Last Night's Scandal by Loretta Chase Page A

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    the windows. The dining room was a-bustle. The rain must have delayed a number of travelers, and they were all hungry. Those eager to be on their way hastily swallowed their food and departed. Even so, the room was more crowded than it had been a few hours earlier. Busy servants rushed in and out, carrying trays.
    Meanwhile, one male voice continued shouting, and the mood of the room was growing ugly. The innkeeper having failed to take charge, a fracas was brewing.
    Normally Olivia wouldn’t have minded. A melee could be exciting. The trouble was, it usually led to authorities being summoned. That would mean a long delay, which she preferred to avoid.
    All this went through her mind while she sized up the source of the disturbance.
    A stout sandy-haired young man, who must have been drinking all night, was pounding on the table where Olivia had last left the ladies. By the looks of the table, they’d emptied mine host’s wine cellar as well as his larder and his guests’ pockets.
    “You cheated!” the drunkard shouted. “I saw you do it!” Lady Cooper rose from her chair. “If there’s anything I can’t abide,” she said, “it’s a sore loser. Cheating, indeed.”
    “Now, now, Mr. Flood, sir,” said the innkeeper. “It’s only a little game—”
    “Little game! This pair robbed me of fifty pounds!”
    “Robbed you, indeed,” said Lady Withcote. “It’s not our fault you can’t hold your liquor.”
    “And can’t see straight,” said Lady Cooper. “And can’t tell a knave from a king.”
    “Not our doing,” said Lady Withcote, “if your mind’s too muddled to remember the cards in your own hand.”
    “I saw well enough to see you cheat, you thieving old hags!”
    “Hags?” shrieked Lady Withcote.
    “I’ll hag you, you sotted moron,” said Lady Cooper. “Why, was I a man—”
    “Was you a man, I’d knock you down!” the young man shouted.
    Olivia pushed her way through the crowd.
    “Ladies, come away,” she said. “The man is obviously out of his senses, else he wouldn’t behave in this ungentlemanly manner, threatening harmless women.” Face red, the young drunkard whirled round toward her. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
    Olivia often had this effect on men seeing her for the first time. He was very drunk but not blind.
    Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she tried to herd the ladies out of the room.
    To her annoyance, he recovered quickly.
    “Oh, no, you don’t!” he shouted. “They got me drunk and took advantage and robbed me, and they won’t get away with it! I’m taking them to magistrate and I’ll see them carted and flogged for it!” He picked up a chair and threw it at a wall. “I want my money!” The threat did not alarm her. Any Dreadful DeLucey could make a magistrate putty in her hands. But Olivia was in no mood to beguile magistrates or waste time calming obstinate, obnoxious men.
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    She’d spent the last two days in a frenzy of preparation—all for the sake of a stubborn, rude, idiot male. She’d scarcely fallen asleep before being wakened on account of yet another obstinate, rude, idiot male.
    She was tired and hungry and the man she’d considered her best friend had turned out to be exactly like every other thickheaded man.
    “You, sir,” she said, in the cold, clipped accents her stepfather used to crush upstarts and ignoramuses. “You have insulted these ladies. You will apologize.” He paused in the act of picking up another chair. He set it down and stared at her. “ What?”
    The onlookers’ grumbling and muttering subsided.
    “Apologize,” she said.
    He laughed. “To them battle-axes?” He jerked a dirty thumb at her companions. “Are you daft?”
    “Then choose your weapon,” she said.
    “ What? ”
    “Choose,” she said. “Pistols or swords.”
    He looked about the