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He smiled, his gaze teasing. “Well, that is not a surprise. No doubt your novels made this a romantic place to meet highwaymen, who, of course, are handsome and rich and ready to steal an innocent young woman away from her harsh reality. Well, these men definitely have an eye on you. But trust me when I say that Lansdowne is the lesser of the evils.”

Beatrice’s nose twitched in disgust and disappointment at the mention of her soon-to-be-husband. “Very well, let’s go.”

Adam helped her out of the chair, and she could finally see the pub well. It had a few tables, but most men were standing, holding their tankards in their hands, an arm on another’s shoulder. The smell of unwashed bodies hit her harder now that she was out of the corner. The loud noises disoriented her, and she recognized her foolishness in ever wanting to come to a place like this. He’d said it was one of the best pubs in London. Perhaps she truly didn’t know what she was asking for. Perhaps she should stop with her list, she thought glumly. Perhaps—

A large hand settled on her rear, and Beatrice froze in shock.

Instead of letting go, the hand squeezed, feeling her plump rump. Beatrice gasped and turned around with as much rage as she could muster, eager to see the insolent man who‘d allowed himself such a liberty.

Instead, she saw a dirty shirt, partly unbuttoned, or perhaps misbuttoned, which resulted in a piece of flesh covered with thick, curly dark hair peeking from it. She swallowed and slowly, carefully raised her head. She had to crane her neck all the way back because the offending man stood all too close to her and was too tall for her to be able to look him in the eye comfortably.

An unpleasant odor permeated Beatrice’s senses, making her nose twitch. His broad shoulders and tall form were obscuring her view while his long facial hair, dirty skin, and disheveled clothing gave an appearance of a man who hadn’t bathed in a long while. His rotten teeth as he smiled made her take a step back. And then he spoke, and the scent that hit Beatrice’s face almost made her cast up her accounts.

“What a pretty little girl,” he croaked in an unpleasantly hoarse and scratchy voice. He reached out to touch her chin with his meaty finger and smiled his lascivious smile again, his eyes glinting with something ominous. Where was Adam?

She craned her neck, but the man moved to shield her view. Beatrice swallowed again, her throat suddenly dry, her heart frantically beating in her chest.

“Thank you,” she said weakly. “I’d like to return to my brother now, please.”

His gaze now slid down, studying her body inch by inch, making her shiver.

“Your brother?” His laughter boomed in the pub. “If he’s your brother, then I am a pope. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Beatrice’s brows scrunched up in a frown as she tried to decipher the unpleasant man’s words. She even looked around once more, trying to figure out if perhaps he’d mistaken her words to be about somebody else.

“But you don’t have to worry, pretty girl. You’re coming home with me tonight.”

Beatrice took an involuntary step back, remembering what Adam had said about men ending the night with the wench they desired, and almost tread on the boots of the man standing behind her.

“Careful now,” the man growled and looked away, but immediately his gaze snapped back to her face, and a lascivious smile appeared on his face. “Look at the pretty bird. You can tread on my shoes all night long!”

A large hand settled on her shoulder, bringing with it an already familiar, rotten smell. “This one’s mine,” the unpleasant man growled.

There was a commotion behind Beatrice, but she didn’t dare look. She was quaking in her sensible slippers and wished she could be safely at home, reading a book instead.

“Pardon me!” Adam’s smooth, cultured voice was like music to Beatrice’s ears. Then the unpleasant man was pushed aside, and Adam squeezed himself in between him and Beatrice.

Finally!

“Come.” Adam grabbed her by the upper arm and propelled her forward.

They hadn’t even taken a couple of steps when Adam stopped. Beatrice glanced back in horror only to see the unpleasant man grab Adam’s sleeve, his gaze still on Beatrice. “Oy, the whore is mine.”

“I’d take care how you speak about my sister,” Adam growled.

Booming laughter shook the pub. “Sister? Is that how you cock-bawds drive the prices now? Very well, how much for your whore sister?”

Adam let go of Beatrice and stretched to his entire height of over six feet. Although the other man seemed large and ominous before, now he was overshadowed by the refined stature of a tall and elegant man.

“I beg your pardon,” Adam gritted through his teeth.

“Look at that pretty accent. You sound like a toff,” the man croaked in his scratchy voice and laughed unpleasantly. Mocking Adam’s accent, he turned to his friends, “I’ve never met a refined cock-bawd.” The pub erupted in laughter, and now all eyes were on them.

Beatrice swallowed hard.

“You have one chance to apologize to her,” Adam breathed and started slowly and unhurriedly rolling up his sleeves. His tanned forearms glistened with the light of the candle, a subtle dusting of hair covering his skin. The lines of muscles and veins provided a pleasant curvature to his arms.

For some reason, Beatrice found it mesmerizing to watch. Or perhaps she just didn’t want to look anywhere else as people started throwing curious glances at her, and she strived to avoid unnecessary eye contact.