“I am looking for someone,” she repeated, punctuating each word with a poke as the man grimaced. “And I suspect it is not you.”
Griffith had to admire her even as he anticipated how the man, and his companions, would react.
Sure enough, the man’s table companions rose, their postures clearly indicating violence. There were far too many of them to take out just with a chair. He’d have to try diplomacy. If that failed, he’d upend a few tables.
“Now, gentlemen,” Griffith began, walking toward the scene as he held his hands out in a placating manner, “there’s no need to make a fuss. The lady—”
The man grabbed the hatpin and pushed it back toward her, even as she struggled to keep it pinned in him. It must have hurt, Griffith had to admit.
“Stay out of it,” the man interrupted without glancing at Griffith.
“I cannot,” Griffith said, stepping up and grasping the pin, yanking it out from the man’s hand. Well, diplomacy and his own size and strength. “I will see to the young lady, and help her find who she’s looking for. There is no need for you to bother yourself any longer.” Sometimes there was a benefit to forever championing the underdog in a lopsided fight. Now he could get a better look, see if she was as beautiful as he thought.
The man opened his mouth as though to argue, then looked up—and up—at Griffith’s height and breadth and apparently thought better of it. He nodded at his companions, all of whom lowered themselves slowly back down into their seats.
Griffith exhaled. It wasn’t that he was dreading a fight, but it would be a shame to waste some of his precious free time busting sailors’ heads.
“And who are you?” she asked in a haughty tone of voice, turning her gaze to Griffith. Unlike the man, she didn’t seem intimidated at all by his size. That was a surprise; most people at least blinked twice when they saw him. Plus, he had just rescued her from an unpleasant situation. The very least he could expect would be some gratitude.
None appeared to be forthcoming.
She was as beautiful as he’d suspected; dark hair swept up underneath her hat, a few enticing strands falling down around her face. Her eyes were dark also, with delicate eyebrows that were raised in question. Her nose was perfect, and her mouth—her lips were full and red, and she had a mole to the right of her mouth that seemed, to Griffith, at least, a visual marker for where his own mouth should start kissing her.
Griffith took his hat off, sweeping low into a bow, as genteel and respectable as he’d been taught so many years ago. “Captain Griffith Davies, at your service. I would be glad to assist you if you can tell me who you’re looking for?”
Her expression was puzzled, and then it cleared as she whacked him hard on the arm. He was definitely not expecting that reaction. “You’re Lord Viscount Whateverhisname! You’re the person I’m looking for!”
Griffith hadn’t heard anyone reference his title in so long he nearly opened his mouth to deny it. Then realized he couldn’t, because it was true.
She was about to speak again when the door opened and a phalanx of men poured in, all wearing the garb of the Royal Navy Police.
Griffith did not think they were here for the ale. He positioned himself in front of the lady in an unconscious need to protect her. Was she wanted by the authorities? Was that why she was here, attempting to hide out?
“Captain Davies!” one of the policemen said, sweeping his gaze over the pub’s inhabitants. “We need to speak with Captain Davies.”
“You need to speak with me?” Griffith said, his tone skeptical. Because while he suspected they weren’t here to drink, he hadn’t thought they might want him. But perhaps this was the day when everyone came to this pub looking for him.
Maybe Queen Victoria herself would show up eventually. And he’d have a word with her about ensuring there was enough beer on board her ships. Not to mention discussing what proper procedure should be.
Two of the men went to either side of him, taking his arms. Hm. They did not want him for a polite conversation, then. Unless they were determined to have his full attention. And he could have told them a full pitcher of beer and a large soft chair could have done just as well.
He glanced from one to the other, considering whether he should shake them off. He could do it, but it would likely just be postponing the inevitable. And he’d hate to wake Clark up just for something like this.
The man who’d spoken pushed through to step in front of Griffith, his face blanching as he looked up. “You’re Captain Davies?”
Griffith bowed, at least as much as he was able to, given that his arms were being held. “At your service. What’s this about?”
“As though I have a choice,” Griffith muttered. His improper procedure must have drawn the ire of Her Majesty’s Navy. He’d like to have a word with Her Majesty even more. It was unfortunate the Queen wasn’t waltzing into disreputable pubs brandishing hatpins.
He glanced toward the lady who had done just that, nodding in her direction. “Perhaps we can schedule another time to speak, my lady. As you can see, I am somewhat busy at the moment.” He winked as her eyes narrowed.
About the Author
MEGAN FRAMPTON writes historical romance under her own name and romantic women’s fiction under the name Megan Caldwell. She likes the color black, gin, dark-haired British men, and huge earrings, not in that order. She lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband and kid. You can visit her website at www.meganframpton.com. She tweets as @meganf and is at facebook.com/meganframptonbooks.
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By Megan Frampton
The Duke’s Daughters
The Lady Is Daring
Lady Be Reckless
Lady Be Bad
Dukes Behaving Badly
My Fair Duchess
Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?
One-Eyed Dukes Are Wild
No Groom at the Inn (novella)
Put Up Your Duke
When Good Earls Go Bad (novella)
The Duke’s Guide to Correct Behavior
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Never a Bride copyright © 2019 by Megan Frampton.
first edition
Digital Edition OCTOBER 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-266666-6
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-266667-3
Cover illustration by Gregg Gulbronson
Cover photograph by Shirley Green Photography
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HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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