Chapter Nineteen

C hapter N ineteen

Y e Olde Wharf was exactly the sort of delipidated brick building that Lucy had always imagined seeing in the dockyards, given the descriptions her father had always given of that part of London. Shutters hung ever so slightly askew, the windows held an almost crystalized layer of water stains, the roof looked as though cheap laborers had tried to mend it, and the wooden planks of the floor creaked and groaned like the timbers of an ancient ship. The place smelled of stale beer, tobacco, and damp, and the taproom was filled with the sort of people who looked as though they would rather not be noticed.

Lucy loved the place instantly.

She couldn't see enough of it, her eyes darting here and there and catching every little detail. She wished it were earlier in the day so she could explore more freely, but she supposed that would be frowned upon by a guest in an establishment. The proprietor was unsettling enough, with his scars and his scruff and looking as though he was at least partially blind, given the cloudiness in one eye. The addition of a tooth made of gold made Thad seem like a cuddly puppy by comparison.

But the man greeted Hunter with familiarity and smiled normally enough at Lucy, warning Hunter that he did not have any fine rooms for her, but he would offer the best room available. At Hunter's agreement, a teenaged lad came out from around the counter and took Lucy's carpetbag from him, heading up a narrow and rickety set of stairs to the right.

Sitting at one of the large, thick wooden tables now, a bowl of steaming and delicious stew before her, Lucy tried her hardest to remember her very best manners without looking particularly fine about any of it. She also did her best not to examine the spoon too carefully, as it was clearly tarnished in some spots.

What an excursion into yet another world within London this was!

"And here is some warm bread for you, miss," the proprietor said, appearing with a full loaf of bread on a wooden slab, a small crock of butter balanced beside. He set it down on the table without so much as jostling a thing. "Would you be wanting any preserves? I believe we have a few kinds of berry jams."

Lucy stared at the perfect loaf of bread for a moment, then smiled up at him as though he were her own mother. "No, thank you very much. I am very fond of warm bread with simply butter. It smells intoxicating."

He grinned and put a hand to his heart, bowing slightly. "I will tell Cook, miss. He will be most pleased."

Hunter cleared his throat. "I'll take some preserves, if you're serious, Meyer."

Mr. Meyer barely glanced at him. "I'll see what we have, Trick." With another incline of his head at Lucy, Mr. Meyer removed himself back to the desk and made no move to return to the kitchens.

Hunter watched him stand there for a long moment, then shook his head, grumbling as he took the knife and began slicing the loaf for them. "Isn't that kindness itself? After all the years I've been coming here and paying extra for good service…"

Lucy could only laugh and wait eagerly for her slice of bread. "One would think people don't actually like you."

The sawing into the bread slowed as Hunter gave her a speculative look. "Would one, indeed?"

"Not me," she said hastily, playing along with an innocent smile. "I certainly know better than to assume such a falsehood."

"Hmm." He continued his cutting of the bread, and when the slice was cut, pushed the slab towards her.

Grinning, Lucy picked up the crock of butter and small knife, slathering her slice with butter before setting the butter back down and pushing the slab back towards Hunter. "Thank you." She cradled the slice in her hands, sighing in delight. "This might be the freshest bread I've ever eaten in my life." She took a large bite, then found herself sighing again. "Oh my days…"

Hunter chuckled as he cut his own slice. "I told you this place had good food. You wouldn't think so by looking at it, but…"

Lucy shook her head, swallowing quickly. "I'm never leaving. In fact, I'm going to ask for bread with honey around midnight, and I will bet it comes with the same sort of Belgian drinking chocolate Tilda had."

"Not when I've asked, but perhaps for you." He took a bite of his bread, then nodded quickly. "Best bread they've ever given me, no question. That's down to you."

Lucy shrugged. "Feel free to come visit me here whenever you'd like to get better food."

"Thank you, I will." He winked and picked up his stew spoon, taking another bite there.

Why did that wink make the inside of her left foot tingle?

He kept doing things like that to her, saying things that made her blush, looking at her in a way that buckled a knee, breathing in a way that made her fully aware of every corner of her lungs…

It was a maddening, glorious delirium that she hated, but somehow also never wanted to stop.

How could something so irritating also be delicious fun?

Lucy felt her cheeks begin to burn and returned her attention to finishing her own stew, probably losing her manners in the process.

She didn't even look up again until a loud creaking came from Hunter's side of the table, and she caught sight of him rising, his bowl empty, his soup spoon neatly lying beside. "I'll be right back," he assured her, resting his palm on the table. "I see someone I know whom I must greet. You'll be able to see me the entire time."

