Parting her lips slightly, releasing a quick gust of air that sent the rebellious strands of her hair flying, she set the tumbler in front of him. “Here you are, sir. The bartender indicated there’ll be no charge.”

While his sister wasn’t here tonight, seldom worked within these walls any longer after becoming a duchess, Gillie didn’t expect him to pay for food or drink, just as he didn’t expect her to pay him for the transport on his ships of alcohol she’d purchased from beyond England’s shores. Trewloves didn’t charge Trewloves, nor did they keep an accounting of favors done.

The barmaid started to turn—

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She swung back around, a tiny pleat forming between her delicate dark blond brows that framed the most unusual blue eyes he’d ever seen. A deep blue with the tiniest streaks of gray. “Bringing you your scotch.”

Shaking his head, he waved his hand in an easy manner to encompass their surroundings. “I mean in Whitechapel, working, specifically in this tavern. Every aspect of you screams Mayfair.”

“None o’ yer bleedin’ biz’ness,” she retorted in perfect Cockney. “Is that better?” Perfect Mayfair.

Presenting him with her back, she marched off. Admiring the view as well as her huff of indignation, he took a long, slow swallow of scotch. She had spunk, he’d give her that. She was also correct. She was none of his business. Still, he was intrigued. She was too refined for the coarseness of this place. She’d look more at home in a ballroom, a garden, a stately manor house. She should be waited upon, not be the one doing the serving.

He liked for things to make sense. She didn’t make sense. Until she did, he was going to be tempted to uncover, unravel, and solve the mystery of her.

Althea Stanwick knew he was watching her, could feel the touch of his gaze as though he was walking beside her with his hand pressed against the small of her back.

She’d noticed him the moment he strode into the tavern. It was as though every molecule of air had shifted to accommodate not only his considerable height and the breadth of his shoulders, but his confidence and bearing as well. The man prowled about as though he feared nothing, possessed the power to topple empires at a whim.

She’d been both enthralled and unsettled. Then he’d taken a chair at a table near the back that was her responsibility, and she’d felt as though someone had given a hard yank on the lacings of her corset, crushing her ribs until she could barely breathe.