An Unwilling Conquest Part 11

With a disgusted grimace, she replaced the bell. She was wondering whether to tell Sire, waiting by the door, to raise his voice in summons when a large shadow blocked out what little light penetrated from the inn's nether regions. A man entered, burly, brawny--very big. His face was heavy-featured but his eyes, sunk in folds of fat, appeared merely uninterested. "Aye?"

Lucinda blinked.

"Are you Mr Blount?" "Aye."

Her heart sank.

"You're the innkeeper?" "Nay."

When no more was forthcoming, she prompted, "You're Mr Blount, but you're not the innkeeper." There was hope yet.

"Where is the Mr Blount who is the innkeeper?"

For a long moment, the burly individual regarded her stoically as if his brain was having difficulty digesting her question.

"You want Jake--m'brother," he eventually offered.

Lucinda heaved an inward sigh of relief.

"Precisely--I wish to see Mr Blount, the innkeeper."

"Wha'for?"

Lucinda opened her eyes wide.

"That, my good man, is a matter for your brother and myself."

The hulking brute eyed her measuringly, then humphed.

"Wait 'ere--I'll fetch 'im." With that, he lumbered off.

Leaving Lucinda praying that his brother took after the other side of the family. Her prayers were not answered. The man who replaced the first was equally burly, equally overweight and, apparently, only fractionally less dimwitted.

"Mr Jake Blount--the keeper of this inn?" Lucinda asked, with no real hope of contradiction.

"Aye." The man nodded. His small eyes swept her, not insolently but with weary a.s.sessment.

"But the likes of you don't want to take rooms 'ere--try the Barbican or the Rutland up the road."

He turned away, leaving Lucinda somewhat stunned. "Just a minute, my good man!"

Jake Blount shuffled back to face her but shook his head.

"Yer not the sort fol~ this inn, see?"

Lucinda felt the breeze as the inn door opened. She saw Mr Blount's eyes lift to the newcomer but was determined to retain his attention.

"No--I do not see. What on earth do you mean" --not the sort for this inn"?"

Jake Blount heard her but was more concerned with the gentleman who now stood behind her, hard green eyes on him. Gold hair, gently waved at the ends, cut in the latest style, a well-cut coat of light brown worn over buckskin breeches and Hessians so highly polished you could see your face in them, all added up to a persona Blount recognised very well, He didn't need the many- caped greatcoat that swung from the gentleman's broad shoulders, nor the patrician features and hooded eyes nor yet the tall, lean and well-muscled frame, to tell him that one of the bloods of the ton had deigned to enter his humble inn. The fact made him instantly nervous.

"Aaah..." He blinked and looked back at Lucinda.

"Not the sort who takes rooms 'ere."

Lucinda stared.

"What sort of lady takes rooms here?" Blount's features contorted.

"That's wha' I mean--no ladies. Just that sort."

Increasingly certain she had wandered into a madhouse, Lucinda stubbornly clung to her question.

"What sort is that?"

For an instant, Jake Blount simply stared at her.

Then, defeated, he waved a pudgy hand.

"Lady--I don't knows wha' you want wi' me but I got business to see to."

He lifted his gaze pointedly over her shoulder; Lucinda drew in a portent ious breath.

And nearly swallowed it when she heard a drawling voice languidly inform the recalcitrant Blount,

"You mistake, Blount. My business here is merely to ensure you deal adequately with whatever the lady desires of you."

Harry let his eyes meet the innkeeper's fully.

"And you're perfectly correct- she is not that sort."

The particular emphasis, delivered in that sensual voice, immediately made clear to Lucinda just what 'sort' had been the subject of her discussion.

Torn between unaccustomed fl.u.s.ter, mortification and outrage, she hesitated, a light blush ringing her cheeks. Harry noticed.

"And now," he suavely suggested, 'if we could leave that loaded topic, perhaps we might proceed to the lady's business? I'm sure you're breathlessly waiting to discover what it is--as am I. " Over her shoulder, Lucinda shot him a haughty glance.

"Good morning, Mr Lester." She gifted him with a restrained nod; he stood behind her right shoulder, large and rea.s.suring in the dingy dimness. He inclined his head gracefully, his features hard-edged and severe, suggesting an impatience to have her business aired. Inwardly grimacing, Lucinda turned back to the innkeeper.

"I believe you were visited recently by a Mr Mabberly, acting for the owners of this inn?"

Jake Blount shifted.

"Aye."

"I believe Mr Mabberly warned you that an inspection of your premises would shortly take place?"

The big man nodded.

Lucinda nodded decisively back.