Page 38 of Married to the Lord

Chapter Fourteen

A light shower split the sky as Miles approached the inn. It pattered on the brim of his hat but brought welcome relief from what had turned into an evening thick with heat. Puddles built quickly in the ruts etched into the ground, the dry, cracked mud not yet ready to absorb the moisture. Miles handed his horse over to a groom and stepped around several patches of water before ducking into the inn.

The evening heat made the taproom even less inviting than previously, bringing with it the scent of stale and fresh sweat. The beer was warm too and Miles sipped it slowly from his position by the bar. He remained standing but kept his elbows propped on the chipped wood, remaining stooped over and hopefully avoiding any attention.

Unfortunately, his height and breadth frequently caught people’s eye. It was what had started him down the path of an unsavory lifestyle for a soon-to-be-lord after all.

He peered surreptitiously around as he nursed the ale, looking for any sign of Jenkins. Now, more than ever, it was vital for Miles to ensure Jenkins did nothing to ruin Augusta’s happiness. From what his brother had said, she had seemed pleased to set a date. He tightened his grip on the handle of the pewter tankard then forced himself to release it. He was happy for her—really he was. Nothing mattered more than if she was happy.

But he’d be damned if he didn’t wish he was the man to do it.

Still, it seemed Henry’s revelation had changed his brother’s attitude and would ensure that he made a good husband. They were the better match, there was no denying it. Someone sweet and shy like Augusta would bloom under Henry’s guidance.

So absorbed was he in torturing himself with thoughts of Augusta and his brother together that he didn’t notice the arrival of Jenkins until the man was seated around a table with several friends and a pretty, mature woman was draped across his lap. She leaned in every few minutes while cards were dealt across the table and whispered things in Jenkins’ ears that were either amusing or filthy. He suspected the latter from Jenkins’ salacious grin.

Miles scanned the room surreptitiously. Jenkins had three friends with him—no doubt enjoying the idea of ‘slumming it’. Jenkins was no weak man but nor was he a match for Miles. His three friends were of average build and none looked as though they had any fighting experience.

Not that Miles was hoping for a fight—his fighting days were behind him—but in a place like this, it was easy for an altercation to turn into a brawl. He flexed his hands and opted to wait. With any luck, he could catch Jenkins alone, issue a few threats, and be done with the man. Miles ordered another ale—this time warmer than the last.

The summer sun took time to set, dripping its amber warmth through the murky windows of the inn and reminding Miles of his time spent waiting. He drained another ale and motioned for one more. The weak liquid did little to affect him but he’d stopped noticing how warm it was or the sediment lurking in the bottom of his tankard by such a poorly brewed drink.

Jenkins had left the table but once and accompanied by two of his friends who apparently shadowed his every move. Miles knew few of the ‘new money’ set but whoever they were, they likely owned less than Jenkins, hence what appeared to be an unhealthy dose of hero-worshipping the man. Miles could not deny there were those who behaved like that toward him thanks to his title and wealth but Jenkins was happy to take advantage of the devotion whereas Miles preferred to avoid it. No decent friendship could be carved from such a relationship.

He remained hunched low and Jenkins was too involved in cards to notice. He lost money easily and with little care. Miles shook his head to himself. He’d been there once before but he did not approach losing money as a great pastime. He’d made wins—big ones—and that had made him hungry for more. It would be easy, he thought, to prove himself—to add to the coffers of the family. But the cards were a false mistress and he was soon losing anything he’d gained. His gambling had also drawn the attention of a crowd of people he’d have been better off not knowing. Miles deeply regretted ever touching those cards and he suspected Jenkins might feel the same one day.

Regardless of what might happen to the man eventually, however, Miles had to deal with him today. He could not wait for inevitable fate to intervene and show him the error of his ways. Jenkins finally moved from the table to use the outhouse and Miles followed at a slight distance. He waited under the eaves of the inn until Jenkins was finished and he hurried back through the rain toward the taproom. Miles stepped in front of him, blocking his entrance.

“Damn you, I’m getting wet.” Jenkins lifted his gaze and a smirk quirked his lips. “Ashwick, I never expected to find you at a place like this.”

“I am not here by choice.”

“Well, then you had better get going. Now, if you do not mind...” He tried to step around Miles but Miles moved in front of him again.

“I need a word, Jenkins.”

“And you may have it, but, pray, can we have it inside? This moleskin does not do well in rain.”

Miles shook his head and snatched Jenkins by the collar of his coat, hauling him away from the entrance to the recesses at the entrance to the stables.

“Ashwick, I know you are fond of your fists but there really is no need for brutality.” Jenkins tore his jacket from Miles’s hand, his amused expression distorting. “I had heard you were rather a brute back in the day. I had not realized it was true until you threw that punch.”

Miles ground his teeth together. He supposed it was only a matter of time before Jenkins heard tales of his exploits now that he was spending time in such places. Some of Miles’s acquaintances understood he’d been rather a ‘naughty boy’ when he was younger but did not wish to delve any further. He preferred it that way.

“I’m not here to talk about whether I can throw a punch or not,” Miles said tightly, keeping his stance as threatening as possible. “I’m here to put a stop to these rumors you have been spreading.”

Jenkins’s lips curled. “Rumors? My dear fellow, you should know better than anyone that there are always rumors amongst high society.”

“I know for a fact these come from you.”

“And what rumors might these be?”

Damn the man, he was going to make him say it aloud. “About Miss Snow.”

“The delectable Miss Snow...”

Miles fisted his hands and forced a hot breath through his nostrils as he willed himself to remain calm. He had not come here to fall back into old patterns. All he wanted to do was protect Augusta.

“You say another word about her, and you will regret it, Jenkins.”

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