The Redemption of Julian Price(13)

“Bugger off,” the brute growled. “The lady and I be conversin’.”

“And to think I asked nicely,” Julian drawled.

In the blink of an eye, Julian’s arm encircled her accoster’s neck in a strangle hold. Henrietta gaped as the man’s bloodshot eyes bulged. While one hand tore at Julian’s arm, the other reached into his coat pocket. Was it a weapon? Her heart leaped into her throat.

“Julian!” she cried out in warning.

Visibly tightening his hold, Julian gave a swift backward jerk that unseated the man from the bench. Food and drink took flight. The diners scattered from the table with mixed cries of outrage and indignation. Others surrounded the pair of combatants, watching gape-mouthed while one opportunistic bystander offered to place wagers on the outcome.

Before the brute could even recover his breath, Julian had planted his boot on the man’s throat, “Make one false move and I’ll crush your windpipe,” he threatened, his voice low and his expression murderous. His warm brown eyes appeared black and deadly. Who was this man? If she hadn’t known it was Julian, Henrietta might not even have recognized him.

“Now you and I shall converse,” Julian addressed his adversary as if discussing the weather. “Or better said, I will speak, and you will listen, if you wish me to remove my foot from your throat. There’s a coach in the yard departing for Newcastle. You’ll be leaving on it. Furthermore, you will depart with the knowledge that if I ever see you again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” the brute hissed spittle in answer.

“Very well.” Julian leaped back as if releasing a wild beast.

The man reacted much the same, scrambling away on all fours and slobbering like a rabid dog. Grabbing an overturned bench, he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. Eyeing Julian with sheer malevolence, he once more reached inside his pocket, this time retrieving a lethal looking blade. “No one threatens Jemmie Duncan,” he growled, tossing the knife from hand to hand.

“Be there trouble here, gents?” The innkeeper appeared just in time, cocked pistol in hand.

“Mr. Duncan was just leaving,” Julian replied blandly, seemingly unconcerned with the danger.

“Is that so?” the innkeeper replied, eyeing the knife and then training his pistol on Duncan. “Mayhap ye’d like to relieve our friend of his weapon, Mr. Price?”

Duncan’s gaze darted with hatred from one man to the other as Julian removed the knife from his hand and then slid it into his own pocket. “I believe a coach awaits departure.” Julian slipped the innkeeper some coins and nodded to the door. “Pray see that he gets on it.”

“I ain’t headed north,” Duncan growled. “I be going south to Lon’n.”

“Then you will take the scenic route via Newcastle,” Julian replied. “Now go before I put my boot to your arse.”

The innkeeper extended his hand to Duncan. “Since ye’ll not be needing that room now, be kind enough to hand over yer key.”

Glaring at Julian, the man gave it up.

The innkeeper offered it to Julian with a smile. “It looks like we have a room for ye after all, Mr. Price.”

“Thank you.” Julian accepted it with a nod. “Come, Henrietta.” He wrapped his arm protectively around her trembling body.

“Are these places usually so dangerous?” she asked, praying her legs wouldn’t give out as they climbed the narrow staircase to the rooms above.

“I’m sorry for my delay, Hen. I was trying to secure two rooms for the night, but there was nothing—until now.” He dangled the key. “As to your question, it’s always hazardous for a young woman to travel. I should not have left you alone for so long.”

“But I wasn’t alone. I had Millie,” she said.

“A maid is insufficient. A woman needs a man to protect her. I was negligent.” His arm tightened, almost crushing her ribs. “I will not make that mistake again.”

Julian opened the door to a cramped chamber containing a tiny fireplace, a table with a chipped wash basin, a straight-backed wooden chair, and a single bed. “It’s not much,” he apologized, “but it’s all they have. This is a rougher place than I had first thought, but it’s too late now to drive to another inn.”

“It’s fine,” Henrietta said. “I’m just glad to be out of the public room.” She suddenly felt dirty, as if the brute’s touch alone had soiled her. “Julian, if it’s not too much trouble, could you inquire about the availability of a bath?”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll arrange for it along with a meal. Since you desire a bath, you and Millie can take your supper here in private. I’ll take mine below stairs.”

“Will you join us after?” she asked.

“No. You and Millie will take the room. I’ll bed down in the coach.”

“But I won’t sleep knowing you are out in the cold. We can share the room,” she said.

“My dear Hen,” he replied with a dry laugh, “a coach is a luxurious accommodation compared to sleeping on the bare ground in the Pyrenees. I go now to sup. You will remain in this room with the door locked.” His gaze held hers for a moment. “That is not a request. Henrietta.”