Page 167 of Harpy of the Ton
“Don’t touch me!” she cried, pushing him back. “Do you think I’m a harlot?”
He stumbled against the door, then laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, well, no matter, lovely! There’s plenty lasses willing to warm my bed. It’s right cold outside—get yourself inside and Tom will take care of you.”
“Tom?”Dear Lord—was that brutish footman waiting for her?
“Tom Barnes—the innkeeper,” the man said. “He’ll see you right if you’re needin’ a room. Or perhaps you’re waiting for your husband? A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be on her own at night.”
“Y-yes, that’s right—I’m meeting my husband.”
“Get yerself inside, then, ma’am.” The man touched his cap. “Beggin’ your pardon for thinkin’ you were a…” He touched his cap again then stumbled off, singing.
Bella slipped inside, drawing her cloak around her, and found herself in a parlor crammed with people. They jostled each other, cheering and singing, and her stomach heaved at the stench of ale. A flame-haired woman crossed the parlor, dodging from side to side as an occasional hand flew out toward her skirts.
“Come here, my lovely!” a drunken man said.
“Be off with you, Matty,” she replied, laughing, “or I’ll cut yer balls off!”
Her voice seemed familiar.
Where have I heard it before?
“She’d have to find them first!” another man said.
The drunken man joined in the laughter. Then he leaned back, lost his balance, and toppled onto the floor.
“Serve ye right with yer wanderin’ hands!” the woman said. “How are ye goin’ to explain the bruises on your arse to your missus?”
“Tell her he got kicked in the arse by a lass!” another man cried. “He’ll have no bollocks left by the time she’s done with him.”
Bella shuddered as she watched the woman weave her way around the parlor, swiping away offending hands, her bright-red curls gleaming in the candlelight.
Yet she felt a pang of envy at the woman’s good-natured ease and merry countenance. Perhaps a place such as this—a den of iniquity—was safer than the drawing rooms of London Society. At least the predators here were overt in their nature. A very different kind of predator hunted in Society’s drawing rooms: men—and women—who hid their evil beneath a veneer of gentility.
A cheer rose as another woman strode across the parlor, a tankard in each hand, her rough, homespun gown stretching over her voluptuous form. She placed the tankards before two men sitting at a table, her ample bosom in full view.
Bella shuddered at the lust in the men’s eyes. She stepped back and collided with a body.
She whirled round. “Forgive me, I…”
Her voice died as she came face to face with the redhead.
Recognition slid into place. It was the doxy who’d been staying at the inn in Brackens Hill—the one Lawrence had lain with.
Perhaps he still patronized her. Though he had denied it, he’d lied to her about everything else.
“Amelia,” Bella said.
“It’s Millie.” The woman’s eyes widened with recognition. “I know you! You’re Lady A—”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, youare,” the woman sneered. “The haughty creature who lives up at the big house—the one who destroyed my Lawrence’s belongings.”
My Lawrence…
A needle of pain stabbed at Bella’s heart.
“Be off with you,your ladyship,” Millie said. “There’s nothin’ for you here. Go back to your duke.”
