Chapter Seven #2
The barmaid half twisted in the duke’s direction.
Although she didn’t fully face him, it was clear that she was studying his features.
Her gaze flicked up and then down before she paused and repeated the motion.
Hannah swore that her flat gray eyes widened for just the barest of moments, but they went utterly blank again.
“Her given name was Sorcha,” Foxglen pushed just as the woman’s expression snapped back to normal. A muscle in her cheek twitched, but otherwise she didn’t react.
“What makes you think that I’ve been hefting trays in a place like this for over twenty years?” the woman called over her shoulder as she began to sashay away.
“Then is there someone who has?” Hannah called after her, even though she realized the question was likely futile.
“You best leave.” The server kept her back to them, but the men shifted ominously in their seats. It was clear that Hannah and Foxglen’s presence was not going to be tolerated for much longer.
“We should listen. They won’t share more information, so there’s no sense in risking a fight.” Foxglen had returned to speaking in a low tone. This time, though, he didn’t lean over the table. Instead, he sat stiffly as he monitored the room.
“Yes,” Hannah agreed. She hated being chased away, but she would not face the brunt of the attack. Foxglen would be the target.
Reluctantly, Hannah rose. As she and the duke made their way through the frowning throng, Hannah noticed that the peer was trying to use his big body to shield hers.
She hadn’t expected an Aucourte to be so chivalrous to a mere coffeehouse proprietress, but she’d begun to realize that Foxglen’s character might be as difficult for her to unravel as hers was to him.
Quickly, they moved through the shadowy interior and burst back into the narrow alley. Despite the closeness of the tall buildings, Hannah felt relief at being back outside. A delayed shiver ran through her as her entire body sagged. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself.
“I’m glad to be free of that place.” Foxglen’s jaw was set as he glanced down the street. “Do you think my mother suffered while working there?”
“It could have been an entirely different establishment back then.” Once again, Hannah had to battle the desire to physically soothe the duke. The man didn’t need her clutching at his hand or arm—or at least that’s what Hannah told herself firmly.
“Oi!” The loud male voice caused both Hannah and Foxglen to whirl around.
Before Hannah could call out a warning, a fist came flying toward Foxglen’s midsection.
To Hannah’s relief, the duke dodged the blow, which was rapidly followed by another sharp jab.
Foxglen’s footwork was a tad clumsy, but despite his large size, he managed to dance away from the second hit too.
By the third strike, Hannah had recovered her wits enough to take stock of their attacker. It was the same raggedy man who’d entered the Horse and Hen after them. Despite his age, the older fellow moved with deadly precision.
Hannah reached inside the slit of her skirts for the knife that she always wore strapped to her thigh.
Her father, her uncle, and her aunt had all taught her to wield it.
She grabbed the mother-of-pearl handle just as Foxglen raised his arms to deflect the rain of blows.
Next, he swung his own meaty fist, the strike a bit unwieldly but definitely powerful.
The ambusher easily avoided the punch, and an incongruously broad smile broke over his face, revealing a nearly toothless mouth. A few of the remaining stubs were badly chipped rather than merely rotting.
Suddenly, the man nodded, as if he’d confirmed something grand. Then his hands dropped harmlessly to his sides, and he stepped back.
His grin turned lopsided as he regarded Foxglen with steady brown eyes.
He reached up and rubbed his chin as he continued his study.
Arthritis and maybe something more swelled the skin around his knuckles, almost obscuring them entirely.
His steady, unyielding expression seemed just as weathered as his leathery skin.
“Don’t go chasing after spirits and secrets,” the attacker rasped without ceremony or further explanation. Then, before Hannah could question him, he turned on his heels and ambled away.
For a beat or two, Foxglen stood apparently frozen, his body trapped between an offensive and a defensive position. But then he shook himself and took two large strides toward the retreating man. “What do you mean, spirits?”
But the strange fellow didn’t answer. Instead, he simply turned down another twisty passage. Foxglen immediately started running. Picking up her skirts, Hannah followed suit.
When they reached the entrance to the next alley, they unfortunately spied nothing but shadows. Foxglen started to push his way down the narrow squeeze, but this time, Hannah grabbed his elbow.
“It’s no use. If he doesn’t want to be found, you’ll never locate him. And if he does wish for you to follow, it would only be to lure you into a trap.” Hannah also wanted to trail the mysterious man, but despite her brashness, she’d learned caution over the years.
Foxglen glanced down at her, and raw emotions swam in the blue-green depths of his eyes. The older fellow’s words had deeply affected him.
Hannah found that she could not release Foxglen’s arm even though he was no longer intent on perilous pursuit. He just looked so terribly wounded.
“The man said not to chase after spirits. Do you think my mother’s dead and my sister too? Is searching for them just a foolish whim?” Foxglen’s voice—which was normally so measured—thrummed with anguish.
