He waited for the usual sense of shame to din his senses. His mood did not dim. Was it the worst thing in the world not to be a marquess? Hopkins-Smitty-Smithy-Spitts here seemed to be doing well, thank you very much.
And since Bromton had given up airs and decided to join the other men, he’d been having amarrrrvleloustime.
He felt another tug to his breeches. The serving woman—he drew his brows together—Lizzy!Hername, he remembered. He smiled. She was serving-woman-Lizzy-who-brewed-fine-tipple, and, her lips were moving. He concentrated until her message penetrated his gin-soaked brain.Ah, yes. His room was ready.
A pint, a room, and a basin. That’s why he’d come into The Pillar in the first place. He’d accomplished the pint part. Accomplished? No, he’dobliteratedthat goal. He closed his eyes, imagining the sensation of splashing warm water against his skin. Yes, indeed. On occasion, he had thebestideas. But to get upstairs he’d have to first get down off the table.
He put his hands on his knees and leaped down. He tottered for just a moment but managed to stay upright—much to the glee of his newfound friends. They hoisted their tankards.
“Huzzah for the Marquess of Bromton!” Smitty-Spitts said.
“Huzzah!” the men answered.
“Huzzah!” he repeated, before tossing back his last swallow. Part of it, anyway—his shirt absorbed the better amount.
“A good rest will do you.” Lizzy looped her arm through his and then led him to the stair. “I assume you want to get nice and clean before you return to your betrothed.”
Damn. His betrothed. His betrothed was decidedly something—someone—he should not have forgotten. He hadn’t forgotten. Not really. He could never forget Katherine. Not after the rain-drenched kiss they’d shared. He’d just drowned out the curse that had been ringing in his ears.
Lizzy stopped at the base of the stairs. He swayed a moment and grasped the baluster for support.
“Absolutely, Lizzy. Mussst get back to my be-betrothed. Observant you are.” He leaned close to Lizzy’s ear. “Shetold meIwas observant.”
“His betrothed?” asked Smitty. “You’ll be in right trouble if there’s abetrothedinvolved.”
“Leave him alone, Smitts,” said Lizzy.
Smitts. Ah, that was it. He nodded toward Smitts.
“I’m not in trouble. Why-shud-I-be?” Funny how the words all ran together. He tried again. “Why-shou-I.” Hopeless. “Lady Katherine doesn’t even,” he hiccupped, “know I have returned.”
“Ohhh, Lady Katherine!”
“Better luck than the other gents.”
He frowned. Had that man even been present a moment ago?
“You’ll need it.”
The clank of tankards sounded on all sides.
Bromton shook his headno. “Shouldn’t talk about the lady like that.” His threatening advance was halted by Lizzy.
“Leave ’em be,” she said. “You are all drunk. Now, up to the room with you.”
“Felicitations,” Smitty called.
See? He’d known that one was a good fellow.
When they reached the top stair, Lizzy turned him toward a long corridor.
“Lizzy, you have fine hospitably…hostility.” That certainly wasn’t right. “Well, you know.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I know.”
She guided him past several doors before stopping at the one farthest from the stairs. He leaned against the wall for support while her keys jangled.
His brain had gone right mossy. He frowned. Yesterday, he’d gone to London to obtain a special license and a ring. He patted his waistcoat pocket to a reassuring crinkle. This morning—he scowled—this morning he’d made a dreadful mistake. And now…
