“I don’t try to use him for what he might give me.”
That earned her a pouty lip and the heavy sigh of the vastly annoyed. “Well, you can’t blame me for the attempt. He said he’d marry me, that he had to marry an actress one way or the other to save face. I didn’t realize at the time how drunk he was. He has no intention of marriage.”
“And you were certainly going to take him up on his offer? Whether you knew him or not?”
Jess shrugged. “I had to try. It’s difficult for a woman to make her way in this world. You know that.”
Before Kate could answer, there came a loud sound, almost like furniture being thrown. Men began shouting.
Kate and Jess both rushed inside to see what was going on. There was a short entrance and then a doorway that opened into the taproom. The other patrons, mostly men, had gathered there. Kate pushed her way to the front with Jess on her heels.
A table and a few chairs had been overturned. Brandon stood against a rough-hewn rock wall. He ducked when Winderton threw a wild fist at him that breezed the air and landed squarely into stone and mortar.
The duke’s howl of pain was almost frightening.
“Do you see what I mean?” Jess said without an ounce of sympathy. “How do you put your own fist into a wall?”
Neither Bran nor the witnesses were particularly concerned. Of those in the inn, some snickered, one cringed, and the rest appeared irritated for having their evening disturbed.
Overhearing Kate and Jess, a gentleman explained, “I was sitting at my table eating a good stew when that drunkard threw table, bowl, stew, and all at that man there.” He pointed to Brandon who was busy handling his nephew.
“My hand,” the duke complained. He looked as foul as Kate was certain he smelled. His hair was mussed, his jaw unshaven, and the sleeves of his jacket were torn at the seams. She knew that when he had approached her earlier in the day to make his declaration, he’d already been well into his cups. Now he was even worse.
“We will have Thurlowe look at it when we return home,” Brandon answered calmly.
“It hurts.”
“Broken bones do,” was the crisp reply.
“Broken?” Winderton’s eyes widened with alarm. “Will I lose the use of it? Can I ride? What will happen?”
Brandon looked down at his nephew with long-suffering disgust. “What will happen? You will heal and hopefully not be so ridiculous again.”
“I will be fine?” The duke’s words were a bit slurry.
“Well, you might have a crooked finger or two,” Brandon answered.
That information threw Winderton into a lather and Kate had to smile. There was so much to love about Brandon. She would have handled the duke in the same manner.
Meanwhile, Brandon singled out the inn’s owner. “We need food—” He looked to Kate and then to Jess. “For the four of us. I will pay for that gentleman’s meal to be replaced as well.” He indicated the one who had complained of having his meal interrupted.
“And my ale?” the man demanded.
To the innkeeper, Brandon patiently said, “And his ale. In fact I will pay for ale for everyone in the room with the exception of this one.” He pointed to Winderton who held his injured hand gingerly in his other, a horrified and dazed expression on his face.
“I am thirsty,” the duke said.
“Bring him water,” Brandon answered.
“Men don’t drink water,” his nephew countered.
“You do now.”
The other patrons laughed their agreement.
One young man, a shy one, sidled up to Jess and asked, “Are you all right, miss?”
“She’s fine,” Kate answered before Jess could respond. That earned her an evil look from her actress. Kate almost chuckled. Yes, she and Brandon were very much of a like mind when it came to this runaway couple.
