Touch of Rogue by Mia Marlowe Page B

ink-stained clerks with scarves wound around their necks against the autumn chill. An odd assortment, but none of them looked as if they’d have a scholarly interest in a set of Druidic daggers.
    Julianne imagined more than a few of the laborers would know how to handle one in a brawl, though.
    “How will you be able to tell if there’s anyone here who—”
    Jacob cut her off with a wave of his hand when the serving girl returned with frothy mugs in each hand.
    “Pulled that meself, so’s it’d be fresh. Your pie’ll be up in a bit, sir. I do hope everything’s to your liking.” The girl leaned forward, offering him a long look down her low bodice. As an afterthought, she tossed a glance at Julianne. “Yours too, ma’am.”
    Julianne decided the girl was fetching in a speckled pup sort of way. And as annoying as one who’d just piddled on the floor.
    “Thank you, m’dear, but you should address her as ‘milady, ’” Jacob said. “This is the Countess of Cambourne.”
    The girl’s eyes widened and she dropped a quick curtsey. “Begging yer pardon, milady. We don’t generally get no quality folk in here, except some o’ them Dru—” She stopped herself by worrying her bottom lip.
    Julianne smiled thinly at her.
    Jacob leaned toward the girl confidingly. “Were you about to say Druids?”
    The girl cast a quick glance toward the tavern’s owner and nodded. Then her gaze dropped, as if she wished to guard her thoughts. “Yes, sir, I was about to say ... them.”
    “In that case, I’m wondering if you could help us with something.”
    “O’ course, guv. Anything,” she gushed, obviously hoping for a change of topic.
    The chit’s expression turned positively puddingheaded. By her breathy “anything,” Julianne suspected the girl really meant she was ready to bear Jacob’s children.
    “So it’s true that the Druid Order frequents this fine establishment from time to time?” Jacob said.
    “Aye.” The wary look was back, like a doe sensing menace in the thicket, but not quite able to identify its source. “It’s not their regular day, ye understand.”
    “No, I suppose not, but I’m wanting to make their acquaintance,” Jacob said. “Do any of the members drop by at other times?”
    The girl shrugged and then nodded. “When they take a notion.”
    He laid a coin on the table. “If any come in while we’re here, if you could point me in their direction, there’s another guinea in it for you.”
    She scooped up the coin, her cornflower blue eyes glinting with renewed interest. Her broad smile returned. Clearly whatever trepidation she felt over the Druids’ occasional presence could be overcome with the right amount of money. “If I see any of those gents, I’ll be sure to tip ye the eye.”
    Jacob’s gaze followed her for a moment as she flounced away.
    “That’s not all she’ll tip you,” Julianne said, irritated that the thought of Mr. Preston tumbling a barmaid made her feel so waspish.
    “But it’ll do for the present,” Jacob said with a wicked grin as he hefted his pint. “To the success of our endeavor, milady.”
    Julianne clinked her mug with his. “To our timely success.” The note her anonymous buyer had left for her at her inn was unequivocal. The deadline for delivering the six daggers was set in stone.
    But that wasn’t the only thing she found troublesome about the note. The fact that it came to the Golden Cockerel for her at all, and within only a few hours of her arrival in London, meant someone was aware of her movements. She glanced around the common room again. She didn’t catch anyone at it, but she couldn’t get over the sensation that someone was watching her.
    She decided to return the favor, marking each newcomer who pushed through the front door. After a few minutes, a pair of gentlemen who stood out from the normal clientele entered the tavern.
    The shorter one was dressed in a fashionable walking suit, though the horizontal stripes on his