Page 15 of Pride: The Rogue
Before he could enter, Mr. Felchin managed to squeeze his stick-thin frame between Latimer and the door, blocking the entryway. “I am afraid you cannot go in there, Mr. Latimer.”
“You mean, I can’t go inmyroom?” he snapped.
The innkeeper’s head moved somewhere between a nod and a shake.
Oh, bloody hell.
“Rain broke through the ceiling?” he said, running a weary hand over his face. “It’s fine.” He’d slept in far worse conditions than a room with a leaky roof. “I’ll make d—”
“Oh, no. Nothing as bad as all that.” Mr. Felchin rushed to alleviate that worry. “Our walls and roof are quite strong. As you might recall when you arrived and I showed you to your accommodations; The St. George’s Inn has been around—”
“I’m not looking for a history lesson,” he clipped out.
The small man’s gigantic Adam’s apple bobbed wildly. “I…there…you see, given the conditions outside, the inn is even more filled than usual. Not that we aren’t always busy here at The St. George’s Inn, but this is to the point I’ve had to rent out the stables and my—”
“Felchin?”
The innkeeper spoke so fast, all his words rolled together. “In your absence, a new, highly distinguished guest arrived, andI had no choice but to give over your accommodations. Mr. Latimer,” he belatedly added.
Latimer just stared at the red-cheeked fellow. “You gave my room away?”
Mr. Felchin gave a tug on a cravat nearly two decades out of fashion. “I had no other choice.”
“If this is some bloody jest, be warned, I’m not easily amused.” No, Latimer wasn’t ever amused. He’d been born angry and hard.
Mr. Felchin drew back like the thought alone was more offensive than his having given away the room Latimer had bought and paid for. “I’d never jest about anything asseriousas occupancy at The St. George’s Inn, Mr. Latimer. Worry not, I took the liberty of moving your belongings to a very safe location in my—”
A guttural growl started in his chest and rose quick to Latimer’s throat.
The color slipped from Felchin’s cheeks, signifying the moment the daft bastard recognized both his folly, and the danger he found himself in.
Giving up his sentry at Latimer’s—now someone else’s—doorway, the galling proprietor edged himself along the wall, and away from Latimer.
“It was the right thing to do,” Felchin whined, in tones as weaselly as the man himself.
“Was it?” Latimer whispered.
Failing to detect the ominous steely underlaying of his words, the stupid fellow stopped. “Oh, yes. You will understand. This is animportantguest, sir.”
“Ahh. Unlike me,” Latimer said, with a false sense of understanding. “Never tell me… Nobility?”
“Yes.”
For the proud way in which Felchin drew back his shoulders and tugged on his lapels, the King of England himself, may as well have been slumbering on the other side ofLatimer’sdoor.
The lackwit continued on all too proudly. “Not every day we get high quality folk in this corner of Hitchin.”
“I wonder why?” Latimer jeered.
“I do not know. We’re a small village but we have—”
Mr. Felchin gasped. “You, cannot go in there, sir!” he squeaked.
Latimer turned slowly and the frail-looking fellow’s brief show of bravery faltered.
“Who is going to stop me?” he asked casually. Latimer, not taking his eyes off a quaking Mr. Felchin, cracked his knuckles. “You?”
By the way the small man’s trembling fiercened, one would thinkhe’dbeen the one helping a small lad whose cruel employer had left him behind in the rain.
