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She wasn't, strictly speaking, his type. He usually preferred petite blondes with perky tits. This woman was too tall, too lush. Hell, there was too much of her in all directions. When she walked through the bar, heads turned and mouths opened, which was probably an advantage in her line of work.
Wren Delahaye stared at the barmaid as she deftly served her customers. This wasn't one of the small, private beer-houses that had sprung up all over town after the 1830 Beer Act almost a decade ago. The taproom of the public house on London's seedy waterfront was large and more than half the tables were taken, even so late on a blustery autumn evening.
The barmaid wove her way among the tables, expertly avoiding groping hands and pinching fingers while keeping the men hooked with her lovely smiles. And she truly was a sight; wild reddish curls framed her round, lightly freckled face like a halo. Her bright green skirt that matched the emerald colour of her eyes swished around her legs at every step. Her ample breasts threatened to burst out of her corset when she leaned over to serve a customer another tankard of ale, the tops of her rosy nipples clearly visible through her white linen blouse. When she walked, her hips swayed from side to side like rolling tidal waves.
Those broad, womanly hips weren't half bad, actually. Wren wondered about the barmaid’s pussy. Would she be a redhead down there as well? The thought of his hands spreading her creamy thighs made his cock stir.
His brothers, both already foxed to the gills, followed the direction of his gaze. They had come to this part of town, slumming as it were, for want of something better to do on a boring Wednesday evening. However, no one had contested the right of three well-dressed gentlemen to be here, although they had certainly been ready to knock the breath out of any one who tried, just for a little sport. As sons of an army officer who had been rewarded with a peerage for his services at Waterloo, they hadn't been gentlemen long enough to forget how to fight dirty.
In the absence of a good brawl there really was something to be said for the entertainment the stunning barmaid offered. As she made her way across the room towards them, Robert's mouth fell open, a tiny rivulet of dribble running down his clean-shaven chin making him, for once, look like a complete idiot. Thomas jumped from his chair, toppling the piece of furniture over backwards in the process, and yelled, "Oy, you! Cumoverhere!" much too loud since the woman was already passing their table.
Wren tried to pull his older brother back down. Thomas could be a real pain in the arse when he was drunk. Like right now. Ignoring Wren's hand on his arm, the tall man took an unsteady step forward and caught the red-haired barmaid's wrist in a painful-looking grip, steadying himself by holding on to the edge of the table with the other hand.
"Wannahavagudtime?" he garbled, leering at her tits.