The Secrets Of Catie Hazard. Miranda Jarrett

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СКАЧАТЬ my lord?” taunted Zeb, mimicking Catie. “’Feared you’ll soil yourself, are you, my lord?”

      At last Anthony’s smile vanished, his dark brows coming together in a single line as he guided Catie to the side and out of the way.

      “Mind yourself, pet,” he ordered, swiftly shrugging his arms free from his jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. “This will be but the work of a moment.”

      “But Mr. Sparhawk, sir, you’ll—”

      “It’s Anthony, sweet, just Anthony. None of this mistering between us.” The quick, fleeting grin, almost boyish, was for her alone, as was the selfmocking wink. “Not now, and certainly not later.”

      “Anthony, is it?” taunted Zeb, shifting back and forth on his feet in anticipation. “Ah, Anthony’s such a right manly name!”

      From the corner of her eye, Catie saw Ben Hazard come trotting across the room, his round face puckered with anxious concern. No wonder, thought Catie— they all knew how dearly the last fight Zeb began had cost the tavern in broken crockery and chairs. And if the board that granted the keepers’ licences learned that a party of Newport’s finest young gentlemen had been injured here in a brawl, then the Crossed Keys could be ruined forever.

      “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!” cried Ben, his hands outstretched in his most conciliatory manner, to include both Zeb and Anthony. “Surely we can consider other, more peaceful ways to settle this dispute, eh?”

      With a frown, Anthony glanced his way, and in that fraction of a second of inattention Zeb lashed out, his huge bunched fist flying through the air so fast that Catie shrieked. But though Zeb was fast, Anthony’s reflexes were even faster. Suddenly Zeb buckled over, his arms flailing ineffectually as he gasped for breath, Anthony standing over him with his legs widespread and scarcely a single gold hair disarranged. With an indignant roar, one of Zeb’s friends seized a spindleback chair and swung it at Anthony, who twisted and ducked as Jon Sparhawk lunged forward. Amid the crash of splintered wood, the three of them toppled to the floor in a tangle of flailing arms and legs, knocking over a table and sending spoons flying and bottles and plates shattering.

      “Catie, here!” shouted Rebeckah, dodging forward to grab Catie’s hand and pull her clear. “Quick now, come with me!”

      She shoved Catie over the counter of the bar and scrambled after her, slamming the grate back down for extra protection.

      “Zeb and the others will kill those gentleman, I know it!” cried Catie as she and Rebeckah crouched together on the floor behind the bar, listening to the barrage of oaths and grunts and breaking wood.

      “Nay, they won’t, not by half.” Unperturbed, Rebeckah eased the cork from the bottle of brandy she’d filched from the bar and drank deeply. “Gentry or common-bred, most men be the same as curs in the street when it comes to a good scrape.”

      “But they’re—”

      “No, they ain’t,” said Rebeckah flatly. “I told you them Sparhawks’d come down here for a bit o’ sport, an’ by Mary, they found it with Zeb an’ his lads.”

      Unconvinced, Catie wrinkled her nose and tried not to imagine what was happening to Anthony Sparhawk’s beautiful face. She’d seen too many fights not to.

      Rebeckah cackled and poked Catie in the side. “But what the devil were you about, setting that gentleman off like that?”

      “I did no such thing!” said Catie indignantly. She shielded her head with her arms as an empty bottle struck the grate above them and bits of slivered glass showered down. “I only went to that table because you dared me! You saw how it was!”

      “Oh, aye, else I never would have believed it. Plain Miss Priss teasin’ them Sparhawks into takin’on Zeb.” Rebeckah shook her head as she took another long swallow of the brandy, then frowned as she cocked her head toward the door. “There come the watchmen. That’ll put an end to th’ sport for tonight, and us left to do the tidyin’.”

      At the sound of the harsh wooden rattle carried by the night watch, the sounds of the fight abruptly ended, replaced by running footsteps and shouted warnings as the combatants—and the customers—fled. Quickly Catie rose to peek through the grate, eager to see how Anthony had fared.

      “That pretty man be long gone,” said Rebeckah, rising more slowly as she recorked the brandy and slid it into her pocket with a fond pat. “Nor will he show his face round here again. His sort never do. Nay, by morn he’ll forget he was even here, save for the bumps an’ scrapes.”

      Forlornly Catie saw that Rebeckah was right. The taproom was empty, the floor littered with splintered furniture, puddles of spilled drink, and smashed dishes. Even the tavern’s most prized possession, the colored engraving of the king, swung crazily from its single nail over the fireplace. Catie tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter, but, miserably, she knew she was lying.

      “Best forget him, same as he’s done with you,” advised Rebeckah philosophically. “Besides, you’re headed for trouble enough. Here comes ol’ Ben, an’ he don’t look pleased.”

      One look at Ben Hazard’s furious face, his cheeks livid and his thin lips pressed tightly together, and Catie knew with a sinking feeling that Rebeckah was right once again.

      “Rebeckah, go to the kitchen and fetch cloths and pails to clean up this wretched mess,” he ordered with an angry flick of his hand. “Nay, Catie Willman, you stay. I’ve words to say to you.”

      With obvious relief, Rebeckah scurried off, leaving Catie to face Ben’s wrath alone. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, sir,” she began uneasily, “and if that’s what—”

      “For God’s sake, girl, have you no wits?” With disgust he pulled off his wig and slapped it on the counter. “This—this shambles is the least of my trouble this night! I thought we had an understanding, Catie.”

      “An understanding, sir?” said Catie faintly.

      “Aye, Miss Cate, and don’t pretend we didn’t. Before this, I’d believed that by your interest in this trade and your willingness to work at it you would be equally willing to share the profits, as well as the toil.”

      “Forgive me, Master Hazard, but I do not—do not follow you.” It was exactly, horribly, as Rebeckah had predicted, the only role for plain, dutiful Catie Willman.

      Ben sniffed and scowled and twisted his mouth to one side. “How can I make it more clear, Catie? A tavern needs a woman’s eye to make it respectable and prosper, and I judged you able to fill that role. I’ve grand plans, Catie, enough to make us both proud. But the wife of a tavern owner must be a sober, hardworking woman, and after tonight—”

      “The wife?” repeated Catie, her voice turning suddenly squeaky. “But you haven’t asked for me, any more than I’ve agreed to accept you!”

      “If I haven’t spoken before this, it was because I did not feel such idle words were necessary between us.” Impatiently he thrust his fingers through his wispy hair, still matted flat by his wig. “Be honest, Catie. What better offer are you likely to have?”

      Tears of frustration stung her eyes. If she was honest with herself, the way Ben asked, then she’d have to admit that his offer was a handsome СКАЧАТЬ