give t' have been there."
Ty had a sudden mental picture of the likes of Delia McQuaid at a governor's assembly and couldn't repress a smile.
She blinked, and the shining look left her eyes. They grew solemn and serious, and Ty found he couldn't look away. She stared at him for so long and hard that he began to grow uncomfortable. Then she said, "Do ye know ye've got a real nice smile? I like yer smile."
Ty felt strangely flattered. "Thank you."
"And ye've got a damn fine-lookin' arse, too."
"Jesus Christ!" Ty cheeks grew hot. He knew he was blushing and his embarrassment fueled his anger. "I realize, wench, that you are hardly a lady, so I can't expect you to behave like one. Nevertheless, I insist that while in my presence you refrain from using language more suited to a randy sailor. As I said, I am a man of refined tastes and I like to be surrounded by fine things."
Her face was florid with embarrassment. Nevertheless, Ty saw that rebellious chin jerk up, and he braced himself for the worse.
Then the chin quivered and fell. She looked down, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. "Oh Lord, Ty, I'm so sorry. When my tongue gets t' flappin', I forget t' think. It's all the time a-gettin' me into trouble." She looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Ye aren't going to change yer mind about taking me with ye, are ye?"
"Don't be absurd," he said gruffly, feeling like a brute. He shoved the bench away from the table, pushing himself to his feet. "Come on, brat, let's get out of here."
He walked across the taproom, heading for the door and not bothering to see if she followed. Delia almost knocked over the table in her haste not to be left behind. She snatched up her grist sack, anchored her hat firmly on her head, and hurried after him.
"Bloody pompous ass," he heard her muttering beneath her breath. "Him and his re-fined tastes."
Ty barely stopped himself from laughing out loud.
Delia had never been so excited in her life.
She had taken the ferry once across the river to Charles Town for the fair, and that had been a real adventure. And once with Tom she had ridden in a cart out to Mill Pond for a Sunday picnic supper. But never, never had she done anything so grand as to go riding in an honest-to-God coach.
The coach was painted black and trimmed in silver. It even had a crest painted on the doors, and it was pulled by two pairs of matching coal-black horses. The tall, dark-skinned servant called Jackie, who had come into the Red Dragon to get Ty, had climbed into a box in back, while another servant dressed in the same black and silver livery sat in front to do the driving. She had followed Ty inside the coach and plopped down right next to him on a seat of a leather so fine it was as soft as silk.
Sighing happily, Delia settled back, smoothing down her skirts and trying to assume what she thought was a dignified expression. She admonished herself sternly to remember to act like a proper lady, for she was riding across Boston in a fancy coach to meet Ty's grandfather.
Ty had been heading for the inn's front door, Delia close on his heels, when it had opened and a round, dusky-skinned face topped by an enormous yellow periwig had peered around the jamb. An earring made of a shoe buckle dangled from one black ear, swaying gently in the morning breeze, and a pair of big brown eyes searched the hall.
Ty stopped so abruptly that Delia plowed into the back of him. He groaned loudly. "Jackie... what the bloody hell are you doing here?"
The big brown eyes fell on Ty and the face broke into a wide grin. The head disappeared a moment, then the door opened wide and a tall man, wearing silver and black livery and a silver slave collar sauntered in.
"Here you is, Massah Tyler. Ah been sent wid the coach t' fetch you. Your grandfather wants t' see you and he's got his mad up. Lawd, yes, he's mad enuf t' chew nails."
"Bloody hell!" Ty had said again.
Delia would have liked to point out to Tyler W. Savitch, M.D., that
Ty had a sudden mental picture of the likes of Delia McQuaid at a governor's assembly and couldn't repress a smile.
She blinked, and the shining look left her eyes. They grew solemn and serious, and Ty found he couldn't look away. She stared at him for so long and hard that he began to grow uncomfortable. Then she said, "Do ye know ye've got a real nice smile? I like yer smile."
Ty felt strangely flattered. "Thank you."
"And ye've got a damn fine-lookin' arse, too."
"Jesus Christ!" Ty cheeks grew hot. He knew he was blushing and his embarrassment fueled his anger. "I realize, wench, that you are hardly a lady, so I can't expect you to behave like one. Nevertheless, I insist that while in my presence you refrain from using language more suited to a randy sailor. As I said, I am a man of refined tastes and I like to be surrounded by fine things."
Her face was florid with embarrassment. Nevertheless, Ty saw that rebellious chin jerk up, and he braced himself for the worse.
Then the chin quivered and fell. She looked down, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. "Oh Lord, Ty, I'm so sorry. When my tongue gets t' flappin', I forget t' think. It's all the time a-gettin' me into trouble." She looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Ye aren't going to change yer mind about taking me with ye, are ye?"
"Don't be absurd," he said gruffly, feeling like a brute. He shoved the bench away from the table, pushing himself to his feet. "Come on, brat, let's get out of here."
He walked across the taproom, heading for the door and not bothering to see if she followed. Delia almost knocked over the table in her haste not to be left behind. She snatched up her grist sack, anchored her hat firmly on her head, and hurried after him.
"Bloody pompous ass," he heard her muttering beneath her breath. "Him and his re-fined tastes."
Ty barely stopped himself from laughing out loud.
Delia had never been so excited in her life.
She had taken the ferry once across the river to Charles Town for the fair, and that had been a real adventure. And once with Tom she had ridden in a cart out to Mill Pond for a Sunday picnic supper. But never, never had she done anything so grand as to go riding in an honest-to-God coach.
The coach was painted black and trimmed in silver. It even had a crest painted on the doors, and it was pulled by two pairs of matching coal-black horses. The tall, dark-skinned servant called Jackie, who had come into the Red Dragon to get Ty, had climbed into a box in back, while another servant dressed in the same black and silver livery sat in front to do the driving. She had followed Ty inside the coach and plopped down right next to him on a seat of a leather so fine it was as soft as silk.
Sighing happily, Delia settled back, smoothing down her skirts and trying to assume what she thought was a dignified expression. She admonished herself sternly to remember to act like a proper lady, for she was riding across Boston in a fancy coach to meet Ty's grandfather.
Ty had been heading for the inn's front door, Delia close on his heels, when it had opened and a round, dusky-skinned face topped by an enormous yellow periwig had peered around the jamb. An earring made of a shoe buckle dangled from one black ear, swaying gently in the morning breeze, and a pair of big brown eyes searched the hall.
Ty stopped so abruptly that Delia plowed into the back of him. He groaned loudly. "Jackie... what the bloody hell are you doing here?"
The big brown eyes fell on Ty and the face broke into a wide grin. The head disappeared a moment, then the door opened wide and a tall man, wearing silver and black livery and a silver slave collar sauntered in.
"Here you is, Massah Tyler. Ah been sent wid the coach t' fetch you. Your grandfather wants t' see you and he's got his mad up. Lawd, yes, he's mad enuf t' chew nails."
"Bloody hell!" Ty had said again.
Delia would have liked to point out to Tyler W. Savitch, M.D., that
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