Page 1 of Rules for a Bastard Lord (Rogues Gambit #2)

Bitterness poisons yourself first, everyone elsesecond.

B ramwell Wesley Hallowsby, bodyguard to the rich and paranoid, did not see the girl in the blue dress. At best, he caught a flash of blond curls and the thrust of a determined chin. He dismissed them as another insignificant detail on this never-ending annoyance of a job.

Though his gaze continued to scan out the inn window, his attention remained inside the room with Dicky, his once childhood friend, as the man spouted flattering nonsense. Why Dicky thought he had to spin elaborate tales of someone else’s bravery was anybody’s guess. Dicky fawned because that’s what Dicky did.

“It was a rabid bear!” Dicky cried as he expounded to his wife Clarissa. “One escaped from the local fair and still wearing a bright ruffle around its neck. Horribly, this only made it more terrifying to the onlookers as my friend Bram stepped forward to defend a child.

“A child?” gasped Clarissa. Clarissa often gasped. “Boy or girl?”

“Both!” cried Dicky, gesturing with his cheroot. “Twins with kittens. One in each hand and completely defenseless!”

That part of the tale was new. Last time it had been piglets. Bram sighed as he idly scanned the street for villains. It was a wasted effort. Though Dicky had plenty of enemies, none would chase him this far north. Bram had worked hard during their midnight escape from London, but now they were in Hull, nearly to Scotland. If it hadn’t been for Clarissa’s tetchy stomach, they would be there now, and he could get paid.

That’s all he wanted. Get them to Scotland so he could get paid.

He narrowed his eyes. There was a thick brute of a man coming toward the inn, but then the man stopped to talk to the woman in blue. The man bowed only slightly, then spent his time ogling the woman’s impressive bodice. Bram labeled him the local lecher and let his attention wander back to Dicky.

“And there Bram stood, just a tiny boy at the time, against a rabid bear,” continued Dicky as he patted the small treasure chest on his lap. Dicky would not leave the heavy thing in the carriage, even to sit in an inn with his sick wife.

“Terrifying!” gasped Clarissa. “Did it attack? Did it hurt you? Are there scars?”

Bram didn’t bother rubbing his forearm. He knew the shape and the texture of the scars there. As a teen, he would show them off while Dicky created a legend from a silly mishap. As an adult, the entire tale left him feeling slimy. He hadn’t been defending any children, with or without kittens. He’d been twelve when he’d seen some young boys throw rocks at a chained bear. Bram had been so incensed that he’d run off the kids, only to have the bear attack him.

He’d survived thanks to the bear’s chains, though he’d cut his forearm on some broken glass as he’d scrambled to escape. The whole thing had taught him that no good deed goes unpunished, and he’d lived his life with that motto burned on his heart.

“Bram’s horribly disfigured,” Dicky said, clearly gleeful at the thought. “You shan’t see it, of course. He keeps it well covered.”

“Oh my!” Clarissa’s eyes grew sultry. Then she pressed her sapphire necklace to her lips at such an angle that her husband wouldn’t see her lick it. But Bram saw—as she had intended—and he felt nauseous. It wasn’t holiness. He’d used his mystique to open a woman’s bedroom door before. And with women far less beautiful than Clarissa.

But she and Dicky were rotten to the core. And he’d rather face another bear than touch Clarissa.

He wouldn’t be with them at all now, but as the bastard son of a duke, Bram had to make his own way through the world. Thanks to the connections of an elite education, he’d been able to hang on the outskirts of the moneyed ton , but it had cost him. Humiliation was the smallest price he’d had to pay as he acted as bodyguard and general strong arm for the peerage.

He’d also had to split his mind into two pieces—one half hoped for goodness and beauty in the world. He couldn’t shut it up no matter how he tried. The other half saw with clear, bitter eyes what went on and hated the world for the disappointment.

Meanwhile, Dicky continued the tale. “People were running about screaming, you understand. There was chaos everywhere, as grown men dropped to their knees in terror. But not Bram. At the tender age of ten, he stood up for those poor children.”

