Page 11 of A Lady Most Wayward (The Queen’s Deadly Damsels #5)

They could have so easily overpowered the slight woman.

And not because they were stronger or better armed, or more powerful.

Simply because Olivia had never been taught the skills of fighting.

It was infuriating that women were subjected to the whims of men for one reason alone.

The male species believed themselves to be physically superior.

Regardless of whether the woman in question was Philippa’s friend or foe, the situation was unacceptable. She would need to think of a solution.

‘Excuse me, good sir, do you have any available rooms for me and my travelling companion?’ Olivia had sashayed her way to the bar, leaving in her wake a trail of staring men.

Philippa could hardly blame them. Even in her wrinkled grey dress, bereft of the glamour and jewels she normally wore, she was breathtaking.

Her pale hair formed a wild mass of ringlets that refused to stay contained in a simple twist. Philippa was slightly transfixed by Olivia’s hair.

When she spoke of Liza having the most beautiful hair she’d ever seen, her tongue tasted the lie even as her heart felt the oily guilt of betrayal.

Yet it was undeniable that Philippa had spent far too many minutes in the carriage wondering what Olivia’s hair would feel like between her fingers.

The woman’s eyes reminded Philippa of a jungle cat and sparkled with untold mischief as she blinked innocently at the innkeeper. Her full lips parted in a shy smile.

Such a consummate flirt! And a sapphist.

It was a wonder. But also a seeming truth, for why would Olivia lie about such a damning reality?

It threw a new light on the woman’s carefully curated coquetry in front of men.

Her seductive behaviour was all a facade designed to provide her with some sense of power.

Now Philippa knew Olivia’s secret, it was easy to discover her tell.

Olivia twirled a finger in one of her ringlets, tugging gently on the strand whenever she spoke to men in that breathy, wholly distracting way.

She’s never once twirled her hair while talking to me.

Philippa wasn’t sure how she felt about that, much like everything else in relation to Olivia. The woman had her at complete odds.

The innkeeper gave Olivia an appraising glance. ‘We’re full to busting. We’ve only got one room left and it’s not near nice enough for a lady like yourself.’ He winked.

Olivia tittered.

Philippa curled her lip in disgust.

She elbowed her way to the bar, her hip brushing against Olivia’s as she slapped her palm on the scarred wood. ‘Is it clean?’

The innkeeper’s brows rose, and he took a half step back. ‘Clean enough.’

Tapping her finger on the bar, she contemplated how quickly she could rip the man’s moustache from his now-twitching lip.

Not worth the mess.

‘We’ll take it.’ She reached into her pocket and withdrew three guineas.

‘And somewhere for our driver to sleep.’ It was more than enough money to cover the cost of a room for each of them, including the horses.

The innkeeper’s eyes bulged at such a display of wealth.

‘Do you have any private dining rooms, or only the common one?’

The man swallowed loudly as he stared at the coins. ‘W-we’ve got one private room, but it’s being used.’

‘Well, of course it is. I’m sure this fine establishment hosts many grand guests. Two lowly spinsters such as us shouldn’t expect such fine treatment.’ Olivia glared at Philippa before turning back to the innkeeper.

Damnation. I suppose I’m not acting like a middle-class spinster.

‘We would be more than happy to take our meal in our room. Can you send someone up with it?’ Olivia smiled sweetly at the man as she stepped hard on Philippa’s toe. Thankfully, Philippa’s boots were made of leather and offered some protection.

‘Of course, madame. I’ll have my wife show you up.’

The man may have been married, but that didn’t stop the slimy toad from staring at Olivia’s chest as he palmed Philippa’s coins. She re-evaluated the merits of removing his moustache and a portion of his upper lip with her dagger.

‘You’re too kind.’ Olivia’s purred reply was enough to make Philippa gag. The man tipped an imaginary hat as he disappeared to find his wife.

Turning, Philippa rammed her elbow into Olivia’s ribs, unable to hide her smile as air exploded from Olivia in a whoosh.

A young woman hurried from a dark opening that no doubt led to the kitchen. Sweat dripped from her brow as she wiped her hands on a stained apron.

‘You the two ladies me ’usband spoke wif?’

Philippa nodded.

‘This way, then. We’ve got mutton stew or fish pie fer supper. I don’t ’ave many ’ands to spare, so if you’re wanting to be waited on, it won’t be quick.’

