The tavern was a noisy, dimly lit place, thick with the sll of cheap beer, sweat, and sawdust. George Pembroke sat alone at a sticky wooden table in the corner, nursing a large mug of beer. He took a long, bitter gulp.
"Those two," he muttered to the empty chair across from him, "must be having the ti of their lives right now. Consummating their marriage." The image of Delia and Eric together, as husband and wife, sent a fresh wave of jealousy and self-pity through him. He slamd his empty mug down on the table. "Another!" he called out to the barman.
As he waited for his refill, he scanned the rough crowd. His eyes landed on soone sitting alone at the bar, a mysterious figure completely enveloped in a dark, heavy cloak. The person had just finished a full bottle of wine, a drink far too expensive for a place like this. It was an odd sight. From the slender build, he could tell that it was a woman, but what was a woman, let alone one who could afford good wine, doing in a dive like this all by herself?
"Your beer, my lord," the barman said, setting a full, frothy mug in front of him.
George smiled weakly and tossed a few silver coins onto the bar. The man’s own smile widened as he pocketed the generous tip and continued his work.
George took his mug and turned in his chair to get a better look at the mysterious cloaked figure.
Just as he did, the person slid off the barstool, their movents slightly unsteady. As they turned, they collided with a large, drunk man who was stumbling through the crowd. The cloaked person quickly bowed their head in a gesture of apology and tried to leave quickly, but the man’s hand shot out and grabbed their arm.
"Hey, where do you think you’re going?" the drunk man slurred, his grip tightening. With his other hand, he yanked the hood of the cloak back.
George, who had just taken a large mouthful of beer, spat it all out in a spray of shock. The face revealed under the hood was Anne Ellington’s.
"Anne!" he gasped, his mouth still dripping with the remaining beer. What in God’s na is she doing in a place like this? He stood up from his seat, his own drunken haze evaporating in a rush of adrenaline, and started to push his way through the crowd to rescue her.
The drunk man smiled, a lewd, ugly expression on his face. "Well, well. What’s a pretty little flower like you doing in a dirty place like this?" he said, his grip on her arm like a clamp. He brought his nose down to her neck, inhaling deeply. "Is this the scent of your perfu, or your own sweet skin?" His hot, foul breath was warm on her skin. "You know, I just love the sll of roses. They intoxicate ."
He looked at her with a wide, predatory grin, his eyes raking over her fine, silk dress. "I guess I’m going to have so fun with a real noblewoman tonight."
Anne struggled to leave his hold, her face a mask of fear and disgust, but it was futile. His grip was as strong as iron.
"Don’t worry, little flower," he whispered, leaning in closer. "I promise you, I’ll be gentle with..."
Before he could finish his vile sentence, George reached them. Without a word, he grabbed a heavy, unopened wine bottle from a nearby table and smashed it over the man’s head. The bottle shattered with a loud crack, and the man’s eyes rolled back in his head as he imdiately released Anne, crumpling to the floor in an unconscious heap.
"Let’s go!" George said, grabbing Anne’s wrist and pulling her through the now-chaotic tavern.
They hid in the dark, narrow alleyway behind a large, parked carriage as they heard the man’s friends, his minions, co looking for them, their angry shouts echoing in the night. Anne, her heart still pounding with fear, was peeping from the side of the carriage, trying to be sure they were safe.
George looked down and saw that his hand was still gripping Anne’s wrist tightly. He slowly, gently, released his grip. Then, in a mont of pure, unthinking instinct, he took her hand again, this ti intertwining his fingers with hers.
The sudden, intimate gesture startled Anne out of her fear. She looked down at their joined hands. "Don’t think that just because I’m intoxicated, I don’t know what’s happening in my surroundings," she said, her voice a little shaky but still sharp. She raised their intertwined hands up. "What is the aning of this, George?"
George didn’t say anything. Instead, he held her hand a little tighter.
Anne scoffed, though her own heart was beating a little faster now. "George, are you crazy? Look at you, your face is all flushed."
"I’m sorry," he replied, his voice soft and full of an emotion she had never heard from him before. He turned to look at her in the dim light of the alley, his eyes full of a deep, profound adoration. "But all I can see is you right now, Anne."
Anne laughed, a sound that was a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. "What? I am the one who drank a good bottle of wine, and you are the one who is getting intoxicated?"
"Marry , Anne," George said, the words tumbling out of him, a spontaneous, heartfelt plea.
Anne turned to peep behind the carriage again, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze. "Now I’m certain you are mad. Stop this foolishness," she said, her voice a little breathless. "Let’s just get out of here before they..."
George pulled her back, and before she could protest, before she could think, he kissed her. It was not a gentle kiss. It was a kiss full of all the desperation, all the longing, and all the love he had kept hidden for so long. For a mont, she was stiff with shock. But then, intoxicated by the wine and by the danger of the situation, she returned it, her own lips eting his.
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