Chapter Eighteen

From his seat near the hearth, Nicholas could observe all of the persons coming and going from the inn's common room.  And there were plenty of people from the absolute lowest dregs of humanity to observe.  It was yet another reason why he was relieved that his old friend, the Duke of Enwright, had been able to accommodate him for a brief overnight stay at his nearby estate, the perfectly named Fairhaven.  Nicholas was afraid that if he was forced to spend the night here in this grubby, wretched inn, his body might never be clean again.

Shortly after he had almost forcibly removed both Frost and Rayne from his study, Nicholas had begun preparing for the short trip north.  The ride to the inn was not long, especially on Apollo, but the storm clouds were gathering once more and the heavens threatened to open up and pour rain at any minute.  He had learned long ago that traveling in inclement weather was not generally a good idea if it could be avoided, so he had made certain to depart well before the skies darkened further.

Now Nicholas had been at the bloody inn for nearly four hours and still nothing.  The common room was emptying as the clock approached midnight and he was about to give up.  Outside, he could hear the whistle of the late spring winds, most likely blowing in the rain.  If he wanted to make it to the safe confines of Fairhaven before it began to pour, he should depart now.

Except that he could not.  Not just yet, at any rate.  For in the far corner of the room sat two men, both of the unsavory sort, who were becoming more and more inebriated as the night wore on.  Normally, Nicholas would have assumed them nothing more than two local drunkards.  Except that one of them, the one a little less foxed, had uttered the name "Underhill" just as Nicholas had been about to depart.  Not quite an hour ago.

In the time since, the other man, already well into his cups, had become progressively louder as well.  And he had spoken the name "Framingham" along with the word "echo."  Alone, those words meant nothing.  But all together?  They actually meant quite a bit.  And Nicholas was not about to leave until he discovered whether or not the two fools knew something of value or whether they were simply spouting nonsense.

He had just asked the serving wench for another tankard of ale - only his second one that evening - when he heard the exterior door of the inn open and then close again quickly, accompanied by a low howl of the wind.  Another visitor.  He prayed it wasn't some gregarious fool like the last one had been.  Managing to put the blithering idiot - who seemed to wish to make Nicholas his new best friend - into a hold designed to render the man unconscious had not been easy.  Nor had it been easy to hide his actions from the already suspicious owner of the inn.  Or his serving wench of a daughter.  Who was more than a little put out with Nicholas already, especially since he had made it clear that he would not bed her.

When the unknown man had slipped into what appeared to be a deep sleep only a scant quarter hour after sitting down at Nicholas' table, it had appeared suspicious to all.  However, even though the innkeeper had no idea of Nicholas' true identity, he was also intelligent enough to recognize a man that should not be crossed when he saw one.  But not quite intelligent enough, for he, too, began to pester Nicholas with all manner of questions.  When Nicholas had uttered the words "bloody duke," however, the innkeeper had quickly disappeared, lugging the sleeping man's body behind him.

The hold, one Nicholas had picked up during his study of the French fighting style known as Savate, was rather effective at putting a man out for several hours.  He had hoped to be long gone from this wretched inn by then.  But that was before the two fools in the corner had begun speaking up as only drunkards could do.

In truth, Nicholas very much wanted to give up this entire bloody charade and simply court Eliza until the end of the Season when they would amicably part ways.  If the man claiming to be Stephen Deaver was not truly Lord Underhill, then Nicholas had no idea who in the bloody hell he truly was.  Nor did it possibly matter.

After making the decision to use the pretext of a courtship with Eliza to remain close to the family, Nicholas had begun his own private investigation into the man.  Between legitimate sources like the Bow Street Runners and his own, more shadowy connections - including Frost and Rayne - Nicholas had turned up nothing.  Not a damnable thing.  Which made him wonder if there was anything to uncover at all.

If there was untruth in the man's story, it was likely buried so deep that a lifetime of investigation still might not lead to the truth.  In Nicholas' experience, there were times when the truth simply did not wish to be found.  Perhaps this was one of those times.

Now, as a shadow fell across the entrance to the common room, Nicholas wondered what sort of fresh hell was about to be unleashed upon him.  All he truly wanted to do was go to bed.  But then he looked up and saw an all-too-familiar feminine shape in the doorway.  And he cursed under his breath.  Damn the chit!  Would she never do as she was told?  Was she looking to either ruin herself or die at the hand of some highwayman?  Or worse?  If she was, she was doing a bang-up job on both counts.

Then he looked again, and Nicholas felt both his anger and his cock begin to rise.

