Page 30 of If the Duke Dares
Nervous, she positioned her chair so she could stare at the door. There was a knife on her tray. That could serve as a weapon, if she needed one.
What was she doing suffering this unnecessary fear? She ought to go home first thing tomorrow.
That she’d had to resort to running away to avoid her parents’ demands and doing so had brought her to this was the real concern. She might be safer overall at home, but for how long? What did her future hold?
It turned out, Persephone didn’t actually want her dinner after all.
Acton kept watching the stairs even after Miss Barclay disappeared around the corner with her dinner. Though he hadn’t observed what had happened to her, he could tell she was shaken. He’d seen her making her way along the edge of the room and had transferred his attention back and forth between her and Charity Staunton, the charming red-haired siren who’d joined him at his table. Apparently, he’d been just distracted enough by Charity to miss seeing what had transpired.
What hehadseen was Miss Barclay rushing away from a man who was brushing at his clothes which appeared sodden. He’d noted Miss Barclay’s distress and immediately excused himself from Charity while cursing his inattentiveness.
Moll had moved away, but Acton followed her. “Moll, did you see anything happen with Miss…usBirdwhistle?” He’d almost called her Miss Barclay.
The maid shrugged. “No. Mayhap I saw her talk to a gent over there.” She gestured toward the man with the wet garments. “Can’t be sure, though. Blasted busy in ’ere tonight.”
Then she was gone.
Acton frowned, then glanced toward the stairs and frowned some more. He looked back at the man Miss Barclay might have been speaking to and decided to keep an eye on him.
In the meantime, he returned to Charity, who gave him a pout and asked why he was gone for so long.
“Just checking on a friend,” he said before sipping his port.
“That mousy thing?” Charity asked.
Mousy? “I wouldn’t describe her that way.”
Granted, Miss Barclay was still wearing her dull brown gown instead of the pretty blue one he’d bought her. Had she not been able to lengthen it?
Charity gave him a broad smile, but didn’t reveal her teeth. That was a telltale sign there was probably something not worth seeing behind her lips. “I’m glad she’s gone on her way.”
Becky delivered their dinner, and Acton ate with one eye trained on the rough-looking man. Moll had brought the ruffian a fresh tankard when their dinner arrived, and while Acton was still eating, the man finished it and obtained another. The man had to be quite drunk.
“Did you hear what I said?” Charity’s question drew his attention, and he reluctantly peeled his gaze away from the man across the room.
“Er, no. I’m sorry.”
She pursed her rouged lips at him. “You’ve been distracted since that chit pulled you away from me. I just asked if you wanted to go up to your chamber after dinner, but I wonder if she’s your bed sport.” Charity sounded peeved. Jealous, even.
Acton didn’t have time—or patience—for such nonsense. Watching over Miss Barclay was his priority. Indeed, what the hell was he still doing sitting with Charity? He should have abandoned her and put his entire attention on the ruffian.
Angry with himself, Acton looked back toward the drunken man, but he was gone.
A surprising panic filled Acton’s throat. He snapped his attention to the stairs and caught the shape of someone just as they turned the corner. Was it him?
Acton wasn’t going to take the chance that it was. “You’ll have to pardon me,” he said, rising. “Your meal is paid for. And drink all you like.” He didn’t spare her a glance as he hurried from the table to the stairs.
He took them two at a time and looked down the corridor toward Miss Barclay’s room just in time to see her door slam. Barreling in that direction, Acton heard her shriek. He sprinted faster, throwing open her door just as she fell back onto the narrow bed in the tiny chamber.
The man from downstairs stood over her, but turned his head to glare at Acton. “Ye’re interruptin’!”
“I am.” Acton moved toward the man and grasped him by the upper back of his coat. Hauling him away from the bed, Acton drove his fist into the man’s gut.
The man grunted as Acton silently thanked Gentleman Jackson’s establishment for training him in pugilism. Acton kept ahold of the man and dragged him to the door. “Get out and don’t come back. I’ve no problem taking you all the way to the magistrate and seeing you prosecuted. Do you understand?”
Lifting his head, the man looked up at him with bleary, reddened eyes. He nodded.
“Say you understand so I know you comprehend me, or I’ll hit you again.”
