Page 19 of If the Duke Dares
While he’d been woolgathering, Miss Barclay had set a hand on her hip and was staring at him in disbelief.
“You don’t approve of my offer?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t accept anything from you even if I’d spent my last tuppence. Men like you always expect something in return.”
“Idon’t,” he said firmly, disliking that her opinion of him was so low.
“Will you please just go home and leave me in peace?” She flung her arm in a vague easterly direction.
“If I go home, I will likely encounter your parents again.” He didn’t know if that was true. Perhaps they’d departed after he’d turned around and left Loxley Court after meeting them. There was one way to find out—he would dispatch a letter to his mother asking. He’d do that shortly, but first, he went on, “And if I see your parents, I’m afraid this time, I’ll have to tell them where I saw you. It’s just not prudent for you to be here alone.” He glanced toward the derelict inn. “Especiallyhere.”
“I will only be here for the night,” she said.
“Then where will you go?”
“That is none of your concern,” she snapped. “Stop acting as if you have some responsibility or right to manage me.”
Acton wiped his hand over his face. “We can continue like this, or you can accept that you need help. You can’t have a great deal of funds if you’re staying here instead of the New Inn. The place looks as though it may fall down or is teeming with rats. And, frankly, you look as though you could use some…care.” Still, he found her absurdly captivating—acerbic tongue, bedraggled gown, and all.
Her jaw dropped. “You can’t think to criticize my appearance? Truly, your ability to cause offense knows no bounds.” Turning on her heel, she stalked into the inn.
Acton followed her inside and watched as she strode across the common room and started up the stairs, disappearing as she reached the landing and went around the corner.
“May I help you, sir?” a feminine voice asked from Acton’s right.
He looked in that direction and saw a pretty barmaid, at least he assumed that was her position. Her pale blonde hair was pinned atop her head and her eyes were pitched in a seductive gaze. Her costume was neither demure nor overly revealing, but it certainly accentuated her curves.
“I’d like to take a room, if one is available,” he said.
She perused him with surprise and unabashed interest. “Here?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll fetch the innkeeper, but I do believe our largest room is available.” She batted her lashes at him before turning.
“Wait, before you go, I have a question.”
She faced him once more and moved closer to him. “Yes?”
“The woman who just came in—she’s staying here.”
“Mrs. Birdwhistle?”
Mrs.Birdwhistle. Was she playing the widow again? And where had she come up with that ridiculous name?
“Yes, Mrs. Birdwhistle. How long has she been here?”
“Just since yesterday.”
Acton wanted more information than that. He took a step toward the maid and summoned his most flirtatious smile. “And what can you tell me about her?”
The maid put a hand on her hip, drawing his attention to the indent of her waist. “She keeps to herself mostly, takes her meals up to her chamber. Arrived without a thing, not even a small bag, which I found odd. Moll and I think she’s running from a nasty husband. Poor thing.”
“That is unfortunate.” And also untrue, but he didn’t disabuse the maid of her suspicion.
“Moll is the other maid,” she said brightly, apparently moving right past whatever darkness she thought might be affecting “Mrs. Birdwhistle.” “And I’m Becky. Let me know—personally—if ye need anything.” Her expression bordered on a leer, making it absolutely clear what she would be willing to help with.
While Acton wasn’t interested in her physical favors, he always appreciated help. “Thank you, Becky,” he drawled softly. “I’ll be sure to seek you out when I require assistance.”