In a too-tight, too-worn gown, Eliza looked like a whore.  A prostitute.  In the battered cape she wore, her golden hair peeking out from beneath it like some sort of temptress, she also appeared a part of the very night itself, a goddess sent from Hell to torment him for all of his many sins.  Then she pushed her hood back to reveal those flashing turquoise eyes and he knew she wasn't a goddess but rather an avenging angel.  And she was intent upon revenge.

"Izzy."  The word slipped from his lips before he could even think.  "What in God's name are you doing here?"  Nicholas kept his voice low, but loud enough so that she could hear him easily as she sauntered across the room, all slink and seductive curves.  Not proper at all.  Her family would be appalled.  Hell, he was appalled!  And very, very aroused as well.

"Emperor," she tossed back at him and Nicholas froze in his seat.  She had only called him that once before, on the night she had overheard him confessing to Stephen that he would still bed Ellie if the now-betrothed woman offered herself to him.  Even after she wed Berkshire.

Eliza had been little more than a child but she had looked at Nicholas with disdainful eyes.  She had called him "emperor" and said that she would not attend his funeral when Berkshire called him out on the dueling field.  She had said that a man in his position should know better than to think with his cock.  At the time, he had been shocked that she would not only use such foul language but that she would know anything at all about the topic he and Stephen were discussing.

Then again, that was his Izzy.  Always knowing more than she should.  Always seeing more than she should.  Even as a child.  An ill child who had often been left behind to observe.  Was it little wonder that she was more adult than child, even at such a tender age?  At the time, Nicholas had laughed off the comment, but it seemed that even back then, the little girl was far wiser than the adult man.

"I asked what you were doing here."  Nicholas was not about to allow her to distract him with that name.  "This is not proper."  His lips twisted.  "It is not a good idea either."

She shrugged seductively, and then sat down at the table without waiting for an invitation.  Something squirmed in Nicholas' gut.  This was not the Izzy he knew.  This wasn't even the delicious minx from his bed the previous night.  This was someone entirely new.  A different facet of her that he had never seen.  He supposed he was not the only one with more than one part to his personality.  He simply wasn't sure that he liked it.

"I believe, Emperor, that we have moved well beyond proper."  It occurred to him that she was using the nickname so that she might not have to speak his actual one.  Clever girl.  More clever than most men, he would wager.  "Last evening in fact.  In your bed."

She stared at him with those hot, unblinking eyes.  It was then that he noticed they had been rimmed in kohl.  Her face was heavily made up as well.  In all the time he had known her, Nicholas had never once seen her apply a cosmetic of any sort.  For a moment, he wondered where she had obtained them this evening.  He also wanted to say that the look did nothing for her, but strangely, he found her even more desirable as this darkly made up, erotic woman of the night.

"I do not know what you are doing, Izzy, but I would ask that you stop it.  This is not you."  Nicholas was beginning to sweat now.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could also see that the two drunkards were taking a keen interest in the goings-on at his table.  And in Izzy.

She pushed her cape back farther, revealing a bodice that was so tight he could not imagine how she was poured into it.  Nicholas worried that if she breathed wrong her breasts might come free and she would be on display for all of the men in the inn to ogle.  He would not be able to protect her if that transpired.  It would destroy him if anything happened to her.  Not Izzy.  God.  Please.  No.

"And I have come to ask you to stop the investigation into Stephen."  She licked her lips, which appeared to have been painted.  They were not normally that red.  Were they?  She was scrambling his brain.  It had to stop.  Otherwise, they might both regret this night very much.  "As of this afternoon, I am satisfied.  He is my brother."  Then she reached out and covered her hand with his.  "And this is merely a different part of me.  I have simply never allowed her free reign before."

Lord, the woman would kill him where he sat if he allowed it!  A part of her? Somehow, he seriously doubted that.  Still, had he known this, Ellie would have long been forgotten.  Then he frowned, realizing what she had just said about her brother.  "But what of your instinct?"  Then Nicholas looked at her breasts again and nearly forgot himself once more.

Stick to the topic at hand, his mind whispered.  And then get her the hell out of here!

Eliza looked away for a moment, her bravado faltering.  "I was wrong.  I pulled you into this mess, Emperor.  Asked you for a favor I should not have.  For that, I apologize.  So let us be done with it."

This was not what Nicholas wanted to hear.  While he too, believed that the man was Stephen, there was still a shred of doubt.  And he did not like doubts.  Not even small ones.

But for Izzy?  If agreeing to her request meant getting her out of this inn safely?  Then he would be willing to let the matter go.  It might eat away at him later, but he would do as she asked.  As long as he could protect her.  Then again, given the way she looked in that dress - and that they would now most likely have to spend the night together at Fairhaven - perhaps it was he who needed protection from her.

