An Officer But No Gentleman. Bronwyn ScottЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Four

      Grahame knew very well what she was doing. He had no doubt her show was for his benefit, a payback for usurping her authority this morning. But payback or not, it was garnering the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of men as they made their way across the crowded inn yard, and it made Grahame uneasy. Not every eye in the place belonged to a gentleman he’d classify as reputable, or even as a gentleman, for that matter. “You’re a bit spoiled, I’d say.”

      “You’re a little close, I’d say.” Elowyn tossed her head and tried to move away but he held fast. He knew what these men were thinking. A man who couldn’t stand up to a woman wasn’t a man at all. If he backed down, it would be nothing short of blood in the water. Elowyn would be fair game for any man there. He knew what Elowyn was thinking, too; she could handle them. She’d be wrong.

      He ushered her through the door to the public room, regretting his decision to pass up the inn in the town an hour back in lieu of this one. This inn was well positioned for staging tomorrow’s journey and it was an inn he knew, at least he thought he did. He didn’t recall it having such a rough clientele the last few times he’d stayed here.

      “Two trunks? Is such excess really necessary?” He kept his voice low at her ear, hoping to prove to those about them she belonged to him. She smelled good, like lemongrass and wildflowers, even after a long day in a coach. Grahame shot a hard look at the two men lounging near the door who hadn’t quite taken the hint yet. Lucifer’s balls, crossing that yard had been nothing short of charging through a battlefield facing enemy fire. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim interior only to discover it was very much a case of “out of the frying pan and into the fire.” The room was noisy and crowded, full of rough working men, not all of whom, Grahame guessed, were legally employed. “We’ll hardly be here twelve hours.”

      “One is for bedding,” Elowyn said as if that excused the need for two trunks.

      “In case you didn’t know, one usually uses a man for that.”

      “Are you always this audacious?” She snapped.

      “Me? I’m not the one announcing to all and sundry I will be naked in my room shortly.”

      Emerald eyes met his, burning with green fire. “I have done no such thing.”

      “You most certainly did when you called for a bath.” He paused and arched an eyebrow. “Unless I’m mistaken and you intend to bathe with your clothes on?”

      She looked at him as if he were the most ridiculous man she’d ever met. “You know very well I don’t intend to bathe in my clothes.” It was said a tad too loudly. Too late, she realized her mistake. Color rose becomingly in Elowyn’s cheeks. “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that.”

      His grip relaxed. She was starting to understand. “I assure you, my dear, they most certainly did.” He gave a nod past her shoulder to indicate the overpopulated tap room beyond. “I don’t find the notion unappealing and I’d wager last month’s salary these men don’t, either.”

      The innkeeper hurried over, drying his hands on a towel. “Captain Westmore, my apologies for the clientele. There’s a cockfight in the next town over. We’re full to the rafters but I’ve got your rooms and a parlor set aside for dinner.”

      Grahame smiled. “It’s good to see you, Horace. I remember your wife’s cooking fondly. I am sure all arrangements will be satisfactory.” The cockfight explained it. Those with money would have taken rooms closer to the event. The knowledge, though, was merely a consolation prize. It wasn’t going to make his job any easier tonight when it came to protecting Elowyn, who clearly had no idea she needed protecting. Beside him, she gave a huff at being pointedly ignored in the exchange with the innkeeper and mounted the stairs with a final order. “My maid will be coming with my trunks. Please direct her to my rooms.”

      Grahame watched her go with a chuckle. The innkeeper shot him a considering glance. “I’d say the chit’s a bit spoilt. If you want my advice, best take that one in hand before it’s too late or she’ll walk all over you.”

      Grahame grinned. “Horace, I was just thinking the same thing.” He was also thinking dinner would be very entertaining. Miss Bagshaw had not liked being thwarted in her show of power and she would not let it pass without comment. Grahame found himself looking forward to what that response might be. She’d chosen competition and challenge as her flirtatious weapons today and used them to her advantage.

      She’d chosen wisely. He liked strong women, women who weren’t afraid to stand up to him or put off by his more earthy approaches. The simpering miss was not for him. He had no use for women who portrayed themselves as nothing more than pretty dolls. He was starting to have no use for his self-enforced rules of celibacy, either. Just because Miss Bagshaw had not hired him to seduce her didn’t mean he couldn’t. It just meant he wasn’t being paid for it—a concept that held some novelty in itself. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been part of a real seduction, not the paid fictions he played out nightly for London’s more adventurous women. A real seduction. It could be fun. And why not?

      Oh, Grahame didn’t kid himself. There were legitimate reasons as to why not—her father’s trust that he’d behave as a gentleman, although her father hadn’t even bothered to meet him. The man had simply taken Channing’s word, an agreement between gentlemen. That was the other reason, his loyalty to Channing. He had no desire to bring scandal to Channing if word of this dalliance ever reached England. But even that was doubtful. If he had to lay money on it, he’d bet Miss Bagshaw was a woman of discretion, and secrets on the road were far easier to hide, especially in foreign countries where no one knew your language, let alone your name. Hmm. It seemed the reasons for resisting were shrinking.

      Salvos had been fired from both sides now. It wasn’t as if he were forcing the issue. He could argue he was merely responding accordingly to opening maneuvers. If there was one thing Miss Bagshaw had proven she could do today, it was that she could play the game men and women had played since the beginning of the world, and she could play it well. Fortunately for her, so could he. It was time to cast off any notion of celibacy and see where the game led.