“That does not nearly make for as good a romantic story as the one being told.” Lizzie sighed theatrically before she sobered. “Although I am glad that you weren’t actually grappling with a toothsome predator.”
“Romantic? Why would you say that?” Eoin asked as he shot a worried look at Hannah.
“People are claiming that you tackled the beast to save your ladylove. All of us commonfolk are atwitter that a duke risked life and limb to save a coffeehouse proprietress,” Lizzie babbled on, apparently oblivious to her brother’s growing horror. Hannah didn’t mind the rumors, but she knew Eoin was worried about her nonexistent reputation.
“Has Miss Wick’s name been bandied about?” Eoin asked, his normally even voice tight with concern.
“Yes. Her ownership of the Black Sheep has made the tale even juicier, especially since the establishment was instrumental in bringing down the late Lord Hawley.” Lizzie continued to gush. “I cannot imagine how the stories will grow when they discover that you’re the son of Championess Quick. There won’t be enough seats at the amphitheater to hold the crowd!”
“Darling”—Championess Quick rested her hand on her daughter’s arm—“I believe that your brother is worried about Miss Wick.”
“Oh,” Lizzie said and turned to Hannah. “I apologize if I sounded insensitive. I’ve just never cared what anyone said about me as long as it brought in customers.”
“I am the same way,” Hannah assured her and then turned to Eoin. “And I truly mean that, Eoin. These rumors will only increase the Black Sheep’s revenue. I am not a highborn lady. Being perceived as wild and wanton will only help my business.”
The color, however, did not return to Eoin’s face. “I should never have allowed you to play the role of my mistress to aid in the investigation. I didn’t thoroughly consider the cost to you.”
Hannah strode forward and grabbed both his hands. Méibh immediately flew into an indignant rage, but fortunately, Hannah had plenty of experience with irate birds. “But that is what I am trying to tell you, Eoin. There is only gain for me. I don’t mind the tittle-tattle.”
“But what if you are propositioned or worse because of this?” Eoin squeezed her fingers. “I don’t want you harassed at the Black Sheep.”
“I know how to handle unruly customers,” Hannah promised. “There will always be that sort of man who thinks he can take liberties simply because I work for a living. The gossip doesn’t change that. Aye, the annoying attempts may increase for a time, but offensive demands are nothing new.”
“Then take the protection of the Aucourte name.” Eoin dropped to one knee, his fingers still gripping Hannah’s.
Hannah glanced over at his mother and his sister in panic. Lizzie was barely holding in her laughter while his mother’sexpression had once again gone blank. Even worse, Hannah could hear new footsteps pounding up the stairs. In less than a minute, they would find themselves invaded once more.
Hannah frantically glanced back at Eoin. She understood the reasons behind his sudden action, but no woman wanted to be proposed to in this manner. Hannah could only feel uncomfortable embarrassment… and perhaps an underlying confusion as to her own desires. She yearned for this man on an elemental level, but did she want the life that he offered?
“Eoin, perhaps we should discuss this in priv—”
“Unhand my daughter, you blackguard!” A familiar voice rang through the ancient tower.
Her hands still gripped by Eoin’s, Hannah whirled toward the doorway. Sure enough, her father was wedging himself through the narrow opening.
“Papa!” Hannah cried out, unable to fully grasp what her own eyes were telling her. But even as her mind scrambled to understand, her heart immediately recognized with each frantic thump that the situation was not good. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the Caribbean!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Papa?Eoin glanced frantically from Hannah to her apparent father and then back again. The two shared little resemblance. He was a handsome fellow, but in a more rugged way than Hannah’s classic beauty. His hair—threaded liberally with silver—must have been a dark brown in his youth. And while his eyes were lighter like Hannah’s, his irises were a striking cornflower blue with nary a hint of green.
Yet both father and daughter carried themselves in the exact same manner—with a boldness that would not yield to anyone or anything. Neither hid their feelings but permitted them to flow unabashedly even in the presence of strangers.
And right now, the emotion rushing from Mr. Wick was not just exceedingly palpable but also very easy to identify. Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. The kind that only a parent protecting their young could muster.
Had the man heard the rumors swirling through London? Had he come posthaste to demand that Eoin take responsibility? If so, Eoin was already down on one knee.
“As long as your daughter accepts my troth, I will happily marry her.” Eoin forced the words out as quickly as he could, as he debated whether he should rise to greet his potential father-in-law or, if given the circumstances, it was more polite to remain kneeling.
“Unhand my daughter this instant and get to your bloody feet, so I can properly beat some sense into you, you young, insolent whelp.”
“I am proposing,” Eoin frantically tried to explain. “You do not need to force me—”
“Force you? Are you daft, you great nob? I don’t want my daughter wedding a stinking Aucourte.”
“Pa—pardon?” Eoin asked, thoroughly confused.
“Papa, please calm yourself,” Hannah said. “Eoin is only—”
