A loud burst of raucous laughter from the main tap was enough to snap her out the sensual web he had so easily woven around her. With a curt nod she returned to the bar, snapping out his order to Bernard. She ignored his look of surprise and stomped off to deliver more ale, her mind firmly locked on the man in the side room and his reasons for being there.
She reluctantly delivered the man’s brandy and a goblet several moments later, and was turning away when her wrist was captured in a firm hold for the second time that night. Only this time Eliza felt like she’d been stung, a shiver of molten sensation swept up her arm as his fingers encased the delicate bones and skin with far too much ease. Although his hold didn’t hurt as Bernard’s had, the persistent pressure assured her that he wouldn’t let go until he wanted to. She could feel his strength and knew it was futile to struggle.
She glared at him with a defiant scowl, feeling light headed. “What?”
She jumped when Bernard appeared beside her and took the opportunity to breathe.
“Get back to work girl.” He ordered, glowering at the new customer.
“I want a few words with your wench man. Go away.” The tall man snapped, glowering at Bernard menacingly. The sudden change in the man’s demeanour was startling. While he had been speaking with Eliza, he had lost some of the hard edge of menace that clung to him. The air of authority and warning he swiftly adopted as he snapped at Bernard made him altogether more dangerous. So dangerous the burly man immediately bowed humbly, and lumbered off without a murmur.
“Have I just got you into trouble?” The rueful question drew her attention back to the man still holding her wrist and she watched as he pushed out a stool and motioned for her to join him. Clearly he wasn’t going to let her go until he had what he came for, whatever that was. Eliza tried to ignore the shimmer of awareness that trembled through her and tentatively took a seat.
“It doesn’t matter.” Eliza replied with a shake of her head and a quick glance at a rapidly retreating Bernard. “I don’t like him anyway. What do you want?” She had to admit she was curious.
Unless she was much mistaken, he was gentry. He was clean; the cut of his clothing was expensive. His voice was rich and cultured and carried an air of authority she had only heard from aristocrats. Despite the air of menace he carried with him like a warning cloak, he didn’t belong in such a humble establishment.
“I need to ask you a couple of questions.” Edward tried to keep his voice soft and unthreatening. The last thing he wanted was to frighten the young woman away. He felt he was on the edge of something major, and wouldn’t let go until he had the answers he came for.
When he had first entered the dingy tavern and studied the occupants, he had thought she was a young girl. He had spent most of the past half hour watching the inn’s raucous patrons try to grope her. The angry rebuttals she gave them had been met with ribaldry and sexual challenge. She had dealt with the situation with a stalwart determination that had been impressive. As time had passed, he realised she was considerably older than first impressions.
As she came to serve him, he had got his first good look at her. She wasn’t a girl at all; indeed she was a young woman. Somewhere in her early twenties, her face held wisdom far beyond her years. Her face held more character, more strength and determination than was common for her age. There was also an innate wariness that warned him she had experienced far more than someone of her age should, and it had made her cynical.
He wondered briefly if she took her turn upstairs, servicing the men. The thought made him intensely angry and resentful for some reason. Although she wasn’t his usual type, there was something about her that called to him and he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with it. He immediately banked out the surge of sensual awareness as she perched on the rickety stool before him.
Her lovely eyes were framed by delicately ached brows sitting on a wide forehead. Her hair was light brown, and curly. Her nose was straight, her chin tapered and her lips lavishly curved and rosy. He studied the errant lock of hair that had refused to remain confined in the tie at the base of her long, pale neck. She had spent most of the evening batting away the errant curl that although wayward, was clean and brushed. He wondered if it really was as thick as it looked, and eyed the gathered mass hanging loosely down her back.
Although slender, she wasn’t thin but well rounded. Her breasts were full and high, her thin waist flared into the hips that were neatly rounded. He wondered if her thighs were as lush as the rest of her. Her work-worn dress was clean and serviceable, and covered her luscious frame adoringly. He wanted to take it off her and see for himself.
The sudden surge of sensual images that ran through his mind were out of place for their situation and he immediately slammed the door on them; turning his attention to the matter at hand with an inward shudder.
Eliza watched, transfixed as the long fingers holding her wrist slid downwards. His hand swallowed hers in a firm clasp that was less of a threat and more of an intimate declaration.
“Let me go.” She tried to remove her hand, but his fingers tightened imperceptibly holding her still.
“Do you know of a Jemima?”
“J-Jemima?” She stammered looking around frantically, as if she expected her to pop out from under one of the tables.
Edward studied her carefully. He could feel the tightening of her fingers into her palm; a good indication that she did indeed know Jemima but was reluctant to confide in him. Briefly he considered intimidating her, but knew simply holding her hand had knocked her off kilter. If he was honest he was finding it too darned disturbing himself.
“You know her.” His soft words weren’t a question but a statement; a soft hint of challenge shimmered beneath.
Held captive by his long fingers encircling her hand and his steady gaze, Eliza remained quiet. She shifted uncomfortably intensely aware that his long fingers were slowly stroking the tender skin of her wrist. The sense of being held captive to his command grew, distractingly so.
“Why?” Eliza snatched her hand out of his gentle hold and frowned at him.
“I know someone who is looking for her.” Edward watched the myriad of emotions cross her pretty face. Alarm, confusion, worry, fear followed by wariness. He knew immediately that he had the right person. She knew something, and he had every intention of getting it out of her.
“Who?” Eliza shifted, fully aware that his dark gaze was studying her closely.
“A friend.” Edward wasn’t willing to give her any more information until she furnished him with some in return. “I need to know where she is.”
“I-I don’t know.” Eliza shook her head firmly. Was he with Scraggan?
He didn’t look like one of Scraggan’s men, but who knew the type of men Scraggan had in his employ? The man was dangerous, she knew that much. Even seated, the man had an air of menacing authority about him that made the rest of the men in the tap room sit somewhere else; preferably as
far away as possible.