He lacked the will to fight it.
Indeed, the lady sealed his fate when she tore her lips from his, looked him keenly in the eyes and said, “Make no mistake. I mean to have you, Mr St Clair.”
ChapterFourteen
Coaching inns were often named after their surroundings, as in the Barley Field or the Crooked Lane. Some took their name from a historical event, like the Rose and Crown or the Royal Oak.
One glance around the Dog and Gun confirmed it was a watering hole for the criminal fraternity. A meeting place for footpads who might hold a pistol to a man’s head the second he turned his back.
Helen observed the three rogues sitting at the round table near the fireplace. One had a tatty black patch over his eye. One was so drunk he kept slipping off his stool while the other glared at them through cold, savage eyes.
“Must we stay here?” She gripped Nicholas’ arm tightly, feeling somewhat reassured by his bulging bicep. “We’ll be lucky to escape with our lives.”
Nicholas leant closer. “No one here will recognise you, and Aaron Chance gave me a note for the innkeeper. Williams was one of Aaron’s fighters before he purchased Fortune’s Den.”
The information brought a modicum of relief. One look at the innkeeper had confirmed he was skilled in the art of pugilism. His nose was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg, and he was missing four teeth. His fists were large like mallets, his jaw misaligned, so he grunted every second word.
“I suppose it’s safer in one respect.” She was desperate for the key so they could lock themselves in their room and hide until dawn. “Will he be much longer? We’ve been waiting an age.”
“He’s gone to fetch a bottle of wine and two clean glasses.”
“He’s been gone so long, he’s probably crushing the grapes.”
The innkeeper returned and deposited a dusty bottle and two wet goblets on the counter. “The last Earl of Hatfield left the wine before he died in a duel in the field across the way. When you see Mr Chance, tell him I gave you the lord’s best claret.”
Nicholas nodded. “He will know you afforded us every luxury.”
“You’ve got my best room, too. No charge.”
The men behind them grumbled, bemoaning nabobs who took every advantage, which explained why Nicholas withdrew coins from his coat pocket and paid for services rendered.
Mr Williams brooked no argument. “I’ll send bread and cheese upstairs like you asked. Maybe some ham if it’s fresh.” He gave her a lit candle lamp. “Yours is room 10. Turn right at the top of the stairs and it’s the last door on the left.”
He pointed to a dark, dingy corner of the taproom. Considering she was to spend the night with Nicholas, it was a stairway to heaven. To get there, one had to pass through the realms of hell.
Nicholas snatched the iron key from the counter, slipped it into his pocket, then scooped the goblets between his fingers and grabbed the bottle with his free hand.
“Lead the way, love,” he whispered.
He didn’t want to use her given name, yet the endearment left her glowing. They had kissed passionately on the journey. She had slept in his arms, nestled close to his chest, the reality being far better than any dream. Lust burned between them, but would he ever feel anything more?
Perhaps she should throw caution to the wind and confess her feelings. But he would insist on marrying her, and she would spend her life never knowing if he truly loved her or had been duty-bound to make the offer.
They navigated the narrow stairs in silence.
The place was quiet, a little eerie. Cobwebs clung to the iron wall sconce, the candle’s flame flickering in the breeze as they passed.
Nicholas came to an abrupt halt at their bedchamber door. Without warning, he gave her the goblets to hold before gripping the neck of the dusty bottle and wielding it like a club.
Confused, she whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“Stay behind me.”
The thud of booted footsteps reached her ears, and she turned to see the rogue with soulless eyes mounting the last step.
Like a wolf staring down its prey, he kept them in his sights as he prowled closer. “It don’t seem fair if you ask me. You walk in here muttering your fancy talk, and Williams gives you his best room and the earl’s claret. Some of us sup his ale every night, yet we don’t get a sliver of gratitude or his fine ham.”
Nicholas straightened to his full height, and in a tone sharp enough to slice a man in two said, “What do you want?”