“I wouldn’t put too much stock in one fellow’s words. His behavior was erratic at best.” Hannah linked their elbows as she gently guided Foxglen out of the alley and toward his carriage waiting a distance away.
“I believe that the man was acting with a specific intent.” Foxglen’s tone fluctuated from pain to his normal stoicism then back again.
It was clear that he was trying to employ logic in a situation involving his heart.
Hannah could not help but feel her own pang of sadness.
The duke truly did care for his family—a sentiment Hannah readily understood.
“He tried to punch you and then grinned like a nincompoop. Next, he muttered about secrets and the supernatural before finally darting away. Those are the signs of drunkenness, not lucidity,” Hannah pointed out as they reached the ducal coach with its crest covered to hide Foxglen’s identity.
“I can’t help but think that, like Hamlet, there was a method to his madness.
” Foxglen climbed the steps like an automaton.
When he sat down, he tugged Hannah with him.
Hannah half fell into him, and she made a concentrated effort not to notice the firmness of his muscles… or the heat radiating from him.
“He seemed very deliberate when he followed us, and his gaze was clear and steady,” Foxglen continued. “His eyes weren’t bloodshot, and he didn’t walk with the stiffness that my uncles do when they’re trying not to stumble. His voice was natural, too, with nary a slurred word.”
“He could have simply been trying to warn you away like the serving maid, or he could have been trying to lure you into danger. There is no reason to believe that he knows anything about your family or their whereabouts,” Hannah pointed out.
“We will try to locate him but on our terms. It will do us no good to madly dash through back alleys. I know how to defend myself but not against an ambush.”
Foxglen nodded curtly, and she could see his emotions leech away as his stoic mask once again fell into place. Watching the duke deny his feelings caused an ache to spread through Hannah.
“Excellent points,” Eoin said, his tone crisp and orderly. “I wasn’t thinking when I almost dragged you after that man. It was dangerous enough in the Horse and Hen.”
The logical Foxglen was back, and Hannah should feel at ease. But she didn’t.
“I don’t mean to reject your worries about what the man said or to dismiss your pain,” Hannah told him quickly. “I just do not wish for you to give up hope. It is early in our search.”
Foxglen swallowed but otherwise his expression did not change.
“I have learned it is best to remain impassive, and I am generally not given to strong reactions. I suppose something about this endeavor makes me feel as if I was still a small child again, and it is hard to remain regulated. I do apologize for my outburst.”
“There was no outburst, Your Grace,” Hannah said as the dull pain in her heart seemed to break into something much more raw. She was certain that Foxglen did not realize how revealing his words were. It was clear that he’d been taught to act like a stiff mannequin.
“Eoin.”
“Pardon?” Hannah asked in confusion.
“Would you use ‘Eoin’ rather than ‘Your Grace’?” Foxglen asked. “It’s been so long since anyone has called me by my actual given name.”
“What were you being called by your grandfather and aunts and uncles?” Hannah asked as more unease flowed through her.
“Lord Malbarry or John—the anglicized version of Eoin.” Foxglen rattled off the information as if it meant nothing to him, yet clearly it did. But Hannah wasn’t going to force him to share his emotions. If he wanted to retreat into stoicism, then she wouldn’t pry open his defenses.
“You may call me Hannah, then, Eoin,” Hannah said, his birth name falling rather naturally from her lips—perhaps too much so.
She told herself that it was simply that she wasn’t one for ceremony, especially when it came to dealing with puffed-up peers.
But there was an intimacy to given names even among laborers like her.
“Hannah.” Eoin’s voice contained a hint of warmth, which curled through Hannah. A flutter started low in her stomach, and try as she might, she could not completely settle it.
“We should visit the Black Sheep tomorrow.” Hannah spoke the words hastily.
Now she was the one longing for the return of pragmatism.
She and Eoin—no Foxglen—were only sharing this carriage ride because of his mission and hers.
They were not real lovers, and they shouldn’t be acting like ones when there was no audience.
“I’ll send a message round to the men and women who helped uncover the plot against King George.” Hannah was speaking more rapidly than normal, and she hoped that Eoin did not notice. “They might know something about the Horse and Hen.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that the tavern made you that anxious. We should have left earlier.” Foxglen frowned at her with palpable concern.
The nob’s worry had the irritating effect of softening Hannah. “I was a bit uneasy, but never truly worried. Why do you think I was?”
“Your cadence changed, and I thought it was due to pent-up fear,” Eoin explained.
Damn the perceptive man. He had noticed. Fortunately, though, he hadn’t divined the real reason for her rapid speech.
“I wasn’t fashed. I am just intent on locating your family.” There. That was a good excuse… and words that she should strictly follow.