When she reached Amelia’s eyes, she flinched. There was a reason Amelia had been the second most terrifying unmarried lady of theton. A simple arched brow could be more cutting than a dozen words if one practiced. Even a cow herder from the back end of nowhere knew what that look meant.
Benedict cleared his throat. “Two ales and the usual for lunch please, Winny.”
With a small sniff, the barmaid left, but her walk back to the bar was at a much faster clip than her earlier saunter over.
“Ale?” Surely he was teasing her. He might not move in her circles, but everyone knew that ladies drank orgeat. Madeira if they needed something stronger. Port only if the men weren’t home and wouldn’t notice.
Benedict’s smile held a deliberate challenge. “There’s a first time for everything. Be brave.” He lounged back in his chair, as if he were perfectly at home in this den of tawdriness.
Amelia remained upright with as little contact with the furnishings as possible. “I hardly see how drinking requires courage.”
“Then there shouldn’t be any problem, should there?”
“Hmph.” More and more people were entering the bar—a surprisingly diverse array. Some were dirt-stained and clearly just in from the fields. Others wore simple but clean attire that marked them as men of business of some sort. In the corner of the room were a handful of women yabbering away as they mended clothing.
“So this is where you go when you’re not at work and not at home.”
“Yes.”
Edwina returned to put two large mugs of a dark-looking liquid in front of them. There was no flirting this time. In fact, the girl looked like she couldn’t get away fast enough.
“I can see the appeal,” Amelia muttered as the girl tripped away, her hips swinging.
“Jealous?” Benedict grinned.
“Should I be?”
“Not in the least.” There was fire in his eyes, and wherever he looked, her skin burned. He didn’t say anything, but it was clear he was thinking about the previous night, the things he’d done to her in the bath. She grabbed the mug in two hands, grateful for any distraction, and took a big mouthful.
Good grief.
She forced herself to swallow it and pushed the mug away, her eyes burning. “Ugh. That is horrid.”
Benedict laughed. “It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? It’s like I knelt down and licked a London sidewalk.”
Benedict laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that vibrated through her chest. He signaled for some water, which she gulped down thankfully.
In the corner, a fiddler took the stage and began to play a tune.
“What’s this?” she asked. “I feel like I’ve heard it before.”
“Haydn. Sun Quartet,” Benedict said. “One of my mother’s favorites.”
“I’ve never heard it played like this. Are all pub musicians so talented?” The tiny man on the stool had as much focus as some of the greatest musicians she’d seen at Hanover Square. He played with his whole body, from feet firmly planted on the floor as if he’d take flight if he moved them, to the dip and turn of his torso. He was magnificent.
“Would it shock you if they were all talented?”
“A little,” she replied dryly.
Benedict frowned. “When one’s life is dirt and sweat, you could argue that beauty is far more appreciated than it is by someone who is surrounded by it all the time.”
“But beauty is often the product of time and training, things the lower classes have much less of.”
“And whose fault is that?” he said.
“Not mine, if that’s what you’re implying.”
