tucked her shoulder underneath his arm.
“You’re going to allow your sister to dictate to you, old boy?” Hampton stared into her eyes even as he baited Simon.
“This is none of your business, Hampton. Old boy.” Minerva poured as much disdain as she could muster into her voice.
His jaw worked, and he looked ready to strangle her, but he tossed his cards face down on the table. “I suppose I’ll accompany you. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Minerva huffed, not caring one way or another.
“You gents ain’t leavin’ yet. We want to play on, don’t we, Dugan?” The man closest to her spoke in a soft voice and picked at dirty fingernails.
“I’m terribly sorry, good sirs, but my brother is in no state to continue playing. I’m sure you understand. I’m taking him home now.” She tightened her arm around Simon’s waist and tugged him toward the door—and freedom.
“I’m terribly sorry, good sirs,” Dugan mocked her in a singsong voice, but then added harshly, “He’s sittin’ and playin’.”
“Or what?” Minerva eyed the door and kept Simon moving.
“He’ll pay one way or another, you saucy piece o’ baggage.” Dugan’s threat was unvarnished and very real.
“Come on, Simon.” If she could get Simon out of this room, they would be safe. They passed through the doorframe. She fished a coin out of Simon’s jacket pocket and pressed it into the barkeep’s hand. Hampton pointed her to a back door, and she and Simon stumbled out into a narrow alley. Even with the slight stench of urine, the night air smelled fresh and clean compared to the tavern.
Her back and shoulders already ached from taking Simon’s weight. Hampton stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, not offering his help. The man was a pig, and if looks could kill, Hampton would be aflame.
Even if she managed to make it back to the stables, could Simon sit his mount in his inebriated condition? Her only consolation in the entire debacle was that Simon wasn’t a mean drunk. Even after she’d slapped him, he’d made no move to retaliate as some men might. In fact, he laughed at their bumbling progress through the alley. Hampton walked several paces in front of them.
With the opening of the alley in sight, two men sauntered toward them through the shadows. The undercurrent of danger spiked fear through her, nearly taking her out at the knees. The two men from the card game were ready for their payment—one way or another.
Simon greeted the men, too deep in his cups to sense ill will from his newfound friends. He left Minerva to totter a few steps closer. “Hello, gents.”
“We didn’t finish winning the rest of your money, did we, sir?” The man’s gravel-roughened voice sent a tingle down Minerva’s spine.
Swaying and with a good-natured grin, Simon was blindsided by Dugan, who emerged from the shadows to punch him squarely in the face. The sudden brutality shocked her into immobility, and time slowed while Simon collapsed like a house of cards.
Her own scream cleared her daze. Protective instincts prevailed over her terror, and she lunged forward, putting herself between the men and Simon.
“Lord Hampton, help!” She reached out a shaking hand, but ghostly pale, Hampton made a run for the alley opening. He caught the two men by surprise and squeezed out, the clatter of his boots fading to nothing.
One of the men pushed her out of the way and into the brick wall. The other man kicked Simon in the stomach before riffling through his pockets, pulling out a few pound notes and a purse of coins. Blood coursed down Simon’s face.
“Get away from him!” Even though her shoulder hurt from being slammed into the wall, Minerva threw herself at the nearest man and raked her fingernails down his face.
“Bitch,” the man roared, backhanding her.
She stumbled backward, pain sweeping over her face. A pulsing whoosh in her ears blocked any noise, the throb in her lip matching the rhythm. She plopped to the ground, scraping her hands and bruising her bottom. Swiping her tongue over her lower lip, she was overwhelmed by the metallic taste of blood.
The man strode toward her. She scrambled backward on her hands, her legs tangling in her skirts, pebbles imbedding in her palms.
He grabbed the neck of her dress to haul her up and it ripped, exposing the top swells of her bosom. He heaved her to her feet, and she dangled in his grasp, her toes barely touching the ground. Balling her hand, Minerva hauled back and popped him in the nose. Her hand went numb from the impact, but blood trickled out of his nostrils.
Bellowing, he dropped her, and she landed on hands and knees. A nauseating terror clawed its way up her throat. Simon was useless, rolling and moaning on the dirty stones. The men in the tavern would ignore her screams. Or her screams might even draw more men out to join the two blackguards. She turned to sit on the rough stones and held the bodice of her dress together, her hands trembling. The two men stood over her like wild animals moving in for the kill.
