“Ain’t your love,” Lottie retorted.
Oh, darling. If only you knew.
“But if you ask nicely,” she amended, “I’ll bring a drink to your table.”
He eyed the beer on her tray; it looked like piss. Nonetheless, he gave her his order and coin, and she took both with the careless aplomb of a woman who’d worked her entire life behind a bar.
His Lottie. Was there anyone else like her in the world?
He chose a booth next to Loveday and Quinton. The latticed partition gave them a false sense of privacy, or perhaps it was desperation that fueled their whispered conversation. Jack discreetly observed them through the slats.
“I’d wager my smithy that this Legg fellow knows where Tony is,” Quinton muttered.
Jack agreed. Legg’s reaction to the mention of Tony—stiffening shoulders, increased respiration, dilated pupils—gave him away. The publican knew something, all right.
“What if he won’t talk to us?” Loveday bit her lip. “Do you think we should try again?—”
“If my fool brother doesn’t want to be found, he’s sworn Legg to secrecy. Legg won’t talk unless we threaten him?—”
“Threaten?” Loveday squeaked.
“Or we can follow him.”
God save me.The last thing Jack needed was the bumbling pair of amateurs scaring off Legg when the man could lead him to Tony Quinton.
“’Ere you go, lovelies.” Lottie arrived, thumping drinks on Loveday and Quinton’s table. “Anything else I can get for you?”
“I don’t suppose you could…” Loveday peered up at her hopefully. “Get Mr. Legg to speak to us?”
“About this missing friend o’ yours? Thomas, was it?”
Jack had to respect his spouse’s smooth interrogation skills.
“Tony,” Loveday said eagerly. “He’s my, um, friend. And Mr. Quinton’s brother. Maybe you’ve seen him? He looks a bit like Mr. Quinton, but he’s younger and slimmer. He’s ever so handsome, with princely green eyes.”
“I may have seen ’im,” Lottie said after a moment.
“Where?” Quinton demanded.
“Around.” She waved vaguely.
“It is vital that we find him,” Loveday burst out. “He may be in trouble.”
“What sort o’ trouble?” Lottie enrobed her voice with appropriate wariness. “I ain’t getting involved in any shady business.”
“Some bad men are looking for him,” Miss Loveday said in quavering tones. “If we don’t find him first?—”
“Not a word more.” Quinton aimed a scowl at Lottie. “We want to talk to Legg. Can you arrange that or not?”
Lottie pretended to think it over. “All right. But it’ll cost you a quid.”
Quinton handed over the money, which the shameless minx pocketed.
“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get ’im out to the alley behind the pub,” she said.
The pair scrambled outside as if they expected to find Father Christmas there.
Lottie sauntered over to Jack’s table. Behind the concealing thicket of lashes, her gaze was sharp and serious. He guessed that she’d pieced a few things together. She deposited his tankard, leaning forward as she did so. The jiggle of her breasts momentarily distracted him.
