In Bed with the Duke(14)

‘Stay here,’ he growled, before striding across to the bar. ‘I want a private parlour,’ he said to the burly man in a stained apron who was presiding over the bar. ‘For myself and...’ he waved a hand in her direction ‘...my niece.’

His niece? Why on earth was he telling the landlord she was his niece?

The answer came to her as soon as she looked at the burly tapster and saw the expression on his face as he eyed their appearance. Bad enough to have been called a trollop by the landlady of the last inn she’d been inside. At least if people thought she was this man’s niece it gave an acceptable explanation for them travelling together, if not for the way they were dressed.

‘And breakfast,’ her ‘uncle’ was saying, as though completely impervious to what the burly man might be thinking about his appearance—or hers. ‘Steak, onions, ale, bread and butter, and a pot of tea.’

The burly man behind the bar looked at her, looked over the rowdy market-day crowd, then gave a sort of shrug.

‘Well, there ain’t nobody in the coffee room at present, since the Birmingham stage has just gone out. You’re welcome to sit in there, if you like.’

‘The coffee room?’

Her muddy-coated, bloodstained companion looked affronted. He opened his mouth to make an objection, but as he did so the landlord’s attention was snagged by a group of men at a far table, all surging to their feet as though intending to leave. They were rather boisterous, so Prudence wasn’t all that surprised when the burly man came out from behind the bar to make sure they all paid before leaving. Her newly acquired ‘uncle’, however, looked far from pleased at being brushed aside as though his order for breakfast was of no account. He must be really hungry. Or spoiling for a fight. Things really hadn’t been going his way this morning, had they?

Some of the boisterous men looked as though they were spoiling for a fight, too. But the burly landlord dealt with them deftly, thrusting them through the doorway next to which she was standing one by one the moment he’d extracted some money from them. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn that he’d been in the army. He had that look about him—that confidence and air of authority she’d seen fall like a mantle over men who had risen through the ranks to become sergeants. She’d heard such men talk about opening taverns when they got out, too...

Her suppositions were rudely interrupted by a couple of the boisterous men half falling against her on their way out, knocking her against the doorjamb. She decided enough was enough. It was all very well for her uncle to stand there looking indignant, but it wasn’t getting them anywhere. Ignoring his command to stay where she was, she threaded her way through the tables to his side and plucked at his sleeve to gain his attention over the uproar.

‘Can we go into the coffee room, please...er... Uncle?’ she said.

He frowned down at her with displeasure.

She lifted her chin. ‘I’m really not feeling all that well.’ In fact the hot, crowded room appeared to be contracting and then expanding around her, and her head swam unpleasantly.

The frown on his face turned to a look of concern. ‘You will feel better for something to eat and that cup of tea,’ he declared, slipping his arm round her waist. ‘I am only sorry we cannot have complete privacy, because what we have to discuss will of necessity be rather...’

‘It certainly will,’ she muttered, rather shocked at how good it felt to have him supporting her into the coffee room, when not half an hour since she’d been trying to escape him. ‘Perhaps,’ she suggested as he lowered her gently into a chair, ‘we should discuss things right now, before anyone comes in.’

‘We will be able to think more clearly once we’ve had something to eat and drink,’ he said.

‘How do you know? Have you ever been drugged before?’

He quirked one eyebrow at her as he drew up a chair next to her. Then leaned in so that he could speak quietly. ‘So you do accept that is the case?’

She clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Couldn’t there have been some sort of mistake? Perhaps I stumbled into your room by accident?’

‘And tore off all your clothes and flung them about in some sort of mad fit before leaping into my bed? It isn’t likely. Unless you are in the habit of sleepwalking?’

She flushed as he described the very scenario she’d already dismissed as being completely impossible. Shook her head at his question about sleepwalking.

‘Then what other explanation can there be?’

‘What about this Hugo person you keep asking if I know?’