Her brother, Hades, strode in, Scandal, his dog, jumping at his heels. “Palmerson’s still at the inn. If you go now, you can keep him from searching out Hawthorne.” He stopped in front of Keats, stepping between him and Lucy, and puffed his chest out. “You’re the liar?”
“Bloody hell,” Keats breathed, peeking around Hades to look at Lucy. “Your brother is terrifying.”
She pulled Hades back and shocked herself by saying, “He’s the liar, but he had good reason.”
“Hm.” The noise vibrated in Hades’s throat.
Ophelia hooked her arm through her husband’s and drew him away. “Slash him to pieces later. After they’ve dealt with the threat at the inn, yes?”
“I suppose so. Make haste, though. He’s almost done with his ale.”
They headed toward the door, Lucy gravitating to Keats’s side. Whether her brain thought it a wise move or not, her body wished to be close. He looked so different, more polished than before, but still not quite right. He looked as if he were playing dress-up more now than when he had been wearing a stable hand’s clothes.
“Wait.” Lucy stopped him as Ophelia opened the door. “The clothes are not quite right. Earls do not dress for practicality and comfort as country doctors do. Palmerson might wonder about it.”
“She’s right.” Alex circled him. “Not a hint of the dandy there. He’ll notice.”
“Dandy?” Hades brightened. “I’ve got just the thing.” He disappeared down the hall and returned just as quickly, handing a large greatcoat to Keats. “Here you are.”
Ophelia laughed. “Perfect! It will hide his clothes and add that foppish touch.”
Keats slouched into it, fingering the large brass buttons and inspecting the green silk lining. “You do hate me, don’t you?”
“Are you disparaging the coat?” Lucy asked. “I bought that for Hades. I switched out the original boring buttons myself. He loves it.”
Keats’s eyes widened. “It’s a lovely coat. Quite stylish.” He scowled at the sleeve, traced an embroidered heart there. “Yes, quite stylish.”
“I saw that wince.”
“We must go.Now.” Finley had already left the house and called to them from the street, one leg bouncing up and down.
They filed out, but Hades caught Lucy’s arm. “I wish you would stay here.”
“I make the story convincing.”
“It might be dangerous.”
“I’ve been in danger before.”
“And I’ve hated every moment of it.”
Ophelia said nothing, but she set a palm on Hades back, and he closed his eyes and released Lucy.
“Take care of her, Rainsly,” Hades called out, “or you’ll discover how skilled I am with a blade.”
Keats nodded. “If anything happens to her, I’ll let you show me.”
They walked two by two the short distance to the pub, which sat right next to the inn.
The pub was mostly empty when they entered, and Keats turned his face away from the bartender as they sailed inside, clearly afraid of being recognized.
“There he is,” Griff said. Near the window. “But where’s Hutchens?”
“Who knows,” Keats hissed, “but Palmerson has spotted us. It’s time.” He raised an arm and grinned, letting loose a loud, raucous chuckle. “Palmerson? That you, my good man?” How different this Keats was from the one she knew. He strolled toward the table with a lethargic grin and a loping gait, and no one would notice the ill-fitting clothes now. He was all dandified peer now. Her stomach roiled, but then Keats slammed a hand a bit too hard against Palmerson’s back in a too-energetic hello, and the old viscount sputtered, choked, coughed. Purposeful, that, a knife glint in Keats’s eyes. “What brings you here? Middle of nowhere, innit?”
Palmerson wiped his mouth with a nearby serviette. “I should ask you the same question.” He rose, his eyes narrowing as they swept not only over Keats but over all of them. He bowed low, attention riveted on Alex. “Lady Alexandra. I have found you at last. I hope you realize I’ll not tolerate jaunts about the countryside once we wed.”
“About that.” Keats stepped between them.
