Minor Indiscretions (3 page)

Melody was used to sharing a room with four other girls; last night she'd shared a bed with Nanny. "I'm sure that will be fine."

"And mind, I haven't got a spare girl to be fetching and carrying for you, and I'll be too busy cooking and serving, what with all these gentlemen to feed."

Nanny puckered up her mouth as if she had swallowed a lemon. "No way I'd let some tavern wench take care of my chick." Melody quickly added another coin to the handful she rattled.

"There's some pigeon pie left from luncheon, nothing fancy. And there's always stew and a kettle on for tea. I suppose it will do, if you just stay out of the public rooms."

Nanny swore to lock the windows, put chairs across the doors, lay her body across the sill if need be, to keep her lady in and all the depraved sons of Satan out. Shaking her head, Mrs. Barstow led them down the hall past the taproom. Nanny pulled Melody's hood so far down over her eyes she couldn't see, and so as a result nearly stumbled right into a broad gentleman in a spotted Belcher tie. He put up a quizzing glass and asked, "What have we here?" He got an enlarged eyeful of Nanny's Gorgon glare and a sharp knitting needle in his breadbasket.

Mrs. Barstow hustled them through the dining room, thankfully empty now, and beyond into the kitchen where two young girls in neat aprons were peeling vegetables. Past the pantry was a half landing and there, to everyone's relief, was the door leading to a tiny sitting room with a sofa and chair, and an even smaller bedroom. Mrs. Barstow twitched a faded quilt into place on the bed, and Nanny pulled all the curtains closed. Soon there was food and blessedly hot water and Nanny's snores almost drowning out the commotion in the taproom and the rattle of pots and pans in the kitchen.

Melody spent some time trying to sponge off her cape and unsnarl her hair before lying down to nap. Her mind was too unsettled, though, and the noises were getting louder and more distracting. She wished she had her luggage from the carriage so she could change her gown, or at least retrieve one of those Minerva Press novels from her trunk. Perhaps if she could just locate Toby in the yard, she could find out how long repairs would take or if he could fetch in the bags. Mrs. Barstow was still in the kitchen, however, up to her arms in pastry dough. She waved the rolling pin in the air and gave Melody such a scowl that the younger woman scurried back to her rooms. Maybe she could spot Toby from the window and get his attention.

When she opened the curtains in the sitting room, Melody had to take her shoes off and stand on the sofa to see out, the window being so high. Because the little apartment was up a landing, she found herself looking down on the inn's rear courtyard, with stable blocks forming the other three sides to the square, and, good grief, the entire clearing was filled with shouting, shoving men! She leaped off the sofa. What if anyone looked up and saw her?

Don't be a goose, she told herself, they are all more interested in what's going on than in looking around at the scenery. Furthermore, enough of them must have seen her walking at the head of her little caravan en route to the inn for her to be a laughingstock as it was. So just what
was
going on? She hopped back up.

One man was standing in an open area at the center of the courtyard, ringed by rough wooden benches all filled with workingmen in coarse smocks sitting next to gentlemen in lace-edged linens. Behind them stood more so-called sportsmen, and in the last rows the carriages were arranged, with the Corinthians in their top hats and many-caped driving coats looking down on the proceedings from their lofty perches. Melody could not pinpoint the two racing curricles from the morning anywhere; perhaps they had landed in a ditch. She did see serving girls carrying trays of mugs, and men collecting sheaves of paper, and one person in a frieze coat making marks on a big board. And still the man in the clearing stood curiously alone.

He was an enormous man, she could see even from this distance, with a red face and black mustachio. The crowd roared when he took off his leather jerkin and shook one huge fist at them. The muscles in his arms and chest poured over each other in layers, dark, hairy, sweat-dampened layers. What an education Miss Melody was getting!

"Al-bert," the crowd chanted, "Al-bert." Albert, obviously the local favorite, circled his little clearing, waving. Then he stood, his hands on his wide hips, waiting. And waiting some more. The noises from the benches grew louder, with whistles and foot-stampings joining the shouts. Some of the men started tossing their mugs at one another. Scuffles broke out, and the serving girls ran back toward the kitchen, screeching. The man Melody identified as the innkeeper, the one wearing an apron and tearing his hair out, tried to separate the brawlers and get others back in their seats.

