Page 76 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

“Because this place is considered respectable. It’s cozy, friendly to families, and generally safe for a woman to stay. If Laura went to Scotland, it’s ten to one that she stopped here. It seems a good place to ask questions about her.”

“And I can help!” Thalia chirped.

Christian gave her a fond smile. “You certainly can. However, as I said, it is a respectable place. You and I will have to be either married or related. Which shall it be?”

She cleared her throat, tossing back her hair. “Well, we don’t look like we’re related, do we?”

He grinned. Her face looked calmer somehow, almost younger. With her drab cloak, ordinary dress, and sensible boots, she looked like nothing more than a respectable woman. Not a lady, not the sister of a marquess.

For his part, Christian had been careful to dress in plain clothes, too. A simple suit, no cravat pin, his cravat tied in an ordinary knot. He’d even chosen not to style his hair. After all, it would do no good to arrive at the place looking resplendent, like a duke.

He had to be subtle. He had to go unnoticed.

“Wife it is, then,” he said shortly.

He extended his hand. She took it, and together they stepped over the threshold.

The Highland Road was a pleasant, cozy pub. The rafters, low and cobwebbed, nearly brushed Christian’s head when they stepped inside.

A plump woman in a gravy-stained apron came bustling forward, beaming.

“Welcome, welcome, weary travelers!” she said with the air of one embarking on a well-rehearsed speech. “Where are you off to? The cold north? The rugged Highlands? Or just visiting family in the Midlands?”

“Visiting family,” Christian said smoothly, flashing her a smile.

It was technically a lie, and he hadn’t said where they were going, but the woman seemed content enough with that.

“Of course, of course,” she said, nodding sagely. “Come, make yourselves comfortable. Take a seat! Ah, is this your lovely lady-wife? I certainly hope it is,” she added, the smile never leaving her face, “because we don’t allow fraternizing here. London and its filth are just on the doorstop, and we must not let it inside.”

“Naturally,” Christian agreed. “This is my wife, of course. We hoped to take a room for the night.”

“Of course. And supper?”

“That would be nice. Is that stew I smell? It seems delicious.”

The woman reddened with pleasure. She was already casting thoughtful little glances up at him, smiling and twisting a lock of hair that had slipped from beneath her old-fashioned mob-cap.

“Why, it is, sir,” she gushed. “My own recipe. A simple, hearty beef stew. The bread is fresh. Also cooked by me, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed, smiling.

“Let me show you to a seat,” she fluttered, sparing a tight smile for Thalia and a bigger one for him.

She gestured, and he followed her through the half-full pub to the back, where a few small booths were set in a curtained alcove. That was perfect. It allowed for a little extra privacy, so he could take a look at the pub’s patrons without drawing attention to himself.

At least, he hoped he would not draw attention to himself.

He and Thalia sat down on either side of a square, gritty table with dirt ingrained into the wood. The woman officiously wiped the surface and threw him one last smile before prancing away, promising to fetch beers.

“I think she likes you,” Thalia observed wryly.

He smirked. “Why not? I am charming.”

“You think you are charming. It’s not the same thing.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. For a moment, he simply watched her.

Thalia gingerly pushed back her hood and pulled her braid over her shoulder, tugging at it. The cold night air had left a flush in her cheeks and a spark in her eyes. She glanced around the pub, bright-eyed and curious, looking at everything.