A clatter echoed down the alleyway. A huge black horse reared, drawing the two men’s attention away from her. The stallion pawed the stones as if it wanted nothing more than to charge and trample them all, but the dark cloaked figure on top held him in tight control.
The rider dismounted, a black greatcoat swirling around his boots. He stalked the two men. His wide-brimmed hat kept his face in shadow, making him appear all the more menacing, but Minerva recognized Aries.
Rafe Drummond was no Lord Hampton. He wouldn’t abandon her to the two blackguards. Hardly sparing her a glance, he focused on the two men who had shifted, perhaps sensing a more dominant predator.
“Awfully brave fighting a woman and a drunk. Well, now you lads have a man to fight, think you can handle me?” Drummond’s voice was as hard as the cobblestones. Feet planted wide and arms hanging loosely at his sides, his hands clenched and unclenched.
For a long moment, no one moved. Then, one of the men made a bid for freedom, much as Hampton had done. Drummond caught him by his jacket, lifted him to his toes and drove a fist into his belly. The man deflated, and Drummond tossed him against the brick wall. He slid down to his knees, sputtering for breath.
The other man was more cautious and crouched low to pull a knife from a worn, muddy boot.
A warning creaked out of her tight throat. “Be careful.”
He inclined his head, and the white slash of a smile broke the black of his beard. Was he actually enjoying himself?
“I certainly will be. I would hate to rip my new coat.”
The second man’s eyes widened at the blithe statement and good-humored smile. The man lunged forward, but Drummond grabbed his wrist, turning it at an impossible angle. The man cried out and his hand opened reflexively, the knife clattering to the stones. Then, before she could blink, Drummond jabbed his fist into the man’s solar plexus and again into his face. He landed next to his friend against the alley wall, his legs splayed wide.
The first man, having regained his breath, scrambled for the knife. Rafe kicked it out of reach and turned to drive a boot heel into the man’s knee. Ignoring the high-pitched keening, Drummond bypassed Simon altogether to squat down in front of her. The brutality of the men’s attack on Simon was child’s play compared to the ferocity of Drummond’s retribution.
Fear still tightened her limbs and thickened her tongue. Even though she was safe, danger crackled around Rafe Drummond. However, worry for her—for them—shone in his eyes, tightening his mouth. Sliding his hands to cup her elbows, he helped her to her feet. Although he had demolished two huge brutes only seconds before, his touch was gentle, comforting. He skimmed h
is gaze down her body and tilted her face toward the dim light, his thumb dabbing her lip.
“He hit you.” Rage laced the simple statement. “I went easy on them. Perhaps I should leave them with a more permanent reminder of this evening after all.”
“That was going easy on them?” A slightly hysterical giggle escaped. She clamped her mouth shut when the laughter almost turned into sobs. “I want to go home. Please.”
He brushed his knuckles gently over her sore cheek. Her eyes filled with tears. Whether it was at his touch or in reaction to her long, traumatizing evening, she couldn’t say.
He pulled her to his chest, the warmth of his hands settling along her back. She swallowed back tears while she allowed the embrace. The steady pounding of his heart against her cheek banished the last vestiges of her terror, and some of his strength seeped into her. She itched to slide her hands under his coat to encircle his waist. Before the transgression occurred, she pulled back, still clutching the bodice of her dress together. The long ride home no longer seemed impossible.
He cleared his throat. “Did they touch you otherwise?” He gestured toward her bodice. “I’ll kill them if they did.”
She stared into his face, shadowed by his hat and the night. My God, was he serious? “No, I’m fine. But I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t come, Lord Drummond. I…thank you.” The man had most likely saved their lives, and that’s all she could manage?
“Let’s get you and your idiot brother home,” he said gruffly and turned to Simon, who had passed out. He examined her brother before hauling him up over his a shoulder.
“Is he going to be all right?”
“He’ll survive. Although, he might wish the blackguards had finished the job when he wakes in the morning.” He didn’t sound remotely sympathetic. “I’ll have to punish him harshly.”
Minerva didn’t reply, dizzy with dread. She hadn’t thought past their rescue, but it seemed that while they’d escaped with their lives, she might lose her dowry after all.
A Brazen Bargain: Spies and Lovers, Book 2 Page 9