Page 28 of Married to the Lord

“I won’t kill him and I have my doubts he’d even consider a duel.”

“I’ll be your reluctant second if needs be.”

Miles shook his head. “I have a suspicion your wife-to-be would not be impressed.”

“You’re probably right, but the offer stands.”

Miles saw Waverly out then ordered his horse saddled. He could ride out to Carlton Manor swiftly enough, though it would be an easier journey in the carriage. But he suspected Jenkins was more likely to be staying close by, particularly if the man was intent on doing damage to Augusta.

There were few places for men like Jenkins to enjoy themselves in Hampshire—for the most part it was a quiet, country life and their town had a reputation of being rather sleepy. However, there were inns on the road that catered to those who preferred a certain lifestyle, and he knew just the one. Miles rubbed a hand across his face. It had been some time since he’d set foot in such places and he had rather hoped he would never have to again.

“For Augusta,” he murmured to himself.

Once his horse was saddled, he rode out into the next county, crossing the border between Hampshire and West Sussex. A mile down the road, he came across the traveler’s inn. He sucked in a breath and led his horse through the carriage entrance and into the stables. For an inn frequented by those on the road to the coast, the stables could always be relied upon to have fresh water and feed for the horses as well as hardworking groomsmen. It was not to cater to travelers, however. No, the Bell Inn preferred richer clientele who had plenty of cash to lose—be it to gambling or to whores.

It had been years since he’d been to the place. Miles could safely say this place had been the start of his downfall into a life far from that of a gentleman. He could blame the pressure from his parents or how dull he found London society or even his privileged upbringing for protecting him from such places but the fact was, he’d been a fool. Worse than that, he’d been thoughtless and selfish, not caring how his behavior might impact others. Places like the Bell Inn had become home and he’d wasted plenty of money and time drinking and gaming.

Tugging at his cravat as it seemed to tighten around his throat, he ducked into the rear entranceway of the whitewashed building. Mud and boot prints marred the lower halves of the interior walls. Evidence of fights revealed itself in fist-sized holes in some of the wooden paneling that lined the wall to the right—a brief reminder of the inn’s ancient history. The light was low, lanterns and candles lit few and far between while the shutters on the windows were half-closed—deliberately so unsuspecting patrons would be more vulnerable to pickpockets or someone cheating at cards. The inn employed several people to help with such matters, ensuring they received a cut of any ill-gotten gains.

Smoke lingered around the rafters. Miles ducked under several of the uneven beams as he made his way to the bar. Ancient buildings like this were never designed to accommodate someone of his size and stature. He allowed himself a grim smile.

He recalled the first time he’d entered this building as a young man. His size and strength had always made him feel invulnerable and he felt like he owned the world when he came across this place. Men from all walks of life wished to come to know him. Of course, a lot of that was to do with how useful his fists could be and the fact he was heir to his father’s fortune and title. He hadn’t much cared at the time. These people were far more interesting than anybody could find a White’s or Almack’s.

He rested an elbow on the bar, relieved that the barkeep was no one who would recognize him. Many of the faces here were different, though he spotted a few from his time here—Beth, a prostitute known for her flexibility who had aged dramatically in the past years, her once red hair washed out into a premature pinkish white. Fat Giles was here too, a man with an eye for cards who no one could ever beat. Miles had suspected he cheated but had never been able to prove it. He remained hunched over in his usual corner, chewing on the corner of his lip—a fake tell used to deceive others. His face had always been grisly, pockmarked from measles, and now red and creased from too much alcohol. The additional years had done little to improve his looks.

The diminutive barkeep peered up at him, his expression bored. Wiry and a good five years younger than himself, the lad seemed too sober and clean to work at a place like this.

“What can I get you?”

“An ale.” Miles slid a coin over the counter. “And information.”

The lad folded his arms and stared at Miles. Miles chuckled. The barkeep might not seem at home but he certainly already knew how things worked around here. Miles added two more coins.

“An ale it is.” The lad poured the drink into a battered tankard that had likely been smashed around someone’s head at some point. He pushed it across the bar toward Miles and waited for him to take a sip.

“What do you need?”

“A man called Jenkins. Rich chap, well-dressed, with fair hair. Have you seen him?”

“We get plenty of rich chaps here, believe it or not.”

“I believe it.”

The barkeep leaned back against the bar behind him. “What’s his poison?”

“Probably the women, though I think he’d be free with his money. He’ll bring a crowd with him. Had a penchant for...group activities.”

“Oh, that pervert. I know him.” He unfolded his arms and straightened. “I ain’t seen him today but he was here yesterday and will probably be here on Saturday. He favors Sweet Lilly and she’ll be visiting that night.”

Miles nodded. Four days’ time. In the meantime, he would have to keep an eye out for Jenkins. If the man attended anymore local events, he’d use it as a good opportunity to do some more damage to Augusta’s reputation. He did not much want to throw about any threats at a garden party or dinner event but he’d do what he must.

However, come Saturday and he’d have Jenkins precisely where he wanted him. For once, Miles’s rough past might prove useful. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to scare a man half to death. Jenkins would sorely regret ever harming Augusta’s reputation.

---