It was the command she had over those features that intrigued him. They never revealed anger or irritation or impatience. No matter how long it took some people to tell her exactly what they wanted, asking questions about the offerings as though they’d never been in the tavern—or any tavern—before and didn’t know what could be had. No matter how many times she had to return to the same table with additional drinks. No matter how often she had to replace a beverage because the person decided that what he’d ordered wasn’t to his taste after all.
He suspected that on the nights he wasn’t there she received swats on her backside. He saw one fellow reaching for her with the flat of his hand. His mate slapped his wrist and jerked his head toward Beast. The would-be offender’s eyes widened before he gave a little nod of acknowledgment. Most people in the area were aware of the sort of behavior directed toward women that Trewloves didn’t tolerate.
She offered the prettiest smile to her customers. But for him, no curling up of her lips, no sparkle in her eyes. Serving him was a chore, a duty, and an unpleasant one at that. He wished he didn’t long to have her smile directed his way, wasn’t certain why he did. He didn’t know why she’d snagged his attention the night before and continued to hold it. Why she called to the loneliness in him.
When she finally made her way over to him and set the full glass of scotch down, he said, “You misunderstood regarding my proposition.”
“I very much doubt it.”
Her nose had gone up ever so slightly and in spite of her diminutive height, she’d managed to give the appearance of looking down on him from Mount Olympus.
When she immediately walked away, he didn’t try to stop her. He’d had too many of those haughty gazes cast his way over the past couple of years, whenever he’d attended one of his siblings’ blasted weddings. Each of them had married a noble and that had meant churches filled with the toffs. A couple of theladieshad even approached him, signaling their interest in experiencing a bit of the rough. Seemed they’d believed fucking—a word they’d used much to his astonishment as he’d thought proper ladies didn’t even know, much less speak, the term—a commoner, especially a bastard one, would be distinctively different than fucking a noble.
Taking one against a wall, another bent over a vicar’s desk, he’d probably proven them right, confirmed he was no better than the name they called him.
He’d felt tainted, sullied, and used afterward, had no desire to ever again be intimate with a blueblood.
If he’d had any doubts before regarding the new barmaid, he had none now. He didn’t know why she was in Whitechapel but knew her blood was as blue as it came. And he’d be damned before he’d beg her to help him.
Staring at the two sovereigns, Althea gingerly picked up one.
“They’re both for you,” Rob said as he dropped the damp rag on the table and began scrubbing the surface.
“Why would he leave me two sovereigns?” To demonstrate the generosity he would bestow upon her if she accepted his proposition?
“Why would he give us any?” Rob asked.
“How many did he give you tonight?”
“Two.”
He wasn’t singling her out, which made her feel somewhat better. Tonight he’d remained until a couple of minutes before closing. She’d caught him checking his watch several times, as though he was anxious to be about his business. Why, then, had he remained as long as he had?
Why had his gaze remained steadfastly on her? He didn’t leer or ogle but was rather subtle in the watching. She doubted anyone who observed him could have discerned exactly where his attentions resided, but since his arrival she’d felt as though the gentlest of fingers had been tenderly caressing her cheeks or freeing rebellious strands of her hair from the knot pinned at the back of her head.
When he’d signaled for a third scotch, she’d been certain he was going to broach the subject of his proposition oncemore, and she had a scathing retort waiting on the tip of her tongue that would make her other two rebuffs seem exceedingly polite. But he hadn’t spoken a single word while she set his glass on the table or after. Had merely studied her as though he could see clear into her soul and had the ability to rummage about in it, seeking out and uncovering all of her secrets.
She was fairly certain her cheeks had gone crimson beneath his regard, and she regretted that she’d not had the opportunity to refuse him once more. With most gents, after they made the lurid suggestion of what they’d like to do with her, they didn’t give up until the liquor put them under the table. His proposition was the first she’d received before a gentleman had even taken a sip of alcohol, and that had made it all the worse because she couldn’t dismiss it as his merely imbibing too much and losing the ability to reason. He’d had all his wits about him. It had hurt that he’d viewed her as someone so undeserving of his respect.
What did it matter? Griffith had warned her that if she took a position here, she would have to deal with ribald comments and indecent proposals. She’d tried two other occupations before resorting to tavern maid. As a seamstress, her skill level was such that her stitches seldom met the standard of quality insisted upon for the small payment she was offered. Her time at the grocers had been equally disappointing. The owner was often brushing by her or placing his hand on her waist. When he’d “accidentally” grazed her breast, she’d found herself summarily dismissed because she’d “accidentally” slapped his face.
While she didn’t care for the unwanted attentions here, at least the salary was better than she’d found elsewhere. Other occupations might have been more acceptable, and she was better suited to them, but no one in the aristocracy was going to hire her as a governess or a companion, not after herfather’s actions had made the members of her family all pariahs.
When all was tidied up, and the place was closed up tight for the night, she followed her usual routine and made her way to the street. Disappointment slammed into her because Griffith was nowhere to be seen... again. What the devil was he doing that was causing his tardiness? If it killed her, she would pry the answer from him when he showed.
Determining she was in as much danger waiting as walking, she removed the dagger from her reticule and began striding briskly home. She again had that warm sensation of someone wrapping a hand around the nape of her neck. Without stopping her strides, she swung about, walking backward as she squinted at the dark shadows. She couldn’t see anyone but still had the sense of being watched.
Spinning back around, she quickened her pace and tightened her hold on the weapon. Surely, she would run into Griffith at any moment. Even a hansom cab would be welcomed. She could use a portion of the unexpected coins she’d received tonight to get herself home.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw nothing, heard nothing. It was probably just paranoia on her part after all the warnings Griffith had given her. He hadn’t wanted her working at night, but it had been the only position—
Suddenly, a hand grabbed her wrist, biting into the tender flesh, and an arm snaked forcefully around her waist. Releasing a blood-curdling scream as she was yanked into the darkened alley, she struck out blindly with the dagger, shuddering when it hit its mark.
“Ye bitch! Ye sliced me!”
A brick wall slammed into the back of her head, and pain ricocheted through it. Flashes of bright light floated around her. Her legs lost their vibrancy, and she slowly slid down, down, down...
From a great distance, somewhere beyond where she existed, she heard a growl, followed by the echoing crunch of bone being crushed. A grunt. Footsteps.