A strong woman leaning toward stout, the innkeeper’s wife led them through the common room, past a crowd of travellers ranging from working men in homespun shirts and worn breeches to titled lords in great coats and hessian boots until they reached the staircase.

It leaned like a drunken man against the far wall.

Philippa counted three women in the crowd, all of them huddled close to their male companions.

Smoke from the fire, various pipes, and cheroots created a haze that hovered by the wood-planked ceiling.

It blended with the melange of seasoned meat, sweaty men, and freshly baked bread.

The scent followed them as they ascended the stairs.

Philippa’s nose twitched, but it wasn’t an unpleasant smell. Just rather earthy.

‘We’ll have the mutton stew. And bread, if you have any.’ Philippa had spied a crusty loaf on one of the tables. If the stew was inedible, at least they could fill their bellies with bread.

Olivia was behind Philippa, but the duchess didn’t need to see the marchioness’ expression to know she angered the woman with her overreaching order.

Good. The sooner you realise I am in charge, the easier this trip will become.

‘Please don’t worry about how long it takes to bring our food.

We’re in no hurry.’ Olivia graced the innkeeper’s wife with a smile, crinkling the corners of her eyes as they stopped next to a door at the end of a dim corridor.

The woman turned and stared at her for a moment.

This wasn’t the false expression of comeliness Olivia used on the woman’s husband. This was genuine and beautiful.

Damnation. She is dangerous.

Philippa knew her own features were highly regarded in the beau monde despite how far she strayed from the conventional standards of feminine beauty.

She was dark edges, sharp lines, and deep colours.

High cheekbones, strong limbs, bold features, and even bolder actions.

Her beauty was a weapon she had honed, fierce and formidable.

But Olivia embodied the ideal English rose.

Hair so fair it shone white in the candlelight.

Creamy skin. Pink lips. Large eyes prone to blinking innocently while flashing with naughty mischief.

She wielded her weapons with far more finesse, and Philippa was beginning to believe she was just as lethal with her assets as the deadly duchess was with her blades.

‘Ahh.’ The innkeeper’s wife put her hands on her hips and assessed Olivia.

‘I see what ’e was fussin’ over. I thought it were those shiny coins, but turns out summink else was striking ’is fancy.

’ She broke into a coarse laugh that ended on a cough.

‘Thick in the ’ead that man if ’e finks ’e has a chance wif the likes of you. ’ She handed a set of keys to Olivia.

Olivia’s petal cheeks darkened to rose. ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean.’

Philippa snorted at such patent falsehood.

‘She understands exactly what you mean.’ She stepped in front of Olivia, shielding her from the woman.

‘That man was lucky to find himself a wife as well suited to him as you are. He would be a fool to look elsewhere.’ Philippa’s statement could be read as a compliment or insult, and she wasn’t sure herself how she meant it, but she stretched her mouth into the semblance of a smile.

‘If you have any whiskey, we’ll take a bottle of that as well. ’

Raising her brows and puffing out her cheeks, the woman rocked back on her heels. ‘Aren’t you as fine as you please? I like that. ’e wouldn’t dare make eyes at the likes of you for fear of losing ’is bollocks, sad shrivelled peas that they are.’

Philippa’s lips twitched, but she refused to smile. ‘I stand corrected. That man is hardly deserving of a woman like you.’

She nodded. ‘Too right. But ’e’s better than me last ’usband and prolly not as grand as me next one.’ She laughed again. ‘We ain’t got no whiskey, or brandy neither. Gin, wine, or ale. Take yer pick. I’ll ’ave one of the girls bring it up when they get a chance.’

‘Wine.’ Olivia poked her head from behind Philippa. ‘Wine would be lovely.’

The innkeeper’s wife turned and swept back down the hall.

‘What if I preferred gin? Or ale?’ Philippa stepped back so Olivia could fit the key in the lock and open the door.

‘What if I preferred fish pie instead of stew?’

‘Do you?’

‘I suppose you’ll never know.’ Olivia looked over her shoulder at Philippa and winked.

What is she about? We are enemies. One doesn’t wink at an enemy. Unless it’s right before one thrusts a blade through their heart. She’s trying to play me the way she’s played everyone in this inn. But I’m not an easy mark. And I never lose.

Philippa tilted her chin, clenched her teeth, and strode into the room. ‘Damnation.’

There was only one bed.