"I'm not afraid," Lucy murmured around her present bite of stew.

But he didn't seem to hear her as he left, moving to a table by the window where a dark-haired man in a cap sat hunched over his stew.

She watched as Hunter shook the man's hand but did not sit with him, shoving his hands into his pockets and seeming to chat as though they were simply passing the time of day. The man at the table barely looked at him, his eyes hooded by a pageboy cap on his head. He didn't seem particularly irritated, only content with being left alone, which made Hunter's desire to greet him all the more confusing to her.

The conversation didn't last long, and then Hunter, instead of returning to Lucy immediately, went over to Mr. Meyer at the desk, leaning on it while speaking with him. Mr. Meyer's expression did not change, and he handed over a small slip of paper that Hunter put into his coat pocket. With a rap of his knuckles on the desktop, he turned and came back to the table.

Lucy watched him sit, making no secret of her observation. "Can I ask what Mr. Meyer gave you?"

"Sure," Hunter said easily as he pulled the slip of paper out, waving it a little so she could see it, but not read it.

He said nothing further.

Lucy slumped in annoyance. "What did Mr. Meyer give you, Hunter?" she asked in a would-be patient voice.

His smile was slight and damnably attractive. "A note from my friend Briton. Haven't heard from him in a while, and I can only get my notes through Meyer."

"Is Briton his real name?" Lucy asked, fidgeting her spoon against the remnants of her stew.

"Doubt it." He read the lines, his brow creasing slightly. "Never asked. Never do, actually."

Lucy tried to read the words through the back, hoping there was enough light to allow something to shine through.

There was not.

"It's not very long for someone you haven't heard from in a while," she pointed out, popping the last bit of her bread into her mouth.

"He writes in an exceptionally small hand," came the automatic response.

Lucy blinked. "You're focusing with great effort on it."

"He also writes in code. It amuses him."

Given their almost heated debate in the carriage about ciphers and code, Lucy found this to be an irony worth commenting on, even if Hunter was not paying her any attention at the moment.

"Would you like me to decipher it for you?" she drawled pointedly, folding her arms upon the tabletop and staring at him with just as much intensity.

Now his eyes flicked up from the paper, and eventually, one corner of his mouth ticked up. "Point taken." He folded the note up and tucked it back into his coat pocket, keeping his eyes on Lucy for a long moment. "I need to go and meet Briar. Would you prefer to be up in the room or remain down here among the clientele?"

Lucy's brows rose of their own accord. "You're giving me a choice?"

Hunter's smile turned a trifle sheepish, his nose wrinkling in a faint grimace. "That makes me sound like a jailer. But yes. This is a protected establishment, so you will be fine. Besides, Mr. Meyer is just there, and he knows I must leave. In this instance, yes, this choice is yours. I have it on good authority that there is a hot berry pie that will soon be offered, and should that tempt you, feel free to indulge."

"That sounds incredible," Lucy murmured, her stomach somehow rumbling even though her hunger was quite sated by the meal. "I was always under the impression that foods at inns and the like were substandard, but this is some of the best food I've had outside of fine houses."

"Oh, believe me, most inns and pubs have mediocre food at best and will charge you a fortune for the experience," Hunter assured her with a very sage nod. "They'll charge you for using their utensils instead of bringing your own at times. I've seen it done."

Lucy believed him, oddly enough, and looked around the taproom, aware that she felt fairly comfortable when she ought to have been quite the reverse. "What makes this place such an outlier of its kind?"

Hunter took his hat off, smoothed his hair, and replaced his hat. "Probably Meyer, honestly. Takes more pride in the place and his service than others I've seen. And he wants to make sure he gets as many of the sailors coming into port as he can. Word travels fast, and there is nothing like a personal recommendation to encourage others to visit." Hunter pushed to his feet, straightened his coat, and gave Lucy a serious look. "Are you sure you want to stay down here? As I said, it will be safe. I just want to be sure you are comfortable before I go."

It was a sweet thing for him to say, and she would be lying if she did not admit that her heart flipped a few times in her chest at hearing it, but she shook her head, smiling. "I will be fine, I can assure you. Go meet Briar and give her my best."

Still looking slightly uncertain, Hunter hesitated, his eyes searching hers in a way that made her warm all over. Then he nodded and turned away, striding for the door and tapping the front of his hat at Mr. Meyer as he exited.

Lucy almost expected some sort of gasp or change in the atmosphere of the taproom when Hunter departed, but of course, nothing happened. The room remained exactly the same, and no one noticed that anything had changed, aside from Mr. Meyer, who had saluted him on his exit. And now she was alone in this room.

