Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(61)

That night Nick took her to a theatrical tavern where music and comical acts were staged to draw in customers. Located in Covent Garden, the Vestris-named after a once-popular Italian opera dancer-was a meeting ground for theatrical folk, slumming nobles, and all manner of colorful characters. The place was dirty and reeking of wine and smoke, the floor so sticky that Lottie was in danger of walking right out of her shoes. She crossed the threshold with reluctance, as young women of quality were never seen in such places unless in the company of their husbands-and even then it was highly questionable. Nick was immediately hailed by the occupants of the tavern, many of them appearing to be complete ruffians. After a brief interval of backslapping and an exchange of friendly insults, Nick took Lottie to a table. They were served a dinner of beefsteak and potatoes, a bottle of port, and two mugs of something called "heavy wet."

Although Lottie had never eaten in public before and felt absurdly self-conscious, she gamely attacked a beefsteak that could easily have served a family of four. "What is this?" she asked, gingerly taking her mug and peering into the foaming brown depths.

"Ale," Nick replied, resting his arm along the back of her chair. "Try some."

Obediently she took a sip of the thick grain-flavored beverage, and her entire face wrinkled in distaste. Laughing at her expression, Nick told a nearby barmaid to fetch her some gin punch. More patrons crowded into the building, mugs were clanked heavily on the battered wooden tables, and barmaids moved busily among the crowd with large pitchers.

At the front of the tavern, a comic musical ditty was being performed by a slender woman wearing men's clothing and a portly gentleman with a luxuriant moustache who was dressed as a country maid, with a huge false bosom that swayed from side to side as he moved. As the "lad" chased the "maid" around the tavern, singing a soulful love song that praised her beauty, the place erupted in bellows of laughter. The sheer silliness of the performance was impossible to resist. Tucked against her husband's side, with a cup of astringent gin punch in her hands, Lottie tried without success to stifle a fit of giggles.

More performances followed...bawdy songs and dances, comic verse, even a display of acrobatic tumbling and juggling. The hour grew late, the corners of the tavern became shadowy, and in the relaxed atmosphere, more than a few couples began to indulge in some indiscreet fondling and kissing. Lottie knew that she should have been shocked, but the gin punch had made her sleepy and thickheaded. She discovered that she was sitting on Nick's lap, her legs tucked between his, and that the only reason she was able to sit upright was the fact that his arms were around her.

"Oh, dear," she said, staring into her nearly empty cup. "Did I drink all of that?"

Nick took the cup from her and set it on the table. "I'm afraid so."

"Only you could undo my years of training at Maidstone's in one evening," she said, making him grin.

His gaze lowered to her mouth, and he traced the edge of her jaw with his fingertip. "Are you completely corrupted now? No? Then let's go home, and I'll finish the job."

Feeling unsteady and very warm, Lottie giggled as he guided her through the tavern. "The floor is uneven," she told him, leaning hard against his side.

"It's not the floor, sweetheart, it's your feet."

Pondering that, Lottie glanced from his amused face to her own feet. "They do feel as if they've been put on the wrong legs."

Nick shook his head, his blue eyes gleaming with laughter. "You have no tolerance for gin, do you? Here, let me carry you."

"No, I don't wish to be a spectacle," she protested as he lifted her against his chest and carried her out to the street. Catching sight of them, a waiting footman hurried to the end of the street, where their carriage waited in a long row.

"You'll be more of a spectacle if you fall on your face," Nick replied.

"I'm not that far gone," Lottie protested. However, his arms were so solid and his shoulder so inviting that she snuggled against him with a sigh. The slightly musky scent of his skin mingled with the crisp smell of starch from his necktie, a blend so alluring that she inched closer to inhale deeply.

Nick stopped by the side of the street. His head turned, his shaven cheek brushing hers and making her skin tingle. "What are you doing?"

"Your smell..." she said dreamily. "It's wonderful. I noticed it the first time we met, when you nearly knocked me off the wall."

A laugh stirred in his throat. "I saved you from falling, you mean."

Intrigued by the scratchy texture of his skin, Lottie pressed her lips beneath his jaw. She felt him swallow hard, the movement rippling against her mouth. It was the first time she had ever made an advance to him, and the small gesture was surprisingly effective. He stood there holding her tightly, his chest rising and falling in increasingly labored breaths. Intrigued by the notion that she could arouse him so easily, Lottie tugged at the knot of his necktie and kissed the side of his throat.

"Don't, Lottie."

She drew the tip of her fingernail over the hair-roughened skin, scraping delicately.

"Lottie..." he tried again. Whatever he had intended to say was forgotten as she kissed his ear and took the lobe between her teeth in a soft bite.

The carriage stopped before them, and the footman busied himself with setting out the removable step. Schooling his features into a blank mask, Nick thrust Lottie inside the carriage and climbed in after her.