Page 23 of Harpy of the Ton
Millie began to wind a strip of cotton around Lawrence’s fingers.
“Curse that woman,” she said. “Miss High-and-Mighty Lady Arabella has much to answer for.”
Lawrence drew in a sharp breath. Doxies were known to be astute—but could Millie read his innermost desires that easily? Did she know that even the prospect of savoring that fiery creature—no matter how unlikely that may be—had ruined him for other women?
“Lady Arabella?” he said, aware of the tightness in his voice.
“Aye,” Millie replied. “As bad-tempered a harpy as I’ve had the misfortune of encountering, I can tell ye. I’d like to see her driven out of the village—and that duke of hers. She’s worse than him—bein’ a woman and all that.”
“You hate her because of her sex?”
Millie secured the bandage with a knot. “No, my lovely, I hate her for what she’s done to you—burnin’ your tools like that, then sending you packing without payment. A fine, hardworking soul such as yourself shouldn’t have to suffer at her hands.”
“It’s the way of the world, Millie.”
“Aye,” she said, “which is why I make my customers pay me in advance before I service them.”
Lawrence sighed. “I’ve no money to pay you.”
“Ah, bless you, lovely—I was going to offer you my arms for free.”
“It wouldn’t be right,” Lawrence said, “and comely as you are, I have no appetite for pleasure.”
She kissed his hand, brushing her lips against the bandage.
“There!” she said. “Your Millie will kiss the pain away. And ye needn’t worry about settling yer account here. Mr. Barnes is a generous man.”
“I won’t take charity,” Lawrence said.
“Male pride!” Millie let out a snort. “Them that are undeserving will take what they will, whereas those in need refuse an offer of help. I’ll never understand men like you.”
The chamber door was knocked upon, and a man appeared. Thickset with a thatch of graying hair on his head, ruddy cheeks and bright blue eyes, the innkeeper nodded in greeting.
“Mind if I have a word, Mr. Baxter? It’s about your account.”
“Mr. Barnes,” Millie protested, “can’t you see he’s—”
The innkeeper raised his hand—a hand marked by callouses, the trophies of a life of hard work and toil. He gestured to Lawrence’s bound hands.
“Fixed you up right and proper, didn’t they?” he said. “Them folk up at the big house. Funny how them with the most are the least inclined to pay.”
“Lady Arabella burned all Lawrence’s things, Mr. Barnes,” Millie said.
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Is that so?”
Lawrence nodded. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, I’ve nothing to pay for my room. But I can work for my keep.”
The innkeeper eyed Lawrence’s bound hands, doubt in his expression.
“Millie says they’ll be better in the morning,” Lawrence added. “I could tend to your garden if I’d not lost my tools.”
“He’s a fine worker, Mr. Barnes,” Millie said.
The innkeeper smiled. “It seems as if our Millie’s taken a shine to you—and I trust her judgment. Very well, if you wish to earn your keep, a day or so helping out in the stables should suffice, provided your hands have healed.”
“I can weather a little pain in the pursuit of honoring my debts,” Lawrence said.
The innkeeper’s face broke into a gap-toothed smile. “I daresay you could, with your physique. Are you a fighting man, perchance? We’ve a few bouts in the yard every Friday if youfancy it. There’s good money to be had—more if you can fell your opponent. I reckon you’d flatten Jakey Bates good and proper—and he’s needing a good pummeling.”