"As you like," he agreed quickly.  Anything so that they might be gone from this wretched place.

She tilted her head.  "Very well.  We are agreed then.  This ends tonight."

"But not the seduction," he offered silkily.  "That we continue until Season's end.  We did agree, after all."  Two could play at this game and when he got her to the safety of Fairhaven, play they would.  Who would have ever guessed that this luscious temptress lurked beneath the spinsterish Lady Eliza?  His Brat?  Not him, certainly.

"Agreed."  He could see excitement in her gaze and he found himself growing hard.  He wanted her.  Now.  "Let us depart this place," she whispered, just low enough for his ears alone.

Relief flooded Nicholas and he rose, offering her his hand in the process.  The sooner they could depart, the better.  Lest someone mistake her for a whore and ask her price.  It had been a very long time since he had killed someone and he had only brought two pistols.  Then again, he had not expected Eliza to follow him.  But perhaps he should have.  He had come here without her.  He had known she would be displeased.

When Nicholas reached out to grasp her hand, Eliza did not pull away.  Perhaps she was not nearly as sure of herself as she seemed.  In some small way, that was a relief.  It let him know that his Eliza was still there.  Somewhere.  And despite how this costume made his blood race, that was the version of her that he preferred.  The version he had come to care for in a very short amount of time.

However they had not taken more than three steps when the drunkards rose from their corner and moved to the center of the room far quicker than Nicholas would have thought possible.  He flexed his fingers, wanting to reach for his pistol but holding off.  They might yet talk their way out of this.  It might not be necessary to resort to violence just yet.

Then he saw the bigger man look at Eliza's breasts and decided that perhaps violence was a good plan after all.

"Gentlemen," Nicholas said in as bored of a tone as he could muster, "I would ask that you let us pass.  My lady and I have business to attend to."  He made certain to put just the right emphasis on the word "business."  If these men realized Eliza was a lady, things would get much worse very quickly.  If they thought she could be bought however, they might allow the two of them to pass, thinking they might be lucky enough to purchase her favors later.

"Not so fast, me lord," the other one sneered.  "You're that bastard they call The Bloody Duke."

Nicholas gave a short bow of acknowledgement.  "I am."  Then he glanced between the two men, thankful that for once, Eliza was keeping silent.  Unlike her, but she was clearly smart enough to know the danger they both now faced.  "I take it you good men know of me."

"All of bleein' England knows of ya," the shorter, much drunker man snarled.  Then he smiled, showing a row of rotten teeth.  Well, rotten where the others had not already fallen out, that was.  "And all of England will know of us when we knock you on your arse and take yer lady."

Lovely.  These two buffoons thought to make names for themselves by defeating The Bloody Duke.  As if Eliza did not have him on edge enough as it was.

Discreetly shoving her behind him further, Nicholas widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest.  The motion was nothing more than a display of puffery for now, but he could become violent later, if he so chose.  "Really, gentlemen?  Do either of you honestly think this necessary?"  He prayed that Eliza would be silent after he voiced his next comment.  And that she would not kill him for it later.  "I am weary after a long day of travel on official business for the Crown.  I arranged for a bit of fun for the evening, a whore so that I might slake my needs.  You are working men.  You know how it is."  He raised an eyebrow.  "We all need to tumble the wenches every now and then, eh?"

"I 'eard you asking after Underhill," the shorter man slurred.  Of the two, he was the far more talkative.  "He was through here just over a 'ortnight ago."  The man was dropping vowels and consonants all over the place, but Nicholas was able to get the gist of the meaning.  "That one, he 'ouldn't 'member a bleein' thing.  Said he was knocked in 'er noggin.  It's why he what got no 'air.  But 'omeone told him what who he was and 'ee were on his way to London."

The other drunk snorted.  "Man not know who 'ee is?  That right 'ere a cryin' shame, it is.  If not for those people in Brighto', 'ee might n'er 'ave known.  But he was 'appy that night, telling all 'ere about how 'ee was goin' home."

Immediately, Nicholas' mind leapt to whom he might know in Brighton that could help him track down Stephen's movements there.  Then he remembered his promise to Eliza.  No more investigation.  No more digging into Stephen's past.

Nicholas felt Eliza's fingers dig into his hips and he knew she had to be clutching the back of his jacket.  It was the first indication she had given him that she was truly frightened.  He couldn't blame her.  While he was not worried for himself, he was worried for her.  The Bloody Duke would weather this situation just fine, possible bloodshed aside.  But would she?

