Tension ran through his body, jarring as a current of electricity. Weaving his way through the crush of men and women congregated at round tables throughout the pub, hespotted a gangly man in a dark bowler hat at the bar. Amidst the regular patrons, the man stood out. Something about his manner seemed off. Finishing his drink, he stood and turned toward Amelia. Her eyes widened as the man cut a direct path to her table.
Keeping his eye on the stranger, Logan trailed him, taking a position near the barkeep where he was nearly within arm’s reach. The man said something in tones so low Logan couldn’t quite make out his words, but Amelia appeared to have the situation well in hand. Her reply quickly sent the bloke on his way.
As the stranger marched out the front door, Logan turned back to the bar. He leaned an elbow against the polished wood. Near the stone fireplace, the piano player started into a lively tune. A jovial fellow who claimed to have once performed for the Queen, George Ferrell bobbed with the music as his fingers moved deftly over the keys. Logan felt a wave of tension ease from his body. With any luck, this evening would prove more dull than a night of listening to Murray reminisce about his youthful exploits fleecing highbrow lords over a round of darts.
At a nearby table, a man deep enough in his cups to not care whether or not he could carry a tune came to his feet, a stein bobbing in his hand. Notes that reminded Logan of a saw’s scratch against metal erupted from his throat. Logan braced himself as the erstwhile singer threw his energy into the tone-deaf serenade.
Good God.Perhaps the piano player’s wages were not money well spent after all.
Suddenly, a guttural curse cut through the noise of the crowd. An ox of a man stood within an arm’s length of Amelia, bellowing epithets as he stared down at a fresh brandy-hued stain on his shirt.
Bloody hell.
Logan made short work of the distance between them. “What in Hades do ye think ye’re doing?”
His face red with anger, the stranger glared at him with bleary eyes. “The little shrew—”
She rose, planting her hands on her hips. “Perhaps in the future, you will know better than to address a lady in such a manner.”
“You will pay—” the man ground out the threat.
Logan clamped his hand over the man’s arm and gave the limb a rough twist. “It’s time for ye to be on yer way.”
The oaf scowled. “She’s a trollop. Nothing more.”
“Watch yer mouth,” Logan warned.
Understanding crept over the man’s features. “She... she’s with you?”
“She is,” Logan said, keeping his tone hard as flint.
He tugged against Logan’s hold. “I did not know.”
“It doesn’t matter who’s accompanied her. She is a lady. I’d advise ye to remember that when ye speak to any woman.”
“I’m... I am sorry,” he choked out. “I meant no disrespect.”
Logan loosened his grip, allowing the oaf to shrug free.
“I’ll just be on my way now,” the man said before beating a hasty retreat to the door.
“Do not let me see yer face here again,” Logan called after him.
Amelia touched her fingers to his hand. The warmth of her touch spread through him, easing the bone-deep tension of every muscle.
“Most impressive.” Her smile blended temptation with innocence. Did she have any idea of the effect she had on men?
Or on him, for that matter?
He cocked a brow. “This is what ye call staying out of sight?”
“The brute left me no choice. Why, I would not dare to repeat his rude proposition.”
“Proposition, eh?”
“I’ve no idea what the man was thinking. Surely if I were a woman who looked to earn her coin from a man, I would have selected a more provocative ensemble.”
“I told ye, Amelia—no matter what ye’re wearing, ye’ll still catch a man’s eye.”
