He pushed his way back through the crowd to the bar, ordered an ale and another round of drinks for Miss Regan and her staff. The man poured four drinks into pewter tankards and Dominic carefully elbowed his way back through the crowd, angling himself around the heaving mass so he would not spill a drop.
‘Now, Miss Regan, I would appreciate it if I could talk to you,’ he called out to her as he seated himself at the table and handed tankards to the two smiling assistants.
She put her hand to her ear, feigning an inability to hear.
Dominic bit down his irritation. ‘I said I would appreciate it if I could talk to you now,’ he repeated, raising his voice. And he would also appreciate it if they could leave this infernal place and go somewhere where he didn’t have to shout so loud it was straining his throat.
‘All right. What do you want to say to me?’ she called back to him, leaning over the small table.
‘Can we go somewhere quieter where we can talk?’
He looked around to see if there was a less crowded area in the packed bar where they could retire to, but the tavern seemed to consist of just this one small, low-ceilinged room. This was hopeless. And to make matters worse, he saw a man approach the small upright piano and raise the cover.
The moment he started playing the entire room erupted into loud, boisterous singing. Dominic’s jaw clenched tightly. This was an absurd situation. Surely even Miss Regan could see that she had gone far enough now. She had made her point, whatever her point might be, and she should now do the decent thing and leave with him so they could have a proper conversation.
He turned back to face her, and to his intense irritation saw that she, too, was singing along, while waving her tankard happily in the air. And what was worse, she had what could only be described as a triumphant smile on her face, suggesting she felt she had won a decisive victory over him, even though he had no idea what they were fighting about.
Chapter Five
Nellie smiled with satisfaction. She had made him feel uncomfortable and out of place. Good. It was as if she had won a small victory over every toff who had ever looked down his nose at her, her family or her friends. He appeared so out of place she wanted to laugh out loud. Dressed in his expensive grey suit, with a dark grey waistcoat embroidered with black thread and maroon silk cravat, he couldn’t look more different from the working men who frequented this bar if he had tried.
Although Nellie suspected Mr Lockhart would stand out wherever he went and however he was dressed, and not just because of his superior mannerisms and his haughty demeanour. He was so manly it was breathtaking and when Nellie had first seen him enter the public house it had literally taken her breath away. She hadn’t been the only woman in the room who had been unable to stop staring at him, drawn to his aura of virile masculinity. Some of the women might have been interested in his obvious wealth, but she was sure many more were drawn to that elusive quality of manliness that was undeniably attractive.
Not that such things had any effect on her, not really. He might be extremely handsome, but he was still a wealthy man here to throw his weight around and put her in her place. And that was a goal she would do everything in her power to stop him from reaching.
She continued singing, louder and with more enthusiasm, causing his dark eyebrows to draw deeper together, his jaw to clench tighter, much to Nellie’s immense pleasure.
She had been certain he would not turn up. Or, if he did, that he would take one look inside The Hanged Man and turn tail, back to the richer, more genteel side of London. She would never have expected a man of his class to enter an establishment such as this, or to remain for as long as he had. He was persistent, she would give him that. Either that, or he was so determined to confront her over her unflattering impersonation of him that he would even endure an evening singing and drinking with people he wouldn’t normally give the time of day.
He tried to say something to her. She sung even louder, spurred on by the look of frustration on his face.
She smiled as he raked an impatient hand through his glossy black hair, causing his carefully groomed appearance to become disordered. Nellie was tempted to lean over the table, to run her hands along his head and smooth his thick black hair back into place. That must be the hairdresser in her. She could see no other reason why her fingers were itching to touch him, to run themselves through that tousled hair.
The song came to an end and the noise in the room settled down from raucous to simply loud. He tried again to shout something at her.
‘Please, Miss Regan. I must talk to you. My sis...’
Whatever he was trying to say it was drowned out when Patrick Kelly staggered over to their table. ‘Nellie, m’darling, are you going to honour us with a tune?’ he slurred, weaving on the spot and showing he was slightly the worse for drink.
Nellie rarely consented to playing the piano in public, it brought back too many painful memories, but the chance to further annoy Mr Lockhart was too good an opportunity to miss.
She excused herself and smiled when she saw the look on his face move from frustrated to exasperated. It wouldn’t be long now. He would soon reach the limit of
