Page 2 of Claiming His Lost Duchess
He approached them carefully, and he spoke, and when he rounded up his sentence, he was standing right before them, in all his masculine glory. Joan noticed his height first, how effortlessly he towered over them.
The men mumbled in annoyance, but Joan felt the grip on her slip away, and she inhaled deeply, feeling as though that was the first time she was able to breathe.
The man watched them leave, only looking at her when they were completely out of sight. Joan was immediately struck by how clear his eyes were. She couldn't tell what the color of them was, but his gaze was lighter, void of the nefarious light she was used to seeing in her uncle's eyes, and a lot of men.
He stared at her for a moment before quickly glancing around the inn.
“Are you all right?”
Joan nodded slowly, her heartbeat still thundering in her ears.
The man looked skeptical of her response, and then he asked slowly,
“Are you traveling alone?”
She shook her head quickly, unable to fully trust him, despite his assistance and calm demeanor.
“So whaur is yer other company, then? They should jist ken no' tae leave a wumman by hersel' in a place like this,” he tutted, seemingly irritated.
This man confused Joan. He wasn't acting in an untoward way to her, and one might even think that he… cared about her well-being.
“They didn’t!” she squeaked, a little shocked by her sudden outburst. “They didn’t leave me. We — we got separated. I’m waiting for them here, because we had agreed to pass the night around these parts before we left London.”
The man looked just as surprised at her words, and then he said,
“That's mighty helpful tae ken. I could walk ye tae the bar, if ye fancy? I'm no' lookin' tae hang aboot an' pester ye. I just want tae make certain nae other man gets the wrang idea.”
Joan would have normally felt reluctant to go anywhere with this man, but something pulled her towards him, a feeling she did not understand and was unsure if she could trust. His dark eyes did not seem to hide any nefarious intent, and the air around him made her believe that she was probably safer with him than anyone else.
He stared back at her, waiting silently as she deliberated, only to add after a few moments,
“ I promise ye, I mean nae harm or disrespect. I'm jist travelin' on my ain, an' I thocht we could maybe pass the time thegither. Jist for a wee bit, if ye like.”
His words seemed convincing, and she found herself shaking her head slowly, speaking up quietly the next moment,
“I do not mind the escort, but could you please… stay? If only for a little bit? I don’t – I would like to keep those men away permanently.”
He smiled a little at her request, the unexpected reaction striking a strange chord within her. Even more than before, she wanted to stay with him, her nerves slowly unwinding as he nodded.
“Certainly. Right this way, miss,” he prompted gently, leading her to the bar.
Joan gingerly settles into a chair close by, waiting for him to return with their drinks, and he does so quickly.
“A pint of ale for the miss, and whisky for me,” he announced, placing a glass with dark liquid in it in front of her.
Joan peered into the glass uncertainly and looked up at him, her breath escaping her as she finally got a good look at his face. The lights by the bar were brighter than where they had been standing, and now, she could see him enough to know that this was no ordinary man.
His auburn hair curled almost messily, with thick locks dropping over his forehead. His face was quite handsome, almost mischievous as he raised his glass to her, silently requesting a toast. Joan found herself obliging, gently clinking her glass against his before taking a sip of her drink.
This was unlike any she had ever drunk before, the onset a stinging bitterness that later melted into mild, sweet undertones after she had swallowed it.
If her kind savior noticed her reaction, he did not comment on it, resting his elbows on the surface of the table as he asked,
“Might I ask whaur it is ye're goin'? Or wad ye prefer I tak a guess, wi' a wee reward if I'm richt?”
There was something about his voice and tone that told her he wasn't from London — that and the apparently lack of manners, she thought as she glanced down at his elbows on the table — but Joan did not want to trust him blindly.
“I'm heading to Germany with my aunt. My grandparents are unwell, so we thought it would be for the best to move there and stay with them for the time being. Just so they can be taken care of properly,” Joan lied, a little nervous about whether or not he would believe her.
