Her legs stillprickled from where Giles had caged them with his. Strong, very strong legs. Gah. She’d tried to forget his touches and teasings, and then he’d gone and donethat. Not that she would ever complain. Given the unreasonable fear that had gripped her when she’d spotted Rafferty, his touch had been... welcome, reminding her that she was safe. However, that reminder came hand in hand with theotherreminder—his suggestion of kissing. Or teasing. Or whatever that had been. Which, quite unfairly, made her notice his lips. And she did not want to notice her husband’s lips.
Husband. You called him husband.
That inner snip again!
She took an unnecessarily large sip of her port and decided she would not think about his lips, or his legs, or how the two were conspiring against her peace of mind. All that aside, his idea to come here had been a good one.
“There’s more, you know,” Giles said. “You can take your time. No one is going to snatch away your drink.”
She shot him a glare. “I’m merely enjoying the taste.”
“How come I feel I did something wrong but don’t know what?”
So astute! “It’s nothing. I must say, of all the things I imagined for a tavern, this one is not bad.” Old. Clean. Even a bit quaint. She could most certainly glimpse a woman’s touch. “Do you know who the owner is?”
He took a sip of ale and shook his head, then motioned to the door. “We can ask Knox.”
Alyssia’s gaze dropped to the smidgeon of foam coating his upper lip before grimacing and glancing over her shoulder.
Her friend and the marquess entered, saving her from spiraling further into wayward thoughts. She waved at Annabelle, arching a brow at Annabelle’s flushed cheeks and the marquess’s annoyed look—as if he’d been forced to endure a good scolding.
“Well,” she murmured, “there’s a story there.”
Giles chuckled. “There always is.”
“Alyssia!” Her friend bounded over, taking a seat next to her, as well as a sip from her port, glancing around, wide eyes. “I cannot believe we are at the Viking’s Rose!”
Giles rose and nodded to them. “Catch up. We’ll order some more drinks.”
Alyssia watched the men make their way to the bar and lean against the counter. “You’ve heard of the place?” she asked her friend. “How have I never heard about it?”
“Oh, pish, I’ve been speaking about it for eons. It’s infamous. You just don’t care, so you don’t remember anything I say about it!”
“My apologies then,” Alyssia murmured, stealing her port back. “Is all well? Did you and the marquess quarrel?”
“What?” Her friend’s brow furrowed before clearing. “Oh, no. He is annoyed, but not at me.” Her voice dropped even though there was no one to overhear. “I’ve been hounded by the gossipmongers of the town.”
Oh, no. “Because of me?”
“Of course not! Because of your marriage.”
“Annabelle.”
Her friend waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Since they can’t hunt you down, they’re hunting me down. Don’t fret, I’m holding the fort. However, Knoxley got caught in the bit in the gossip crossfire. No doubt all the sheets will be filled with rumors of courtship.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her friend shook her head. “Don’t be. I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Plus, you sent that fox to save me.”
Alyssia arched a brow. “Fox?”
“Doesn’t he remind you of one? Seemingly innocent but cunning as the devil.”
A rake seemingly innocent? Oh, God. “Annabelle, drat. I sent a rogue to collect you!”
Her friend waved a hand again. “All men are rogues. Besides, he might be a rake, but he hasn’t earned notoriety, so...”
“That’s where you draw the line? He’s a rake but not anotoriousone?”
