Brazen and the Beast (The Bareknuckle Bastards #2)(37)

His attention shot back to her.

“Because, let me be clear, sirrah,” she said, coming off the door and heading for him without thought, unable to keep the haughty irritation from her voice. “If I were here on behalf of my lover, you’d do well to note who possesses whom in such a descriptor.”

His tight jaw slackened in the heavy silence that came on the heels of the words, but Hattie didn’t have time to be proud of the hint of his shock. She was too busy being surprised herself. She stilled, flanked by heavy casks of ale. “And besides, I have released you from the chore of ridding me of my virginity, so you may rest easy on all accounts, and tell me what it is you require so you may let me go and I may return to my well-laid plans.”

He turned away, his gaze falling to the crate once more. His shoulders rose and fell in a smooth motion, and Hattie thought she might have been dismissed.

She thought wrong. Because when he turned back to her and spoke, it was low and dark and with a promise of something absolutely devastating. And possibly very delicious. “Know this, Henrietta Sedley. Ridding you of your virginity will be no kind of chore.” He approached her in slow, smooth movements—movements that had her retreating even as the promise of his nearness thrilled her. “And if you think to renege on that part of our arrangement, you have not yet learned what it is to transact with the Bareknuckle Bastards.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and still he advanced, coming for her. Yes, please. Please come for me.

And still he spoke, more words than she’d heard him speak altogether before then. Low, lush promise. “You may not have been anywhere near the hijackings. You may not have seen a shilling of the money that the men you protect stole from us, but you are here now, and they are not, and you have put yourself in my path, and I do not lose.”

She lifted her chin. Brazened it out. “I don’t, either.”

“I saw you brandish my blade earlier, warrior.” A ghost of a smile passed over his lips then—even the hint of it dazzling. Or was it the word he used for the second time? Warrior. She would like to be that. She would like to match him in that.

As though she’d spoken aloud, he said softly, “We shall be well-matched. Here is your deal—the only one I shall agree to.”

Hattie was in over her head, at once desperate to run from this place and hole herself up in the safety of her home far from here, and eager to stand her ground and welcome this man who promised her everything for which she never knew she could ask.

“I get it all. Everything you offered. Everything I demand. Including you.” Heat flooded her, rioting over her cheeks and pooling deep in her. She gasped—how else was she to get air in this room, with him filling it like smoke, promising to burn the place down and her with it? And still, he talked. “You thought I would let you go? On the contrary. You owe me, Hattie. You owe me in his stead.”

Yes. Yes. Whatever he wanted.

He was there, now, reaching for her, the fingers of one strong hand curving at her nape, the other hand finding her waist, pulling her close. His thumb tilting her chin up. For his promise. “You owe me, and I intend to collect. In myriad ways.”

Triumph flared. She’d get it all. He’d accept the payment she offered, the return of his blades, the return of the security of his business, and Augie would tell their father that Hattie should run the business. And Hattie would finally have the life she’d planned. And, somehow, she’d get this man, too. Or at least a taste of him. She’d get his kiss and his touch and he’d show her the full experience he’d promised her the night before.

The Year of Hattie had only just begun, and it was proving to be properly auspicious.

She couldn’t help her smile.

“You like that?”

She nodded.

“You don’t know what you agree to.”

Hattie ignored the dark promise in the words. Instead, heart pounding, she came up on her toes, unable to stop herself from reaching for him. From making him keep that promise. He pulled back just before their lips touched. “Not here.”

“Why not?” The words were out before she could stop them, embarrassment hot on their tail.

“It’s not private.”

She looked about the room. “The door is closed, the light is dim, and the place is silent as the grave.” She stopped before saying outright, Kiss me, dammit.

“This is one of the most raucous taverns in Covent Garden, and will soon be filled with scores of people all waiting for the nightly entertainment. Calhoun will require access to his stockroom the moment they start to drink. It’s not private.”

Hattie had the unreasonable instinct to stamp her foot. “Then where?”

“I’ll find you when it’s time.”

She blinked. “You’re sending me home?”

“I am.”

Hattie was not a fool. She’d lived a full twenty-nine years and knew a thing or two about a thing or two, not the least of which was this: If a man was interested in tupping a woman in the taproom of a Covent Garden tavern, then he would likely get the job done there and then. Unless, of course, he wasn’t entirely interested to begin with. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“Very well.” She cleared her throat. She would not be disappointed. She certainly would not be sad. Instead, she would be irritated. Irritation seemed feasible. “You cannot seduce the name from me, if that’s what you intend. Imagining it as a possibility insults us both. I shall send you a bank draft the moment our next shipment is paid for.” She collected her shawl from the sawdust-covered floor, shook it out, and turned on her heel to head for the door.