“Ten? I thought you said he was twelve.”

Both husband and wife looked to Bram, and he knew they would stay like that until he answered. “Eleven,” he said, choosing to split the difference.

“Eleven then. But you’d just had the birthday, right?” Dicky asked.

“Right.” Wrong, but who was he to argue? Dicky was paying him to be mythic.

Something jerked in the window, and he glanced quickly back. It was the woman in blue as she’d twitched away from a grinning man. Likely the fellow had given her a pinch as she’d passed him. Life could be terrible for those without money or title.

“The beast gave out a tremendous roar!” Dicky bellowed as he leaped to his feet, one arm holding his gold, the other waving about while his wife squealed in mock terror.

“Uh, Dicky, you really shouldn’t be so loud…” began Bram, but he needn’t have bothered.

The door to their private room burst open as the innkeeper rushed in. “My lords! My lady! What is amiss?”

Dicky let his arm drop, not even embarrassed. “I was being a bear, sir.”

The innkeeper was understandably flustered, and though Bram enjoyed a flustered innkeeper as much as the next man, he hardly thought it fair. But rather than point out Dicky’s error—a sin for any paid servant—he redirected the man. “Have you got the posset yet? For my lady’s stomach?”

“Not yet. But I’ve sent my son to find her—the woman I told you about—”

“Oh, I am so wretched!” gasped Clarissa as she pressed a limp hand to her brow, her sapphire earbobs waving wildly on their gold chains.

“A hot towel, milady? Perhaps a blanket?” The innkeeper was doing his best to please.

“I won’t put you to the bother,” she said, her voice fading.

“But milady, if it would ease your suffering—”

“Tut tut,” Dicky interrupted, oblivious to his wife’s need to be cosseted. “She said no. Get on with you. I was in the middle of my story.”

Bram sighed. “Bring her hot stew.”

“I couldn’t eat a thing,” Clarissa protested.

“You will,” he said, keeping his voice stern. She liked it when he was bold. Yes, her legs shifted restlessly, and she shot him another coy glance.

The innkeeper’s head bobbled yes as he rushed out the door. Meanwhile, Dicky was annoyed that the attention had shifted off him. “Pay attention,” he ordered. “I was about to get to the good part.”

Pay attention to his own tale of derring-do? “Please, I adore this part,” he lied as he looked back out the window.

He saw a mob of boys—four of them—barely into their first beards. They were calling raucous comments aimed at the woman in blue. Really, why was she walking alone—moving from one house to the next to the next—seemingly unprotected by a husband, father, or brother?

“The bear attacked!” Dicky cried dramatically. He roared again, and Clarissa squealed. “Bram pulled out his father’s dueling pistol and shot it right in the muzzle! Bang!”

“Bang,” Clarissa echoed as she rubbed her thumb over and across the smallest sapphire in her necklace.

“And that, my dear, is the tale of how Bram became the man he is today. He will protect us, you see.” Dicky returned to his seat and curled his arm around the treasure chest. “If he could protect tiny children—”

“And their kittens! Don’t forget the kittens!”

“And their kittens from a rabid bear, then…”

“Then we are safe with him.” Clarissa’s gaze turned languid. “I feel so safe.”

“That’s why I hired him, Clary,” Dicky said as he patted her hand. “To make you feel safe.”

“Thank you, my love,” his wife cooed, her eyes on Bram.

Bram headed for the door. “I need to check around the inn.”

“But—” cried Clarissa.

Bram cut her off. “That story isn’t true. It’s grown too much over the years.”

“Tut tut,” Dicky said. “We know it’s true. Or most of it.”

Or none of it. When had his life become so absurd that he protected people like these two? That he contemplated cuckolding a man—his employer—simply because he was bored? He despised Dicky and Clarissa, and by extension he despised himself.

“Please stay close!” Clarissa wailed.

Bram paused, his hand on the doorknob. “There’s no danger. No one will chase you up here. Your enemies will ruin your reputation in London, destroy your financials, and you will never be invited to a ton party again. But there won’t be a soul who offers you bodily harm here.”

