Violet pressed her lips together and forced herself to keep quiet. She would not point out that King was leaving in the morning. And even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t help Lizzie. No one could.
“Finish eating. We need to open the tavern. It’s already past noon.”
*
He had tostop Violet.
King woke from a nap to the sound of men’s voices and the clink of glasses. The room was dark, but then, it was windowless, and doubtless always dark. He was hungry, though he’d eaten the pie Georgie brought him. That had been hours ago.
At least, he thought it was hours. It might have been minutes.
He sat and almost groaned. He felt as though he’d been dragged behind a horse then run over by a cart. He wouldn’t feel any better lying around. That much he knew from experience. He’d been in plenty of fights, and the more he moved about, the better he would feel. He prodded at the particularly tender spots, decided nothing was broken, and forced himself to dress.
In the flat, he looked through the windows and saw it was not quite dark. It was four or five, by his reckoning. Good. He had enough time to stop Violet. That had been his one thought upon waking. It was as though while he’d slept, his mind had worked out a plan to deal with Ferryman. He had no idea if it would work, but he wanted to try.
He washed his face and hands, gingerly tugged on his coat, and resigned himself to a lopsided cravat. His fingers were too swollen to manage a decent knot. Then he pulled on his boots and clomped down to the tavern.
Georgie was in the back room and was the first to see him. The boy’s brown eyes widened, and King realized he had no idea how he looked. “That bad, eh?”
Georgie nodded. He handed King a copper pot, and King turned it over and looked at the distorted reflection. His eye was black and swollen, and the cut on his forehead had started bleeding again. He stanched the blood with his handkerchief and took one last look. His lip was split. No wonder it hurt when he spoke.
“Does it hurt?” Georgie asked, handing him a mug of beer from the jug on the counter.
“It looks worse than it feels,” King said, though it was a near thing, because it feltbad. He drank the beer and then another mug, and that helped slake his thirst. “Where’s Violet?”
“Her and Joshua are behind the bar. Did you hear about Archie?”
King had been about to enter the tavern, but he paused and turned back to the lad. “Tell me.”
Georgie told him, and King smiled before remembering—with some pain—that his lip was split. “Good lad.” He nodded at the sink full of dirty glasses and mugs. “Better get back to work.”
“I will, Pa!”
King opened his mouth to tell the boy he was not his pa and then decided he didn’t mind it. He’d always known he would have to sire children one day. He was the heir to a dukedom. But that obligation was gone now, and he found he rather liked the idea of being more of a father and less of a duke. Good thing, as he wouldn’t ever be a duke now.
King pushed open the door to the tavern and spotted Violet right away. Holy hell, but she took his breath away. She was behind the bar, acting as publican, and clearly in command. She filled a mug while tossing a rejoinder then giving a saucy wink. She was a petite woman, only a couple inches over five feet, but she seemed taller when she was behind the bar and in her element.
Her confidence was enough to make him want her, but when his eyes lowered to the swish of her skirts, his throat went dry. He liked the way her hips swayed as she moved, and her round bottom stuck out when she bent over. Her dark hair had come loose, and tumbled down her back in a tangle. She constantly pushed it off her shoulders, which meant it probably bothered her, but he liked seeing it in disarray. Whenever he’d been in Society, every woman he met had perfectly coiffed hair that didn’t seem to move. King had even taken to bed women whose coiffure looked perfect before and after, despite his best efforts.
But Violet Baker wasn’t a well-bred young lady. She didn’t care about all the rules and dictates he’d spent his youth breaking. She would be neither impressed nor appalled at his bad antics at school. She didn’t care if he had a title or what that title might be. She wasn’t after him for his fortune or his name. She wasn’t after him at all. In fact, she wanted him gone.
She swung toward him and spotted him standing in the doorway. Her blue eyes flashed concern before she set a drink before a patron and spoke to the next in line.
Those eyes would be his undoing. Such lovely eyes. There was an intelligence and a depth behind them that he hadn’t known he’d wanted in a woman. She could certainly tell him to leave all she wanted, but he wasn’t going anywhere. At least not until Ferryman was dealt with.
King stepped forward and into place beside Violet. She gave him a concerned look, and he winked at her with his good eye. Smiling still hurt just a little too much. It felt natural to work beside her, and after a few minutes they fell into a rhythm that was both efficient and satisfying. Joshua cleared tables and carried trays of drinks to seated patrons, but after a half-hour, King and Violet had taken care of the rush.
She leaned on the bar and let out a sigh. “I appreciate the help, but you should be resting. You look awful.”
“Just the sweet words every man wants to hear.”
She grinned. “It’s surprising you didn’t scare the patrons.”
“Most of them look worse than me. They probably like me better like this.”
“If you think a few bruises will make you fit in here, think again. Anyone with eyes can see you were born much higher than this place.”
“You know what they say—it’s not where you were born but where you end up that matters.”