Which was full of men.

A sudden coldness wrapped around her, as though a fire had just been doused, and she became exceptionally aware of the position of every man in the taproom.

This was a precise illustration of her naivete if she had ever seen one. Because she had felt comfortable in a room with Hunter by her side—the man who had been protecting her and keeping her safe and secure since her foiled abduction—and a kind proprietor plying her with good food, she had presumed it was suitable for her. Now that her protector was gone, there was nothing to stop any man in this room from behaving in the worst possible manner towards her. This was practically inviting her own ruination with open arms.

Safe, had Hunter said? Perhaps if she were him, she would be safe alone here. A protected establishment? What in the world did that mean? Protected how? Protected for whom and by whom? Would knives shoot up out of the floorboards if a man came near her? Would Mr. Meyer bring out a rifle if Lucy became frightened? Would lightning crackle across the ceiling and strike down any villains in her vicinity?

Or was she going to sit here, speculating on evil deeds and the possible but unlikely punishments for them, and scare herself into fleeing for her room?

There was no protection from that but her own willpower.

She wasn't certain how that stood at the moment.

Mr. Meyer was at her side scant moments later, bowing slightly. "Might I tempt you with a slice of warm berry pie, miss?"

Lucy smiled as much as she could, afraid that it wavered. "Yes, please. It sounds delightful."

"Right away, miss." He disappeared from her table, evidently giving the instructions to one of the lads who stood ready to handle trunks for guests.

She was grateful he remained in the room and where she could see him. He was well within his rights to go where he pleased in his own establishment, but having him stay close was reassuring for her. There was her one hope of safety and protection. Mr. Meyer was not an old man, but neither was he in his prime. He was a burly sort and of an above average height, but there was the evidence of overindulgence in some degree around his middle. His visage was frightening, so he would certainly be an intimidating figure when in a rage. He might be kindness itself upon closer acquaintance, but she was quite positive he was capable of a dangerous shift in nature when called upon.

Again, that was strangely comforting.

The pie was brought to her straightaway, and the distraction was a welcome thing. The pie itself was divine, as she had suspected, given the stew and bread from earlier. It reminded her of the meals she used to enjoy at home before their fortunes had changed, and the desserts that had been showered upon them due to an excellent French chef who had been given a lenient budget. She had fond childhood memories of tarts and biscuits being available upon any request, and pies were there for special occasions.

This was no special occasion, but the pie did provide her with a hint of the comfort that Hunter had, due to its pure nostalgia.

She might end up eating four slices to maintain it, but who would judge her for that?

Voices began to rise from the table to her right, but not in an angry manner. It was more likely an intoxication-induced increase in volume, which must be expected in a place like this. She did her best to remain unaffected and keep her attention polite, genteel, and reserved, ignoring their behavior for her sake more than their own.

Her eyes tracked to the man Hunter had recognized, and his posture and position remained the same. He paid no attention to anyone or anything.

"How much, do ee reckon? One hour wif 'er."

"More'n ee 'ave, and t'would be worth ev'ry farthing."

Their laughter was dark and raucous, and Lucy focused on eating the crust of her pie, drenched in the juices of the berries it had once contained.

"She be an 'igh class one, t'ain't no mistake. Clean an' all."

"Her sir left her alone here. Practically begging for a new picker."

"I'd pick 'er, eh? I'd sure pick 'er 'til dawn an' beyond."

"Go fer it, then. Let's see ee proposition 'er."

There was no mistaking the figure of their conversation nor their meaning, and somehow Lucy was going hot with embarrassment as well as cold with fear at the same time. She couldn't move, and yet she was desperate to run for her room, lock the door, and burrow beneath the blankets on whatever bed set for her.

Their volume might have been affected by their drinks, but she suspected it was also increased so she might hear them. Had she been the sort of woman they suspected, she might have had a reaction they would enjoy or find amusing. But as she wasn't…

They could have no idea who she really was, and if they did, they might find it even more entertaining. And they might be more encouraged, depending on their persuasion for morality. She could only continue to ignore them, especially while she was eating, but once her pie was finished, then what? Did she ask Mr. Meyer if she could have some tea so she might prolong her occupation? Did she try to get to her room and hope the men did not pursue her?

Were they even in a position to be capable of pursuing her?

"Ee couldna take 'er like tha', ee'd fall flat on yer face."

"I be more stable than ee!"

Why were their thoughts in such concert with hers? The men began rising from their table and testing their relative abilities to walk and balance, and if her peripheral vision was not mistaken, running from one table to the other. The laughter and cheers were only growing more intense, as was their desire for drink.