Drawing himself up straighter, Nicholas frowned, hoping that it would translate into false anger.  Though given how terrified he was for Eliza, it might not.  "Lord Underhill and I are old friends.  He is the one who recommended that I rest here for a bit, should I ever require shelter while in this area."  Of course, Lord Enwright had also called this inn one of the most despicable places on Earth, so there was that as well.

"Er, any friend of Lord Underhill's a friend of ours.  Right, John?  Jus' leave the whore and we're good."  The bigger drunk looked at the smaller one, whose eyes were drifting shut.  He looked about ready to pass out.  Thankfully.

The other man burped.  "Right."  Except that it sounded more like "aye" and then the man slumped to the floor, dragging his friend partially down with him.

Nicholas seized the opportunity to try and make his escape with Eliza.  Except the larger man was still sober enough to object to losing his sought-after prize for the night and lunged for Nicholas, fists swinging.  And the drunk somehow, miraculously, connected with the duke's midsection, causing him to double over as he grunted in pain.

And finally, Eliza could stand no more.  She was not about to stand meekly by while Nicholas was beaten by a drunkard to defend her honor.  Even if he was The Bloody Duke.  And she was a lady.

Reaching behind her, Eliza grabbed a chair.  She had no idea what she would do with the thing, but she thought that tossing it at the drunkard might be a good start.  She was a gently bred woman, after all.  She knew absolutely nothing about bar fights.

Beside her, Nicholas grabbed on to a table to steady himself as he tried to catch his breath, seemingly in greater pain that she would have imagined from a single punch.  The drunk man continued to advance on Nicholas, his steps wobbly enough that Eliza thought she might have a chance of knocking him off his feet.  So she swung the chair as hard as she could, horrified when it did not quite go as far across the room as she had hoped.  But one leg did catch the man in the shoulder and he howled in pain as if he had been stabbed directly in the heart.

Eliza sniffed in derision and then looked for something else that she might throw, her gaze landing on Nicholas' abandoned tankard of ale.  She quickly snatched it from the nearby table and launched the tankard as hard as she could across the room.  The heavy pewter mug smacked the drunkard in the side of his head and he howled again.  But it was enough time to allow Nicholas to recover a bit.  The only problem was, Eliza had now drawn all of the man's attention to her and, drunk or not, it was unlikely that she would be able to fight him off.

The idea of the man placing his disgustingly dirty, meaty hands on her as Nicholas had done the night before was enough to make Eliza ill.  So she did the only thing she could.  She screamed.  And that brought the innkeeper running in a way that the fight - and thrown furniture - had not.

"What's this about?" the innkeeper bellowed, his gaze darting back and forth between the three standing patrons and the one now dozing in an alcoholic stupor on the floor.  "I run a respectable establishment and I'll not tolerate this sort of behavior."  His gaze landed on Eliza and he stalked towards her, grabbing her wrist before she could react.  "You're a whore.  If the man can pay, then get on your back and spread your legs!  It's not as if the duke here is going to marry you!  Now get out and never darken my door again."

"Why, I never!"  Eliza was indignant.  And furious.  And just where was Nicholas, anyway?  But she didn't dare look away.  Not while the still functioning drunkard was looking at her as if he'd just won a prize.

"Your lot always do," the innkeeper growled.  "Every night.  So don't act so high and mighty.  You're a doxy.  Not a lady.  Best be remembering that."

Eliza was about to protest when the cock of a pistol brought immediate silence to the entire room.  There, looking as menacing as she had ever seen him, was Nicholas.  Except that this wasn't any version of Nicholas - or The Bloody Duke - that she had ever seen.  This man standing before her was lethal.  He would kill a man and not think twice about it.  She could see it from the stance of his legs to the furious look on his face.  This man would injure for sport.

And suddenly, Eliza remembered the story of Nicholas' behavior on the dueling field the morning Lord Radcliffe had faced off with Lord Landover over Lady Julia.  Rumor had it that he had been lethal and calm, directing the perfect shot at Landover's feet, precise enough to make the man soil himself.  Frigid.  Icy.  Dangerous.  Murderous.  And probably precisely how Nicholas looked at that moment.

"You will apologize to the lady," Nicholas said, his voice so silky smooth that it was deadly.  "Or you shall deal with me.  Both of you."  From beneath his jacket he produced a second pistol.  "Now take your pick."  Then he smiled and the expression was one of pure evil.

It made Eliza shiver.  But it also made her heart swell for no reason that she could understand.  All she knew was that in that precise moment, she would do anything he asked of her.  Anything at all.  Even give him up, if that was what he wanted.