The Rake's Inherited Courtesan

‘There’s no one else in my party.’

He frowned. ‘Didn’t you just arrive with this gentleman?’

Sylvia glanced over her shoulder. A young sprig of fashion in a many-caped driving coat and stiff shirt points swept through door.

‘I am travelling alone. I… My maid took ill at the last moment.’

The landlord lowered his beetle brows. ‘This inn’s for Quality and their womenfolk don’t travel alone. You’d best take yourself off to the Two Aitches.’

She blinked. She must have misheard. ‘Where?’

‘The Hare and Hounds, on the London Road. It has rooms for the likes of you. Now be off.’

The likes of her? Was her past somehow written on her forehead or branded on her cheek? Heat scorched through her veins. He had no right to treat her like some low-class female because she travelled alone and the last thing she wanted to do was wander the town looking for a room. ‘My good man—’

She drew herself up to her full height and pierced him with a cool stare. ‘You must have something. A small chamber will suffice.’

The landlord tapped a sausage of a finger on his reservation book. ‘Well, I might have something,’ he allowed. ‘Not a very big room and no private parlour. I’ll have to check with the missus.’

The gentleman behind her coughed and the harried landlord looked past her. ‘If you’ll just stand aside, miss, I’ll look after this here gentleman and then I’ll see what can be done.’

A hot admonition jumped to her tongue, instantly quelled. Forced to be patient or lose her only chance of a room, she drew back into the corner and watched as the innkeeper folded his stout body in half. ‘Lord Albert, how good to see you again. What will it be today, a private parlour? We’ve got a nice bit of roast beef on the spit that might take your fancy for dinner.’

The fashionably attired young dandy with an elaborately tied cravat and rouged cheeks caught Sylvia’s scornful glance over the landlord’s bowed head. He winked.

Her stomach dropped. Foolhardy indeed, if she attracted the attention of this young fop. She schooled her face into chilly disdain and stared at the opposite wall.

Undeterred, the dandy gestured in her direction. ‘Why, Garge, I believe this young, er…lady was here before me.’ He spoke with a pronounced lisp.

Garge’s face darkened. ‘I’m looking after her, sir. She has to wait until I have some time.’

From the corner of her eye, she watched Lord Albert’s gaze rake her from head to toe. Damn him for his impudence. Tapping her foot, she favoured him with her iciest stare.

His smile broadened. ‘Perhaps I can be of some assistance, miss? I’d be delighted to be of service.’ He giggled.

He actually giggled. Sylvia opened her mouth to give him a set-down, but the landlord’s scowl did not bode well and she pressed her lips together.

The landlord’s colour heightened. ‘I’ll have none of them goings-on under my roof, Lord Albert. I run a respectable house, I do.’

‘I was only offering to share my room, Garge.’ The dandy smirked.

Mortified, she stiffened her spine and raised her chin. ‘I have a room.’

The landlord glowered. ‘Not here you don’t.’

Oh, no. He couldn’t have changed his mind, not now. ‘You said—’

‘I made a mistake. We’re full up.’

‘As I said,’ Lord Albert interjected, with a flourish of his silver-headed cane and a sly smile on his thin lips, ‘I would be more than willing to accommodate you.’

Couldn’t the mincing puppy see the trouble he was causing? Sylvia wanted to shake him. ‘Sir, I would be obliged if you would mind your own business.’

The landlord turned his broad back on her as if she no longer existed.

For goodness’ sake. She wasn’t asking for the moon. All she wanted was a room for the night. She picked up her valise and sidled around him, preparing to argue.

A hand touched her sleeve. ‘If you wish,’ a faintly lyrical voice murmured in her ear, ‘I could guide you to the Hare and Hounds Tavern. It’s not such a bad place. I am sure they have a decent room.’

She swung around and found herself hemmed in by a man of medium height and a wiry frame, who must have entered the entrance hall from one of the passages. His dark green coat had seen better days and the brim of his black hat shadowed all but his lean jaw and a flash of crooked teeth.

She shook his hand off her arm. Another gallant gentleman with less than honourable intentions, no doubt. ‘No, thank you, sir.’

He touched her shoulder. ‘You won’t get any change out of Garge, here. You will no doubt fare better at the Hare.’

In a flurry of capes, Lord Albert strode over and pointed his cane at the newcomer’s chest. ‘Stand aside, sir,’ he lisped. ‘Garge, this young lady is under my protection. I insist you provide us with a room immediately. Isn’t that right, my dear?’

He caught her fingers and pressed them to his moist lips. Sylvia pulled away, but for all his fragile posturing, his grip held firm. He drew her closer.

Nausea rose in her throat and her skin crawled at the touch of his hot, damp fingers. A violent urge to flee, a fear she hadn’t known in years, quickened her pulse. But she needed this room.

‘Unhand me, sir.’ With a jerk, she freed herself. Disguising her panic with a chilly glare, she took a deep breath.

‘The young lady is with me.’ A quiet, but firm voice came from behind her.

Sylvia whirled around. One hand resting on the door-frame, his shoulders filling the entrance to the dining room, Christopher Evernden glowered at Lord Albert.

A warm glow rose up her neck and warmed her cheeks. The shabby man uttered a muffled oath and seemed to fade into the shadows as quickly as he had appeared.

The landlord thrust his jaw and pendulous chins in Mr Evernden’s direction. ‘Now don’t you start, sir. This young person ain’t spending the night at this inn with any of you randy gentlemen.’

Heat raced from the tips of her ears to her toes. An irresistible urge to slap the landlord’s fat face clenched her fist.

Mr Evernden shot out a large hand, grasped her wrist and dragged her out of Lord Albert’s reach.

She gasped and pried at his fingers. She wasn’t a bone to be fought over by men acting like curs. ‘Let me go.’

‘I say, old chap,’ the dandy drawled. ‘I saw her first. Find your own ladybird. Or get to the back of the queue.’

His high-pitched giggle scraped her nerves raw. She prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Or, better yet, for lightning to strike the simpering popinjay.

Merde. How had things come to this pass?

‘The lady is with me.’ Suppressed violence filled Mr Evernden’s tone. All semblance of reserve gone, he radiated anger. Eyes the colour of evergreens in winter, he took a menacing step towards the mincing dandy.

Things were definitely growing worse. How typically, brutally male. She pressed back against the wall.

Cursing, Garge inserted his bulk between the two men eyeing each other like fighting cocks. He placed a heavy hand on each man’s shoulder. ‘I’ll have no brawling in my house, gentlemen.’