Temperance started breathing again, her wits slowly catching up with events. She didn’t know when the musician had entered the side room. She’d only become aware of him after his lightning intervention saved her from Tredgold’s charging attack. She stared at him. He looked back at her, absently flexing his left hand, the one he’d used to hit Tredgold. Apart from that small gesture he seemed unperturbed by the brief, violent incident.
Temperance’s thoughts and emotions were in total disorder. She should be making a dignified exit from the tavern, but she kept staring at the musician. It was the first time she’d seen him standing up. He was a couple of inches taller than her own five feet ten inches. It was so rare for her to have to look up to meet a man’s eyes, she couldn’t stop looking. He was lean-limbed and graceful, but there was unmistakeable power in his broad shoulders. Even dressed only in shirt and breeches with his hair ungroomed and his chin unshaven, he was the finest figure of a man she’d ever laid eyes on.
His mouth quirked up at the corners as if he was well aware of her admiration.
She jerked her gaze away from him.
‘Cocksure,’ she muttered, annoyed with him for being so arrogant and with herself for being so easily bedazzled.
He grinned. ‘What does he owe you?’ he asked, indicating Tredgold with a nod of his head.
‘For the linen and muslin,’ Temperance replied, trying to collect her wits. Even when she was still half-dazed with shock she was determined the musician understood she was a respectable tradeswoman. ‘He ruined them.’
‘How much?’ The musician searched for and found Tredgold’s purse.
‘Hey!’ Tredgold’s friend exclaimed.
‘How much?’ The musician looked at Temperance, ignoring the half-hearted protest.
She told him, and watched as he counted out the coins in full view of Tredgold’s friend.
‘There,’ he said to the gape-mouthed youth. ‘You can tell him you witnessed a fair accounting of his debts when he recovers.’ Tredgold was already stirring and groaning. The musician dropped the purse on to his stomach and gave Temperance the price of her linen and muslin.
‘Thank you.’ She blinked at the coins, hardly able to believe she’d been paid after all.
‘And now I’ll escort you home,’ said the musician.
‘Escort me?’ Temperance looked up. ‘Oh, no, sir, there is no need—’
‘Are you not here alone? If you have an escort, he did a poor job of protecting you,’ the musician said.
‘My apprentice is sick,’ said Temperance, standing straighter as she consciously gathered her dignity and authority. ‘I will hire a link boy—’
‘Certainly,’ said the musician. ‘And I will escort you.’ He headed for the taproom as he spoke. The watching men fell back to allow him easy passage.
Temperance followed him. She had no choice. He’d created the only clear path through the room. But she couldn’t help being exasperated at the way the men parted for him just like the red sea had parted before Moses. After all, he was…
‘Just a man who doesn’t own a comb,’ she muttered. And nearly bumped into him when he stopped suddenly.
He grinned at her over his shoulder. ‘But I do have a useful left,’ he said. ‘And I’m even better with my sword. I doubt a comb would be much protection against footpads.’
Temperance opened her mouth, then closed it again. However much she wanted to put him in his place, she couldn’t forget he’d saved her from Tredgold’s attack, and made sure she was paid for the spoiled goods. She was in the musician’s debt.
She watched as he buckled on a sword belt with a brisk familiarity that suggested he was indeed competent with the weapon.
‘Are you a soldier?’ she asked.
‘A soldier?’ He quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘No. The only cause I’ve ever fought for is my own.’
One of the men in the crowd laughed. ‘Jack Bow’s a soldier of fortune, lass. He goes a-venturing with his sword and his lute. He’s got a host of tales to tell about the far-off lands he’s visited.’
‘Oh.’ Temperance’s gaze focussed on the musician’s hands as she considered that unsettling information. It sounded as if he was a mercenary. He’d saved her from Tredgold when there were witnesses to applaud his actions, but was it wise to be alone with such a man in the dark city streets?
‘I’m afraid there are no interesting adventures to be had in Cheapside,’ she said, making a final, half-hearted attempt to dissuade him from escorting her. ‘You will be very bored, sir.’
‘The man hasn’t been born who could be bored in your company, sweetheart,’ he replied, shrugging into a plain olive-green coat. He slung his lute case over his back and grinned at her dumbfounded expression. ‘Let’s go.’
Temperance followed him out of the tavern. ‘I am not your sweetheart!’ she said as soon as the door closed behind them.
‘So where is your man?’ asked Jack Bow. ‘The one with the right to call you sweetheart?’
‘There isn’t one,’ said Temperance. Her public status as a virtuous spinster was essential to her continuing right to trade in the City as a member of the Drapers’ Company. It didn’t occur to her until too late that she should have been more circumspect with this stranger.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Why…? That’s none of your business.’ She strode off down the road.
‘Such a pretty, hot-blooded wench must have suitors queuing at your door,’ he said, falling into step beside her. ‘Do you beat them off with that stick?’
‘Just because you helped me doesn’t give you the right to make fun of me!’ Temperance exclaimed. ‘Go away and vex someone else.’
‘Oh, sweetheart, the night’s young—and I haven’t finished vexing you yet,’ he replied. ‘You do respond so charmingly.’
‘What?’ She blinked at him in the darkness. ‘You are a cocksure knave. I don’t believe anyone who speaks so brazenly can possess a scrap of delicacy or proper modesty.’
He laughed.
Temperance walked faster.
‘What of father or brothers?’ he asked, easily keeping pace with her. ‘Why did they send you to answer Tredgold’s summons?’
To her surprise she detected an undercurrent of disapproval in his voice.
‘Surely a man of your ilk would have no qualms about sending a woman to the Dog and Bone?’ Temperance said, dodging his question. ‘It ill behoves you to criticise others.’
‘A man of my ilk…?’ he mused. ‘What a pretty picture you have of me. Are your menfolk sick or just lazy?’
‘Isaac is sick,’ said Temperance, uncertain what to make of his persistence. ‘Otherwise he would have come with me.’
‘And Isaac is?’
‘My apprentice.’
‘Your apprentice?’ he repeated. ‘You are the mistress?’ He laughed softly. ‘No wonder you did not take kindly to Tredgold’s insolence.’
‘It is my draper’s shop,’ Temperance said proudly. ‘I am my father’s only surviving child. I inherited it from him and I manage it in every particular. I do it very well.’ She refused to let her voice falter as she made the last statement. There were many things in her life she couldn’t claim, including a queue of suitors calling her sweet names, but she had worked hard to learn her father’s business. ‘I have no wish to marry and