She paused a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom of the interior. Neither Peggy nor her brothers were nearby, but she thought she heard the sound of Peggy’s humming coming from the back.
“Good God, what happened here?”
Violet could have cheerfully kicked the marquess. He was standing with his hands on his hips, surveying the utter destruction of her tavern.
“Youhappened here,” she said. “You and your nob friends started a brawl, and this is the result. I suppose you never pause to think about the damage you leave behind after one of your nights slumming.”
“Why would I pause to remember this”—he glanced at her and seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say—“establishment?” But his motives were too obvious and his bad mood all but contagious. She, however, was immune to his disease this morning.
“You are trying to make me angry.”
“What? You, angry? Not my Miss Sunshine.”
“It’s Miss Baker, and I have two younger brothers. I’m not so easily baited.” She went to a hook and pulled her apron off it. After tying it on, she indicated the table where she’d sat with her brothers this morning. “You said you needed a day to put your affairs in order. You may sit here. I can fetch pen and paper if you need it.”
He raised a brow, obviously surprised that she would have pen and paper. He probably didn’t think she could read.
“I would like pen and paper, but this won’t do at all.” He gestured to the table, his nose in the air. “It’s far too dark in here, and my head is still spinning. I’ll need a nap, a meal, and a desk with more light.”
“A nap and a meal?” Violet’s hands hurt from clenching them so tightly. “You’re not here to take a nap and eat through my larder. If you want a nap, you can have it after you pay me seven pounds and fifteen shillings.”
“You do seem quite obsessed with that exact sum.”
“Because that’s what it will take—at least—to return my establishment to even a semblance of its former self! Thanks to you, my publican is injured, my tavern is destroyed, and I have no way to make an income, so yes, I want my seven pounds, fifteen—”
“Shillings. There’s no need to shout, Miss Sunshine. It only hurts my head.”
Violet grabbed a broom nearby. “I will hurt your head!” She swung the broom at him, but he caught it neatly, tugged it hard, and brought her stumbling against him. He tossed the broom aside and grasped her about the waist, holding her in a manner she found far too familiar.
“Now, now, Miss Sunshine. No violence.”
“Get your hands off me, sir.”
He looked down at her. “Do you promise not to attempt to kill me?”
“No.”
He grinned. “Do you promise not to attempt to kill me until after I’ve paid you?”
“Yes,” she ground out. “Now let me go.”
He released her, and she made a show of brushing herself off and generally looking disgusted by being forced into close proximity to him. The truth was she needed a moment to calm her racing heart. That seeming eternity when her body was pressed against his had caused all the breath to whoosh out of her. Not only couldn’t she breathe, but she couldn’t seem to force her hands to push away from his chest—his solid, muscular chest. He was warm and he smelled like rum, yes, but he also smelled of brushed wool and clean linen and bergamot tea. She’d had to force herself not to bury her nose in his chest and inhale deeply.
The door to the back swung open and Peggy stuck her blonde hair through. “Is everything—Oh!” The girl’s eyes went wide atthe sight of the marquess. Peggy dropped her jaw and then her broom, making a loud clatter. “Oh,” Peggy said again, not even seeming to notice the fallen broom.
Good. Having Peggy nearby would keep the marquess from touching Violet again. And she could have Peggy show him upstairs. There was paper and light there. She hadn’t wanted him in her private quarters, but with the shutters still closed, she couldn’t argue that it wasn’t too dark in the tavern for him to write, and she imagined he had to appeal to his men of business or his friends for the necessary funds.
“Peggy, this is the man who owes me seven—”
“Pounds and fifteen shillings,” the marquess said, giving Peggy a dashing bow.
Violet stared at him. Where had this chivalry been just a few moments ago? Peggy put her hands to her mouth and giggled. Violet felt like banging her head against a wall. Now Peggy would have stars in her eyes all day, and Violet would have to remind her of tasks three and four times before she would hear.
“But I actually have a name,” he said, glancing at Violet. “And a title.” He made a flourish with his hand. “The Marquess of Kingston, at your service. Of course, my friends call me King, so you must as well.”
Violet snorted. Only a man truly full of himself would ask others to call himKing.
Peggy giggled again, seeming too taken with the marquess to actually speak. “Peggy,” Violet said, “would you mind taking his lordship to the flat above? Ask one of the boys to give him pen and ink.”