They were clearly more capable under the influence than she thought, which was only more frightening.

Her pie was gone, and there was no hiding it. She could not wait here for Hunter; he'd given no indication of how long he would be. Mr. Meyer was here, but was he paying as much attention to them as she was? Did he know what danger was presently looming?

How far would he go to keep her safe until Hunter returned?

"One at a time, eh? So who'll be first?"

"Cole has small cards. Cut cards, an' then we'll know."

Oh heavens, she was running out of time, and running for her life would clearly encourage them to act irrationally.

She jumped as a figure approached the table, then froze as the dark man Hunter had spoken with stood before her.

"I believe now would be a good time to see you safely to your room, don't you, Miss Allred?"

His voice was dark and low, so no one had a hope of hearing him but her, and he held a firm and steady hand out to her.

How did he know who she was? How did…?

"Trick told you?" Lucy whispered, her voice wavering weakly.

He nodded once. "I'm keeping an eye on you. My name is Trace. Now, shall we?"

She put her hand in his and tried to return his nod, only managing a quiver of her chin. He helped her up from the table and started towards the stairs with her, his free hand going protectively to her back, his pace swift, but without evidence of panic.

"Room eleven, Trace," Mr. Meyer murmured as they passed him, and Lucy caught sight of a pistol on the counter, hidden from the view of the others.

So Hunter had been right; this place was protected, and she was safe. She was being saved and protected now. It didn't keep her from fear, but at least she would be all right. No matter what choice she made when he'd offered, someone would have been watching over her.

She wanted nothing more than to hug Hunter at this moment.

Trace led her up the stairs, and she heard the racket of the men below, bellowing practically incoherently about her being gone. There were thundering steps that made her want to bolt, but Trace kept his hand pressed to her back, as though he could feel the way her heart was racing.

"Steady," he murmured. "Meyer will keep them from coming up. We'll get you into your room, and I'll sit outside of it until Trick returns. I promise, no one will get to you."

"Thank you," Lucy managed to squeak out, almost sagging with her relief and gratitude.

The pressure at the small of her back increased just a little, and then they were at the top of the stairs and moving down the corridor, passing the other rooms. Her eyes traced each number, seeking for eleven eagerly. Then it was there, and Trace thrust the door open, releasing her hand and remaining obediently outside of the room.

Her carpetbag was within, and it might as well have been a childhood memento reminding her that she was home for the delight she felt in seeing it.

Lucy turned and looked at Trace, biting her lip as words failed her.

He smiled, and she saw, for the first time, the handsomeness beneath the dark visage he had worn, and the kindness in his eyes. "Not at all, Miss Allred. Rest easy. I've got you." He inclined his head and closed the door behind him. "Bolt it, please," he called through the door.

Lucy stepped forward to do so, nodding even though he would not see it. She slid the bolt over and found herself exhaling with far less tension in her chest once she heard it click. There would be no way she would sleep until Hunter was back, just for her own peace of mind, but she needed some comfort and ease until he returned. She walked to her carpetbag and opened it up, retrieving the shawl that was Briar's, grateful she had forgotten to have Hunter return it this evening. She wrapped it around her shoulders and climbed up onto the bed, settling against the pillows and trying to ignore everything else, knowing Trace was outside the door and wouldn't abandon her.

With the thick and cozy shawl around her, even if it smelled like the darker sides of London along with the hint of floral notes that had surrounded Briar, she felt her heart settling and her legs steadying. Her breathing eased and her trembling faded, her entire body returning to a kinder, more calming state of existence. She unfolded the blanket at the foot of the bed and put it over her legs, her shoes still on, and just curled into herself while she waited for Hunter.

What would he say when Trace told him what had happened? Would he blame himself? Would he blame Lucy? He'd said repeatedly that she was attractive and that men of a certain class would be untoward, but she hadn't thought… she hadn't seen…

She'd been an idiot, that's what it was. Naive and an idiot, which was worse.

But he had left her, hadn't he? Knowing the sort of men they could be, he'd let her think it would be fine for her to remain down there in the taproom. He'd recruited Mr. Meyer and Trace to look after her, she reminded herself. He had been content to let her make her own choice and done his best to reassure her without telling her what he had put into place should the worst happen…

Which meant he had known it was possible, and he'd still let her choose. Protected her even from her choice. He couldn't be mad at himself. And he hadn't been mad at her when he'd left, but there had been concern.

