Had We Never Loved by Patricia Veryan

Author:Patricia Veryan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Georgian Romance
ISBN: 0449222187
Published: 1991-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

"I believe my command of the English language is fair enough," said the viscount angrily. "But I will repeat my wishes since your hearing is evidently impaired. I require two rooms. One for me and one for the lady. And—"

Stifled giggles arose from the maids peeping around an inner door. The tavern keeper, a large individual with a round red face that seemed to rise neckless from a foaming cravat, interrupted with a contemptuous, "You will do better to try elsewhere, my good man. The Black Gander caters to the gentry, not to the likes of you, and your"—he darted a stern look at Amy—"young woman."

Glendenning's hand shot out to close in the host's cravat and jerk hard. The host, propelled forward across his rickety old desk, uttered a strangled roar.

"I think you meant to say 'young lady,' " said Glendenning through clenched teeth.

Both maids were screeching; a stout matron approaching the desk turned to fling her arms about her diminutive husband and implored him to protect her; and two brawny young men ran up and wrenched the viscount back.

Amy had begged Glendenning not to seek shelter at this wayside tavern after his friends had left them, for she had anticipated just such a reception. She belaboured the viscount's attackers with fists and feet, while demanding at the top of her lungs that his lordship be freed.

Displeased when one of his men was launched at speed across the desk, the host raged, " 'His lordship,' is it?" He snatched up a hefty cudgel. "I'll lordship him!"

"You will unhand Viscount Glendenning at once, fellow!" The command, uttered in a stern cultured voice, was reinforced by a sharp crack as a malacca cane slammed down on the desk.

The uproar quieted. Mine host, turning infuriated eyes on the brilliance of Mr. Neville Falcon, was given pause, and looked at Glendenning uncertainly.

The first brawny young man, who was picking himself up from the floor, muttered with grudging admiration, "He don't look like no viscount what I ever see, but he's got a left, surely!"

Glendenning had already freed himself, and was shaking hands with Falcon.

Convinced, the host mumbled a reluctant apology. A small crowd had gathered to gawk from the windblown gypsy girl to her coatless, dishevelled, and bloodstained young champion. Their stares passed quickly to Mr. Falcon, and lingered on his magnificence. A vision in red and yellow, he demanded a suite, and settled for a bedchamber with small private parlour. Once upstairs, he ordered wine, tea, and cakes, winked at the rosy-cheeked maid and accompanied her to the door. A faint squeal sounded. He closed the door and turned a bland smile on his companions.

Somewhat apprehensively, the viscount performed the introductions. To his relief, the seldom predictable Neville Falcon bowed politely. Amy curtsied with a grace and dignity that surprised both men, then hurried to pour water into the washstand bowl, while commanding that the viscount roll up his sleeve. This was easier said than done, and Glendenning sat at the parlour table and attempted to detach his shirtsleeve from the cut.

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