Dark Before the Rising Sun by Laurie McBain Page B

castin’ them bonny eyes at either one o’ us, not with her ladyship at his side,” the young maid predicted wisely, even while tidying the mobcap perched atop her russet curls.
    â€œSuch a beauty she is too. And sweet as can be, with not a mean word to anyone. Not at all snooty, either, if ye knows what Oi means. Why, just t’other day she says to me—”
    â€œDamn the two of ye! I knew it, damned if I didn’t!” roared the innkeeper as he stomped along the corridor, the two guilty maids fixed in his stare. “Knew ye’d be standin’ here gossipin’ while I’ve got customers to be fed and seen to. Don’t know how a man can run a decent business nowadays, what with the wages bein’ demanded and the poor service bein’ given in return,” he complained as he grimly eyed the nervous girls.
    â€œWe knocked! Again and again, we did! Even pounded on the door with our fists! ’Tis the truth!” they chorused.
    â€œBut we was frightened cause a voice, soundin’ for all the world like the devil ’imself, says to enter or be damned!” one of the girls said on a rising note of hysteria.
    â€œGood! Then we’ll be wastin’ no more time standin’ here,” the innkeeper declared, his appreciative laugh rumbling down the corridor and somewhat relieving the tension of the two young men standing at a safe distance, their arms full of carefully wrapped bundles.
    Without further ado, the innkeeper opened the door and, with a hand clasped firmly on each girl’s shrinking shoulder, escorted the two into the dragon’s den.
    â€œAh, at last. I had begun to think my hearing was playing tricks on me,” the captain of the Sea Dragon commented conversationally.
    Without his coat and waistcoat, his ruffled shirtfront parted nearly to the waist and revealing a bronzed, muscular chest, the close-fitting buckskin breeches leaving no doubt of his virility, Dante looked every inch the piratical captain half of London suspected him of being.
    Sitting with a booted foot resting casually against a tapestried stool while he idly toyed with the rapier lying across his lap, his languid pose was quite deceptive, for the narrowed gray eyes raked the newcomers and missed nothing.
    â€œBeggin’ yer pardon, m’lord, m’lady, but if ye’re finished dinin’, then the girls here will clear the table,” the innkeeper explained at his most genial. His bonebreaker’s grip was coming close to shattering each girl’s shoulder as he pushed them toward the table.
    â€œâ€™Tis quite all right,” Dante murmured, his gaze moving to the two uneasy young gentlemen hesitating in the opened doorway.
    â€œIt was a delicious meal, Mr. Parkham.” Rhea Claire complimented him with a smile that took hostage of the gruff innkeeper’s heart. “Our young friend, Mr. Brady, found the gooseberry pie especially delectable.”
    â€œDid he, now?” Mr. Parkham said with a beaming smile. “Well, I’ll sure be tellin’ Mrs. Parkham about yer kind words, m’lady. Be glad t’hear it too. Ol’ Nell Farquhar, proprietress of the King’s Messenger, off St. Martin’s Lane, claims she bakes the best gooseberry pies hereabouts, though I don’t know how her customers have ever gotten a mouthful. I figure she eats most of ’em herself. A waist as round as a hogshead of molasses she has, and as mean as a—”
    â€œIf you will pardon me for interrupting, Mr. Parkham.” Dante spoke softly, yet effectively halted the garrulous innkeeper. “What business do these gentlemen have here?”
    â€œSays they be makin’ a delivery, m’lord,” Mr. Parkham replied while leveling a questioning stare of his own at the two men. “And they had better be tellin’ me the truth, for if I finds out that they’ve bamboozled me, and be here to try to sell their wares