“Course not!” cried Dicky as he patted his treasure again. “That’s because you’re here. That’s because I had the foresight to befriend you as a child. I knew then that you would protect me. I knew then that you were a man who could save me from blackguards…”

Bram stopped listening and headed out the door. He made it through the kitchen and out the back, to the garden behind with two lazy hounds dozing in the sun. And once outside, he took a deep breath of the summer air and a greedy look at the green land around him.

This was the life he wanted: stretched out in the sun like those hounds, with his eyes drooping shut, while a pup or three gamboled nearby. He saw no puppies, but he imagined them, and they made him smile.

Then he saw her. The woman in blue again, this time without anyone pinching or ogling her. The sight was striking enough, but then she paused under a tree, pulling off her bonnet to raise her face to what breeze could be had. Fine blond hair blew back from her cheeks, and her perfect bow of a mouth curved in delight. Beautiful. A country miss, complete with a basket on her arm. Her lush, unspoiled beauty was the kind that could only grow in the wilds. In London, she would be painted and sullen, her body trussed into dresses that maximized assets and minimized flaws. But this woman had a simple gown, and while he watched, those puppies he’d imagined suddenly appeared. Four of them, barking and leaping from somewhere he couldn’t see.

She smiled when she saw them, and then—to his shock—she laughed, so musical a sound that he was riveted. Bells could not have sounded so pure.

He was awed. It was his idealistic mind, he knew. The one that believed in unsullied beauty. She knelt down, oblivious to the dirt, to tickle the puppies. And her laughter continued to chime in the air.

He found himself moving toward her without choosing it. He had no idea what to say to an innocent miss. He’d never known a woman who could be so sweet. And yet—

“Miss Bluebell! Miss Bluebell!”

A boy barely out of short pants came tearing around the corner. She looked up, her expression surprised as she held out her arms. He careened into them, and she had to use all her strength to keep them both upright.

She said something too low for Bram to hear, especially as the boy kept talking right over her despite being short of breath. Rude brat.

“Da says…you come. Right away!”

At that moment, one of the puppies attacked the angel. It was nothing more than a growl and bite as it grabbed hold of her dress and shook. She released a frustrated sigh before she picked up the creature and disentangled it from her skirt. In thanks, the puppy enthusiastically licked her face.

He saw the wet tongue tasting her chin and neck. He heard her laugh, this time deeper—throatier—and he felt himself harden as he hadn’t in years. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair flying free as the dog laved her. Bram’s mouth went dry as he watched, and he abruptly thought of so many things, all dark and carnal.

“Miss Bluebell!” the child cried, and Bram wanted to spank the idiot for drawing the woman’s attention. Don’t look at him. Look at me! The thought was bizarre in his mind, but it was no less loud.

The woman finally managed to pull the puppy away from her face. She must have said something because the boy nodded vigorously and pointed at the inn. At first Bram thought the child was directing her to look at him, but he soon realized the truth. Neither boy nor woman had seen him, and the disappointment of that was yet another shock. What was wrong with him?

Another puppy grabbed hold of her skirt, another distraction when he wanted to be her focus. He must have made a sound because the woman abruptly looked at him. She arched her brows, and her rose-colored mouth molded into a perfect oval of surprise. He held her gaze, transfixed by the aquamarine clarity there, especially with the sun full on her face.

Then she blushed.

Sweet heaven, she was so beautiful his knees nearly buckled. And that was a step too far for him. No woman could be that beautiful or that good. So he allowed his bitter half to take control. Hadn’t he already done this once? Didn’t he have the scars to remind him how beautiful women betray?

He used his anger to put strength in his legs while the woman rose to her feet, shaking out her skirts before grabbing her basket as the boy babbled on.

“There’s a lady and gents at the inn. Right fancy, every one. They need your tea, Miss Bluebell. Right away! Right now, Da says. Right—”

“Now. Yes, thank you, Thomas.” Her voice was more cultured than most, but the roots of this provincial village were heavy in her long vowels.

She moved his way, and he noted the square set of her shoulders and the jut of her chin. She was proud then, and probably studying him for a weakness as her gaze took in the whole of him.