Then, when it looked like the inn yard would turn into a free-for-all, a stern voice that was obviously used to command called "Halt!" There was a moment of silence, and Melody could see a high-crowned beaver hat come gliding into the clearing next to Albert. It was easy to tell where the hat had come from: all heads were turned toward the back where a gentleman was standing in an elegant high-perch phaeton. He was handing his coat to his companion, untying his neckcloth as he stepped down from the carriage as casually as if he were going for a stroll in the park. He was fair-haired and tanned and, although the distance was too great, Melody just knew he was bound to be handsome, with such assurance.

The crowd took up a new chant now: "Cor-ey, Corey, Cor-ey," and she lost sight of him in the mobs. When he reappeared, he was stripped to his boots and buckskins, and Melody was right. He was beautiful. Where Albert was all hulking thew and flab, Corey was like a Greek god in a garden, rock hard, sculpted, sun kissed.

He was also inches shorter than Albert and half his girth. He was going to get killed.

As the two men squared off with their fists raised, and the chanting turned to a thunderous uproar, Melody scrambled down from her perch. She went into the bedroom where Nanny still slept, shut the door, got into bed, and pulled the quilt over her head.

«
^
»

"Here you go, my lord, nice and easy now. You can rest here, private like."

"Mmunh… wife…"

"Never you mind the missus. She's just in a pother, what with all the argle-bargle. Feared for her rug, likely, is why she kicked up a dust about me bringin' you in here. You, uh, ain't about to cast up accounts, are you?"

"Hunh…"

"Good, good. Don't worry over my Mamie. Nothin's too good for you, and I'll tell her so. Saved my bacon, you did, my lord. They would have torn the place to splinters when the Irishman didn't show. You just lie back now whilst I go send a boy off for the doctor. Be here before the cat can lick its ear. I'll fetch some towels and hot water, meanwhile. We'll have you right as a trivet, my lord, don't you fret."

"Mumunh?"

"Brandy? Of course, my lord. Nothing but the best for you."

Mr. Barstow left, and Melody checked to make sure Nanny was still sleeping. Then she tiptoed to the bedroom door and ever so quietly opened it a crack to peep out. Mr. Corey—Lord Corey, it seemed, which she should have guessed—was sprawled out on the sofa, what was left of him anyway. He had survived, but barely, from the looks of it. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead in damp curls, blood was dribbling down one brow into an eye already swelling shut, and he held a length of cloth, likely his neckpiece, over his nose. That was why she could not hear his words to the innkeeper, Melody realized, her eyes traveling lower. Lord Corey's shirt was draped over his broad shoulders, trailing in streams of blood, some dried, some not, which ran between huge red welts on his chest and down his sides. His buckskin breeches were blood spattered and torn, one knee shredded.

Melody shuddered and closed the door. Then he moaned, and she peeked out again.

Lord Corey took the cloth away from his nose—it was soaked through anyway—and muttered. "Hell and damnation," Melody could hear quite distinctly. "No reason to get blood all over the woman's couch." He levered himself up and took one cautious step toward the wooden chair before his foot skidded on something. Lord Corey fell, hitting his head soundly on the pine end table.

"Blast!" he swore, rubbing the back of his head and then grabbing for the sodden linen when his nose started gushing again. Still on the floor, Corey reached behind him for what had tripped him: Melody's slipper. "What the bloody hell—"

Melody just had to go to him. He obviously needed help, but not as much as he would need if Nanny woke up and found a half-naked man spouting blasphemy in the sitting room. Another round with Albert would be a waltz by comparison.

She only stopped to snatch up her reticule with the extra handkerchiefs and the vinaigrette Miss Meadow insisted the girls carry, before softly pulling the door shut behind her. "Ssh," Melody whispered.

"Who the—?" Only one blue eye opened, but what a sight it beheld! Lord Corey, better known as Lord Cordell Inscoe, Viscount Coe, looked up to see a shapely young woman in a high-waisted sprigged muslin gown, with dark hair that curled in red and gold flickers around soft, peach-tinged cheeks, and eyes so green they should belong to a mermaid or a forest dryad or… He held up the slipper in his hand and noted her stockinged feet. "Cinderella. Ah, and I am not dressed for the ball." To use boxing cant, Lord Coe had been tipped another settler.

