Page 44 of Again, Scoundrel

“No.” She stood and jutted out her chin. “I don’t want to go. I want to be kissed!”

She said it loudly enough that heads in the bar swiveled toward her to hear more. She’d said it loudly enough that Alistair, hovering in the hallway shadows and watching, heard it too.

Chapter

19

Alistair waited, not patiently, while first Esmee and then McGann spoke with Violet. He prowled the enclosed space of the hall like a panther, every part of him yearning to go to her.

But he stayed away because McGann was right. He’d made a complete hash of his last conversation with her. Hell, he’d made a hash of every conversation he’d had with her.

If McGann thought he could smooth it over, he’d damn well let the man. But he wouldn’t like it. He paced the shadows once again, determined to wait for the right moment to re-engage with Violet.

Until he heard Violet demand McGann kiss her. And then all he saw was red.

The next thing he knew he’d charged into the tavern hall, lifted his fist, and thrown McGann a right hook that snapped the big man’s head back with the force of the blow.

“Alistair!” Violet exclaimed, while at the same time Esmee called out, “English!”

McGann staggered and then righted himself, holding a “huge hand to his throbbing cheek.

“Twas uncalled for, Crawford. I’d ask you not to do it again.”

Alistair just stared at him. “You’ll ask nothing,” he replied in his iciest tone, “of me nor of Violet, unless you’d like to meet at Putney Heath in the morning.”

“Scots don’t duel.” McGann looked like he was about to say more, when Esmee arrived from behind the bar and positioned herself between them.

“That’s enough,” she said. “You, English, take the lass upstairs. Violet, go with him. And no more talk of kissing.”

She turned to McGann. “Brother, stay here like the damn fool you are and put something cold on your face.”

“I don’t know why you call me the fool. He’s the one that hit me.”

“Aye, I saw it. And I know you well enough to know you deserved it. Now off you go before you make a shambles of my business.”

Esmee led Violet and Alistair up a long flight of steps and into a comfortable suite of apartments that sat atop the tavern a few moments later.

“Sit here,” she said and pointed at a small table. “I’ve asked the cook to bring you a bite to eat, lass. You need to soak up some of that whisky in your belly.”

A few moments later, plates of hot buttered bread, soup, and hand-held pies were placed in front of them.

“I’m sorry,” Violet said to Esmee. She took her seat while Alistair still stood. “I didn’t mean to—”

Esmee shook her head. “Don’t worry. When the whisky’s inside, the sense is outside, as they say. But you didn’t have much, so you’ll be right as rain with some lunch.”

She glanced over at Alistair. “Though I would recommend you not try to kiss that one either. I can tell he’s trouble by the look of him.”

“I’m standing right here,” Alistair said.

“I know you are, English. Take care not to bleed on the floor.”

And then she excused herself to go back down and run her tavern.

“You’re bleeding?” Violet asked and stood to better look at Alistair’s hand. The right two knuckles had begun to swell and bruise, and they were bleeding, although not badly.

“You’ll need a cold compress for that,” she said. “And make sure you have finger mobility.”

Alistair put his hand in his pocket. “I’ll be fine. Sit down and eat your food.”