“I think she’s dying!” the boy said in a loud undertone. “She presses ’er fingers to ’er mouth and she sweats to stink! That’s what Da says. Wot if she dies right in our parlor? What if—”

“She’s increasing,” Bram said. He hadn’t meant to speak. He had intended to simply watch and learn, which was his usual way of dealing with strange women. But the moment they neared, he found himself speaking simply to silence the prattling child. “It’s morning sickness, and Clarissa was tired of the drive.”

The miss cocked her head as he spoke, listening closely to his words. The idealistic part of him admired the color of her eyes and her honest face, but the bitter part of him knew only liars paid such close attention to their surroundings.

“She needs something to settle ’er stomach?” the miss asked.

She needed a good spanking. She and Dicky both, for conning seven peers of the realm into giving them thousands of pounds for a make-believe sapphire mine. But that wasn’t his job. Preventing this witch from poisoning the two idiots was.

He moved deliberately slow, easing his way in front of her. He was a big man, a good head taller, and he used his height to full advantage as he glared down at her.

“They don’t need what you’re selling.” No one did. Because it was all lies.

“You know wot a lady in ’er early months needs?”

“Please, sir,” the boy piped up. “My da will whip me for sure if she don’t come.”

The woman dropped a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You won’t be whipped, Thomas. Go inside.”

“But—”

“Go.” Bram was startled to realize he’d said the word. Worse, it came out more as a growl than intelligible speech. But it was enough to terrify the boy into bolting.

The woman shook her head. “There was no need to frighten ’im.”

He’d meant to frighten her, but obviously, she was of the fearless sort. “Clarissa just needs attention, not any magic potions.”

“Magic potions!” she cried, obviously offended. “I make good Christian tisanes, sir. Nothing ’eathen about plants tended with care and picked at the right time to ease a lady’s delicate stomach.” She narrowed her eyes. “I ’ave a wonder of a posset for a man with a sore ’ead too, but I’ve nothing for stupidity.”

He snorted, but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest. “Clarissa just needs some attention—”

“And I’ll be giving ’er that, if you would stand aside. Unless you’d prefer to let ’er aim her illness at your thick ’ead.”

That, of course, was exactly why he was outside. Damn it. Not only was this woman manipulative, she was clever too. He had no problems with simply barring her way, illogical as it was, but he knew time was ticking away. The first thing young Thomas would do was tell his da what was happening out here. And a minute after that, the anxious innkeeper would appear, begging and bowing enough to give him a headache.

“Show me what’s in your basket,” Bram ordered while he tried to think of some better way to get rid of the woman.

She drew back. “You have no cause to—”

“I’ve every cause to protect those two. It’s my job.”

“Then it’s your job to see the lady gets tended.”

“Not by you.”

“Then who?” She gestured to the few hovels that made up the town. “There’s no doctor for fifty miles. And no surgeon for thirty. When people get ill, they tend to it themselves, or they call me for a tisane. If ’tis naught but a woman’s complaint, then let a woman tend ’er.”

He glared at her, knowing she was right. But he couldn’t give in. It wasn’t pride—though he was man enough to admit that played a part—it was his whole mystique. He had to appear wholly intimidating, or his entire life would fall apart. The only jobs he had were from peers who had need of someone impressive to protect them. If that mystique fell away, so would his employment. So he braced his feet and glowered. “I’ll see what you carry in that basket, or I won’t let you in.”

“I’ll save you the trouble. I’ve a knife in there. As big as an ax, and I’ll use it to murder you for no reason at all.”

His lips twitched. He didn’t want to be amused, but she was so queenly in her outrage. Even in her dirt-stained dress with that broad northern accent that dulled the mind, she carried herself as a queen, and he was impressed.

Worse, he was out of time.

He heard heavy footfalls and knew Dicky was tromping out of the inn. He heard the man’s quick gasp of surprise. Stupid man would never look beneath the surface of a beautiful woman. He’d see the flawless skin, the sweet curves of lush breasts and full hips, and he would be lost. How had the man swindled the ton for so long?

