Page 17 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘We would be more than happy to take our meal in our room. Can you send someone up with it?’ Olivia smiled sweetly at the man as she stepped hard on Philippa’s toe. Thankfully, Philippa’s boots were made of leather and offered some protection.
‘Of course, madame. I’ll have my wife show you up.’
The man may have been married, but that didn’t stop the slimy toad from staring at Olivia’s chest as he palmed Philippa’s coins. She re-evaluated the merits of removing his moustache and a portion of his upper lip with her dagger.
‘You’re too kind.’ Olivia’s purred reply was enough to make Philippa gag. The man tipped an imaginary hat as he disappeared to find his wife.
Turning, Philippa rammed her elbow into Olivia’s ribs, unable to hide her smile as air exploded from Olivia in a whoosh.
A young woman hurried from a dark opening that no doubt led to the kitchen. Sweat dripped from her brow as she wiped her hands on a stained apron.
‘You the two ladies me ’usband spoke wif?’
Philippa nodded.
‘This way, then. We’ve got mutton stew or fish pie fer supper. I don’t ’ave many ’ands to spare, so if you’re wanting to be waited on, it won’t be quick.’
A strong woman leaning toward stout, the innkeeper’s wife led them through the common room, past a crowd of travellers ranging from working men in homespun shirts and worn breeches to titled lords in great coats and hessian boots until they reached the staircase. It leaned like a drunken man against the far wall. Philippa counted three women in the crowd, all of them huddled close to their male companions. Smoke from the fire, various pipes, and cheroots created a haze that hovered by the wood-planked ceiling. It blended with the melange of seasoned meat, sweaty men, and freshly baked bread. The scent followed them as they ascended the stairs. Philippa’s nose twitched, but it wasn’t an unpleasant smell. Just rather earthy.
‘We’ll have the mutton stew. And bread, if you have any.’ Philippa had spied a crusty loaf on one of the tables. If the stew was inedible, at least they could fill their bellies with bread.
Olivia was behind Philippa, but the duchess didn’t need to see the marchioness’ expression to know she angered the woman with her overreaching order.
Good. The sooner you realise I am in charge, the easier this trip will become.
‘Please don’t worry about how long it takes to bring our food. We’re in no hurry.’ Olivia graced the innkeeper’s wife with a smile, crinkling the corners of her eyes as they stopped next to a door at the end of a dim corridor. The woman turned and stared at her for a moment. This wasn’t the false expression of comeliness Olivia used on the woman’s husband. This was genuine and beautiful.
Damnation. She is dangerous.
Philippa knew her own features were highly regarded in the beau monde despite how far she strayed from the conventional standards of feminine beauty. She was dark edges, sharp lines, and deep colours. High cheekbones, strong limbs, bold features, and even bolder actions. Her beauty was a weapon she had honed, fierce and formidable. But Olivia embodied the ideal English rose. Hair so fair it shone white in the candlelight. Creamy skin. Pink lips. Large eyes prone to blinking innocently while flashing with naughty mischief. She wielded her weapons with far more finesse, and Philippa was beginning to believe she was just as lethal with her assets as the deadly duchess was with her blades.
‘Ahh.’ The innkeeper’s wife put her hands on her hips and assessed Olivia. ‘I see what ’e was fussin’ over. I thought it were those shiny coins, but turns out summink else was striking ’is fancy.’ She broke into a coarse laugh that ended on a cough. ‘Thick in the ’ead that man if ’e finks ’e has a chance wif the likes of you.’ She handed a set of keys to Olivia.
Olivia’s petal cheeks darkened to rose. ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean.’
Philippa snorted at such patent falsehood. ‘She understands exactly what you mean.’ She stepped in front of Olivia, shielding her from the woman. ‘That man was lucky to find himself a wife as well suited to him as you are. He would be a fool to look elsewhere.’ Philippa’s statement could be read as a compliment or insult, and she wasn’t sure herself how she meant it, but she stretched her mouth into the semblance of a smile. ‘If you have any whiskey, we’ll take a bottle of that as well.’
Raising her brows and puffing out her cheeks, the woman rocked back on her heels. ‘Aren’t you as fine as you please? I like that. ’e wouldn’t dare make eyes at the likes of you for fear of losing ’is bollocks, sad shrivelled peas that they are.’
Philippa’s lips twitched, but she refused to smile. ‘I stand corrected. That man is hardly deserving of a woman like you.’
She nodded. ‘Too right. But ’e’s better than me last ’usband and prolly not as grand as me next one.’ She laughed again. ‘We ain’t got no whiskey, or brandy neither. Gin, wine, or ale. Take yer pick. I’ll ’ave one of the girls bring it up when they get a chance.’
‘Wine.’ Olivia poked her head from behind Philippa. ‘Wine would be lovely.’
The innkeeper’s wife turned and swept back down the hall.
‘What if I preferred gin? Or ale?’ Philippa stepped back so Olivia could fit the key in the lock and open the door.
‘What if I preferred fish pie instead of stew?’
‘Do you?’
‘I suppose you’ll never know.’ Olivia looked over her shoulder at Philippa and winked.
What is she about? We are enemies. One doesn’t wink at an enemy. Unless it’s right before one thrusts a blade through their heart. She’s trying to play me the way she’s played everyone in this inn. But I’m not an easy mark. And I never lose.
Philippa tilted her chin, clenched her teeth, and strode into the room. ‘Damnation.’