She did not deserve the freedom he had attempted to give her. She needed to be returned to her father, much as she hated the idea, if for no other reason than to save herself from her own idiocy. Tomorrow, she would help Hunter to ask others about her father, showing the drawings and giving descriptions to whomever they encountered. It was the least she could do, and Hunter had done enough to protect her from this world in which she did not—and could not—belong. It was time she participated actively rather than waiting for results.

Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes, and she hadn't even been aware that they had been forming. She hadn't felt the burn of them, hadn't felt anything welling in her eyes or her face or her nose. The tears had just appeared, rather like her realizations. But what were they for? Shame of her ignorance? Fear of her situation? Sadness for returning to her father? Agony for the impending separation from Hunter?

Oh gads, how would she bear it?

She rested her chin on her shawl and blanket-covered knees, letting the tears trickle down her cheeks and lose themselves in the fabric. Tears were healing, her mother had once told her, and she wondered if she might actually come to believe that in the next few days. So long as she didn't cry in front of Hunter. He couldn't know the emotion that would come with their parting on her side. He was too good and would feel some guilt or pain at bringing on tears for her.

He couldn't know. She would not let him know.

How much time passed, she could not be sure, but there were voices outside her door. Low and unhurried, while the raucous sounds of the taproom had continued throughout the evening and into the night. She had never heard Mr. Meyer's gun, but what might have been threatened or said…

A gentle knock sounded on her door. "Lucy? Lucy, it's me. If you're awake, can you please unbolt the door?"

Hunter.

She released a gasping exhale and all but scrambled from the bed, her legs aching enough to tell her she had been on that bed for hours, just sitting and thinking, as well as crying.

Oh blast, crying…

She immediately wiped her face with the shawl and sniffed as softly as possible. Then she reached up and unbolted the door, pulling it open until she could see him.

He was leaning one arm against the door frame, his blue eyes intense and immediately locked on hers. Trace was now standing a little behind him, awaiting his instruction a few doors down, watching them.

Lucy managed a faint smile for Hunter. "How was Briar?"

"Fine," he replied softly, his mouth barely moving. "She sends her best. How are you?"

He said those last three words in a softer, more emphatic manner, and she felt each one like a thundering beat of her own heart.

She managed a swallow. "Fine," she managed. At his quirked brow, she nodded. "I mean it. I was afraid at first, but Trace was there, and I was fine. You made certain that I was fine. Thank you."

Hunter inhaled and exhaled slowly and softly, his mouth pressed in a thin line. Then he reached out a pair of fingers and tracked them down her right cheek. "You've been crying."

Her skin ignited where he touched it, and it took all of her strength not to rub the shawl over the remnants of her tears again. She didn't want to rid her skin of the feeling of his as long as she lived, but her tears…

"You weren't supposed to see that," she tried to scold, though it came out in a whisper.

"Did they hurt you?" he growled, seeming to lean closer, his fingers still at her cheek and moving to her jaw.

She shook her head. "Only in words. They never touched me. What they implied… what they… I should have listened to your warnings about men in this part of London. I'm sorry."

"No, I am sorry," he told her, his fingers moving to cradle her jaw just a little. "I shouldn't have left you here alone. Even with Trace and Meyer, I should have…" He sighed and his jaw tightened. "Don't worry, love. I'll take care of it."

She didn't like the sound of that, much as his use of the word love set her heart aflame like a love letter cast on a fire. "Don't avenge me or whatever you're thinking," she warned. "It's over and done."

His dark and sly smile told her she was exactly right in her prediction. "It is far from over and nothing is done. There is a certain way things are done down here, and the point must needs be made. So unless you require anything else for the evening, I'll go take care of those things and end it properly."

It was a dangerous tone that he had taken, but also one of pure relish that perplexed her. "No, I am fine, thank you."

Hunter nodded, then dropped his hand from her jaw, leaving her skin cold. "Then bolt the door behind me, Lucy, and go to bed. Everything will be better in the morning." He pushed off the frame, winked at her, and turned back down the corridor, clamping Trace on the shoulder. "Feel like a bit of fun, my friend?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Trace replied, rolling up his sleeves. "I hope you know, I only waited to give you the honors."

"Ah, you're a gentleman, truly." Hunter curled his hands into fists, his knuckles cracking. "Let's get to it."

The two of them started down the rest of the corridor and the stairs, and Lucy shook her head in dread as she closed and bolted the door behind them, waiting for the sounds of a brawl or invasion of sorts in the taproom. It wasn't long before she could hear breaking glass and possibly overturned tables, resembling the sound of thunder in a storm, and she wondered as she clambered back onto her bed, removing her shoes this time, if any storm would have been a match for Trace and Hunter and their furious fists in the taproom below.