Page 63 of Pride: The Rogue
He’d…almost expected to find her seated at that same table with her book in hand. She’d look up, this time, she’d wear that generous, even, white smile on her lush lips and would give him an exuberant wave.
Only, instead of that fetching sight, there sat a pinch-mouthed, bony-thin chap, sipping tea and reading a newspaper.
“Ah, good morning, sir!”
Latimer looked to the owner of that jovial greeting.
Mr. Hitchin reached him. “I trust you slept well, sir?”
“Given the ease with which you gave my room away,” he said dryly. “Do youreallytrust that?”
The small proprietor gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, well, the young miss indicated you were generous enough to give up your quarters, and took those initially reserved for her servant. As such, I’m happy to know it worked out for the both of you.”
He started. The clever minx had thought of everything.
“Can I have breakfast read…?” Mr. Hitchin’s question faded off, and he tipped his head in befuddlement at the crusty bread in Latimer’s hand.
The lanky fellow scratched at his brow.
To stave off suspicion from the suddenly not-so-simple innkeeper, Latimer reached inside his jacket for a purse.
Even as his fingers set the coins a’jingle they also collided with the note Livian insisted he take.
As if burned, Latimer snatched his hand back and withdrew the purse. “Here,” he said evenly, giving the generous velvet sack over to Mr. Hitchin.
All suspicion vanished, and the garishly clad man, brightened. “I’m happy you were pleased with your stay,” he gushed, and quickly pocketed the gift. “With the weather improved and the roads passable for most, I do happen to have many more rooms open.”
Latimer should be relieved as hell at getting out of this place and would have, had the duchess been waiting at the last leg of his trip. “I have to be on my way,” Latimer said.
Mr. Hitchin bowed. “Allow me to wish you safe travels. Please, visit again sometime soon.”
With the promise of more coins gone, the proprietor had already trained his eye on the others seated around his tables, whom he could get more money from.
Latimer took one last look about. Alas, quick-witted, resourceful as she was thoughtful, Livian had indeed got a large jump on him.
Latimer headed outside, and, amidst the bright, sunny afternoon, went to collect his horse.
He’d never intended to wed, and the only reason he would now do so at this juncture in his life was to build up a new, unrivaled, gaming hell, and establish a legacy that could not be broken by betrayal. But if he had ever married of choice and not necessity, it’d have been to a woman like Livian as equally skilled at fighting as she was gloriously proud and intelligent.
I need another blasted dunk in cold water…
A young lad went running through the sodden, puddled, grounds, splattering and splashing mud about as he went.
Only when the child reached Latimer, it became apparent, the small ‘he’ was in fact, a ‘she’, with blonde curls tucked under her cap.
“Can I help fetch and saddle your horse, sir?” she piped in a small, sing-song voice.
Normally, he’d attend his own mount, but the girl with her big, blue, eyes staring up at Latimer gave him pause and made him think of Livian as she’d reluctantly shared parts about her past.
“…When we were really struggling and Verity was working, Bertha would take me out to beg in various parts of London. Begging was less lucrative…While I begged, Bertha scouted out lords who’d be easy marks for a little girl…”
In his mind’s eye, Livian from long ago and this nameless waif got all tangled up.
“Sir?” the little girl asked again.
He forced aside those aching imaginings of what Livian lived through.
“Fortune is a big stallion,” he explained. “Well-mannered and clever, but big enough to scare most men.”
