Page 23 of Georgiana
The soft light from the inn was a welcome sight. After four hours in the saddle, Max craved a warm bed and good food. He instructed one of his armed outriders to ride ahead and secure a suite of rooms.
“Almost there, Pericles.” He soothed his mount and the proud beast tossed back his head in reply. “I’ll make certain there are enough oats to fill your belly, my lad.”
He urged Pericles forward to meet his returning outrider, James.
“There’s plenty of room, Your Grace,” his man said. “I didn’t tell him who you were; only that you were a gentleman of means needing a room for the night. He also has rooms above the stables for the men.”
“Let us get on then.”
Within minutes, he and his men dismounted in a warm spacious barn. Even though he was a Duke, he still stripped off Pericles’ saddle and brushed him down. His horse cared not one jot that he was a nobleman and Max enjoyed taking care of the ornery beast. Assured there were enough oats for all the horses, he turned to leave the barn.
After confirming their departure time with James, he entered the Waddling Duck, greeted by a portly man with the largest mustache he’d ever seen. Brown eyes that looked like berries twinkled at him.
“We’re honored to have you here, sir.” He gave Max a small bow. “I’m the owner, Mr. Barrows.”
“I do not require much beyond a room for a few hours, unless your cook has anything left over for a small meal for me and my men.”
“Aye, she made up a large pot last night. Told her we’d have to throw it all out, she’d made so much.” He chuckled as he fetched a room key. “Then my Betsy said – if you’re married, you’d know the tone – ‘The good Lord told me to make this stew,’ and that was the end of the argument. Good thing she did. Another gentleman checked in not five minutes before you arrived, but he took his meal to his room. I know there’s more than enough for you and your men.”
“Excellent.” Max had to smile as the older man chattered. “I will have my meal now, and then attend my room. Would you be so kind as to knock on my door at nine o’clock? I need to be on the road by ten at the latest.”
“T’will be my pleasure, sir.”
Mr. Barrows hurried off and Max made his way to the private dining room. In a few minutes, a young girl, bearing a remarkable resemblance to the rotund inn keeper entered the room carrying a huge bowl of aromatic stew and a small loaf of bread. She set them down and returned with a mug of ale.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, this is quite satisfactory.”
“Yes, sir.” She curtsied and hurried from the room.
After thanking the Lord for his meal and safe journey he dug into the stew, grateful it tasted as good as it smelled. A half hour later, pleasantly sated, he made his way to his room on the second floor and almost groaned at the sight of the bed. He’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours and it was only sheer will-power that drove him to place one foot in front of the other.
He’d removed his cravat and pulled his shirt from his breeches when he heard a woman cry out. The sound came from the room below. He waited a few seconds and hearing nothing more, started to remove his shirt. A scream pierced the air.
Without thought that his shirt was undone and loose about his hips, he strode from the room and in less than a minute stood outside the door to the room below his. Sounds of a struggle, although muffled, filtered through the door.
Disgust arose in his chest. He had no idea who occupied the room, or whether it was the man’s wife or a woman from the village in the room with him, but by the sound of it, she wasn’t a willing companion. The thought of any man forcing himself upon a woman, married or not, made his stomach turn and with one well-placed kick he booted open the door.
The sight before him was chaotic. All the bedclothes were scattered about the room, as though someone had jumped on the bed, or scrambled across it to evade. A woman cowered on the floor beside the bed and a man clad only in his breeches, his back to the door, held her ankle in his left hand, his right had raised above his head as though to strike. The woman’s nightgown, twisted around slender thighs, had risen enough to reveal several bruises and one deep cut on her creamy skin.
“Unhand that woman!” Max bellowed.
The man turned and Max was stunned to see it was none other than Sir Reginald Slade, who whirled around and after a momentary hesitation swung his fist at Max’s face. Max feinted to the right, then ducked and tackled Slade around the waist, thankful that years of wrestling with two younger brothers gave him a decided edge.
The momentum of their collision carried them onto the bed, which collapsed beneath their combined weight. A brief struggle ensued, ending when Max managed to punch Sir Reginald solidly on his chin, who fell back onto the mattress, his body limp. Assured Slade would not come around any time soon, Max turned and kneeled beside the woman, her face obscured behind a tangled curtain of dark golden curls.
“You will not be harmed.” Hesitantly, he touched her shoulder, not wanting to frighten her further. “Lend me your hand; I will take you to safety.”
The woman finally raised her tear stained face and his heart stuttered to a stop.
“Miss Darcy!”
Chapter Seven
A noise from behind snapped Maxwell out of his shock. Mr. Barrows stood within the door frame, his cheerful face now twisted into a mixture of worry and anger. In his beefy hand, he held a club of some sort.
“I don’t allow this kind of behavior in my inn—” he growled, lifting the club in a threatening gesture.
