She hiked her chin. “Is that so?”
“Believe me, it is.”
“So, you would find me appealing in a gunny sack?”
“If ye donned a gown made from old feedbags, my eyes would seek ye out.”
She pursed her lips. “An interesting concept. I will have to remember to present the idea to my seamstress.”
“I’d wager ye’d be the first,” he said, unable to resist her smile. “Do not ever fool yerself into thinking a man won’t notice ye.”
“I doubt another sot will trouble me now,” she said, confidence flashing in her blue eyes. “Especially if I have another glass of brandy at my disposal.”
“I would not be so sure.”
She cocked her chin. “I intend to test my theory.”
“Should I alert the poor fools to beware?”
Her eyes flashed again. “An excellent idea.”
“Oh, and Amelia, I’ll send over more brandy, just in case ye might be needing it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Amelia glanced atthe ornate clock mounted on the wall beside the stone fireplace. Nearly midnight. A dull weariness crept over her. Other than her encounter with the drunken oaf, the night had proven rather tedious. A few men had wandered her way, though she suspected word had quickly gotten out that anyone who dared to go near her would find themselves under the watchful eye of the tavern’s proprietor.
The barmaid, a sweet-natured woman whose haphazardly upswept brown curls appeared ready to tumble from their precarious perch, broke through Amelia’s thoughts. With a beaming smile, she placed a piping hot cup of tea on the table.
“I thought ye might like this,” Tilly said.
“Thank you. It’s quite thoughtful of you.”
“Ah, it’s been a long night.” Tilly regarded her with a look of genuine concern. “I took the liberty of adding a wee bit of spirits, just the thing to ease your weary muscles.”
“Indeed.” Amelia smiled. The barmaid’s kindness was unexpected. And very welcome.
“I wanted to tell ye I was proud of what ye did tonight.”
“What I did?”
“Putting that big oaf in his place. He had it coming.”
“I certainly agree. Though causing a scene might not have been the wisest move.”
“Well, I enjoyed the sight of it. I know the sot’s type.” Tilly glanced toward Logan. “MacLain would’ve tossed him out soon enough, even if ye hadn’t set the oaf back on his heels.”
“You think so?”
Tilly nodded. “He’s there quick as lightning whenever a bloke tries to take advantage of me. Only a stranger to the Rogue’s Lair would dare to harass a lady. The regulars... well, they know better.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“The truth of it is, MacLain’s a good man. Truly he is. I don’t care what the biddies cackle about him. They don’t know him. Not at all.”
Amelia’s gaze settled on the man who’d declared himself her knight in tarnished armor. The choice of phrase definitely did not suit him. Logan MacLain had displayed a sense of honor that far outshone that of the so-called gentlemen she’d encountered in London. Knowing that he watched over Tilly while she was in his employ, defending her from boors and sots when he might’ve turned a blind eye, confirmed her instincts were right.
Logan’s armor was not tarnished. In fact, it did not bear so much as a speck.