He tried to rise, to gather his shirt closed, to dab at the warm blood on his upper lip. With Melody's help, he made it to the chair, but he had to sit still a moment, gasping and clutching his ribs, and her hand. Melody stared around desperately. She couldn't just leave an injured man, could she? Even Nanny must see that.

Mr. Barstow saw it when he brought a loaded tray into the room. "Lawkes, where'd she come from?"

"Heaven, my good man, heaven. Where else would an angel come from?"

"Well, there'll be hell to pay, an' my wife catches you at it."

Melody resented that. "I'll have you know, sir, that Mrs. Barstow herself was kind enough to permit me and my companion the use of these rooms." She nodded her head toward the adjoining room, as if another closed door would prove her respectability when a bare-chested man held her hand in his.

Barstow scratched his head. "I don't know. She said somethin', but with all the commotion in the kitchen…"

Corey took over. "Come now, man. I'm in no shape for anything your wife would disapprove. I only ravish maidens on Fridays. Wednesdays are my days for being beaten to a pulp. And you can see that Miss—ah, the young lady is properly reared and properly chaperoned." He, too, nodded to the other door, having no idea whatsoever who or what was behind it. "So why don't you pour me a glass of that fine brandy I see there, and then go on back to tend to all of the pub business before your clientele decides to reenact that last round in your common room?"

"But you need doctorin'. Our local sawbones might take a while to get here, it seems. Martin Reilly's wife, you know. Jake the ostler's a dab hand with injuries, howsomever. He'll be glad to strap them ribs up for you."

Corey tossed back the glass and held it out for more. "Thank you, friend, but I'll wait for the doctor."

"I got some salve for them cuts, my lord. I'll just—"

"From Jake the stableman?"

Melody was already dipping one of the towels into the can of hot water and gingerly dabbing at his forehead. "My angel's ministrations will be a lot more tender than yours, Barstow. Go feed the masses, fill the coffers." Glass broke somewhere down the hall. "Save the good bottles."

Barstow backed out of the room quickly, and Melody continued with the towels and water and salve. "I am, you know," she said quietly, pushing his head back and laying a dampened cloth across the bridge of his nose, which was still bleeding slightly.

"You are what,
mon ange
?"

"Properly reared and properly chaperoned."

"I never doubted it for a moment. Of course, I have never known a chaperone to be so accommodatingly invisible, or a debutante to go barefoot at her come-out ball—Ouch!"

"I'm sorry, my lord. Did I hurt you? I think this should be stitched. Perhaps Jake… ?"

"You've made your point, Miss—Ah, our host seems to have failed to make the formal introduction. No, don't say anything; it's all to the good. You may find the need someday to deny the association. This way I can swear I never met any Miss So and So, only a kind-hearted seraph."

"Silly, I know you are Lord Corey."

Pew people had ever called the viscount silly. Fewer had fussed over him with such sweet, selfless concern. "My friends call me Corey."

"You seemed to have a great many out there shouting for you."

"I just had better odds. The underdog, you know."

She was concentrating on getting a sticking plaster to his forehead, her tongue between her teeth. He never felt the pain. She did, and her eyes grew moist.

"What's this, Angel, tears? Don't worry, head wounds just bleed a lot."

"That's not it. All those people were
cheering
while you were getting hurt."

He touched her cheek with a bruised knuckle. "An angel, indeed." '

"No, I'm not," she said angrily, trying to get the dried blood off his chin, which she could see was very strong and square. "It's just that you were so… so… handsome is not the right word. A lot of men are handsome. You were perfect, like some kind of hero. Now look at you!"

Melody felt herself blushing. However could she have said that to him, a total stranger?

Corey had forgotten such innocence still existed. His heart thumped—or was that just a twinge from a cracked rib? He smiled as best he could with a swollen lip. "Well, I'll admit I am not a pretty sight right now, sweetheart, but I doubt any of the mess is permanent. The ribs are the worst of it, and they'll heal. I still have all my teeth, and if that doctor does a halfway decent job of stitching, there won't be much of a scar on my brow. It wouldn't be the first anyway, after the cavalry." He moved the cloth and carefully touched his nose. "Luckiest of all, my nose isn't even broken."