“Bram, my man,” Dicky said as his footsteps slowed to the tempo of a swagger. “Is this lovely creature the lady bringing possets?”

The woman shifted immediately into a demure curtsy that completely fooled Dicky. “I am, sir. Me name’s Maybelle Ballenger, but everyone calls me Bluebell on account of my eyes.”

“Bluebell!” Dicky exclaimed. “Charming. Absolutely charming. Lord Linsel at your service.” He stepped forward and executed a courtly bow. If nothing else, Dicky knew how to impress an ignorant woman. Maybe even a clever woman too, since Miss Ballenger colored and ducked her eyes. Bram wanted to curse her for the act, but every woman colored and ducked her eyes when the ever-gorgeous Lord Linsel turned his charm in her direction. “And this rude gentleman,” Dicky added with a wink, “is Mr. Hallowsby.”

“Your basket, Miss Ballenger,” Bram cut in, his voice cold. “Just let me see what’s inside.”

“Is that what the fuss is about?” Dicky said with a hearty laugh. Which was when Bram realized the man wasn’t carrying his chest of gold. That was a surprise. “I hardly think this young miss means me harm. And besides, you’re more than a match for one little slip of a girl, don’t you think?”

He slid his gaze to Dicky, wishing he could strangle the man. Especially when the lady continued to keep her gaze down and her expression demure. Gone was the bold-as-brass woman who’d been facing him down. In her place stood a simpering child, which was exactly what would appeal to Dicky. He’d married Clarissa, after all, hadn’t he?

“I just want to see what’s inside,” he said, keeping his voice cold. “You tasked me with your safety—”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Then Dicky shifted his gaze back to Miss Ballenger. Or rather, to her ample bosom. “I must apologize deeply, but I am in somewhat of a pickle. Quite dangerous, actually. Would you mind terribly helping me out? Just a peek at your basket, please.”

“Well, milord, since you ask so sweetly.” She held out her basket and tugged off the cloth cover.

Bram glanced inside, cataloging the items in an instant. She did indeed have a knife in there. A small one meant for cutting fruit. It was very sharp as it gleamed in the sunlight, but the handle was old and worn. He didn’t regard it as a threat. Also inside were a variety of bottles, packed securely amid sachets and carrots.

Nothing damning at all, except the lies she sold in those bottles. And the overall lie of her body and smile.

“There now,” soothed Dicky. “Nothing to fear. And will anything in there help my dear wife?”

“Oh my, yes, milord,” she said with an artful smile. “But…oh.” Her face fell as she glanced to Bram. “Forgive me, but is your wife in a delicate condition?”

Dicky laughed with good humor. “Clary is always in a delicate…”

“With child, Dicky,” Bram interrupted.

Dicky puffed up, preening as if it had been a miracle to get his wife pregnant. “Why yes, indeed.”

“Oh dear,” the woman said sadly. “When a woman increases, she’s quite delicate. I’ve only the one posset that will do.” She touched a small bag. “It’s strong, but made for the frail.”

“Perfect,” Dicky began.

“Oh no, sir, I couldn’t. It’s for my aunt. She’s been faring poorly, and I saved it just for ’er.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Bram interrupted as he grabbed Dicky’s elbow and tried to steer him around. “She’s got nothing—”

“Wait, wait,” said Dicky, shaking off Bram’s arm. “She’s got the one, and Clary will be impossible if we don’t give her something. You know how she is.”

The lady shook her head and abruptly brightened. “Well, perhaps some of my other draughts will do. If I could meet the lady? See what she—”

Good God, she was worming herself deeper. Didn’t she see the way Dicky was looking at her breasts? If the idiot got it in his head to seduce the witch, they’d never leave this miserable village, and he’d never get paid.

“Dicky, no,” Bram said, though he knew two seconds after voicing the words that he’d taken the wrong tone with the man. Dicky was well aware of his consequence, especially in front of a pretty woman. He would never countenance a negation from a hireling. And sure enough, the man puffed up to his full arrogance.

“Now see here, you work for me, and I declare this beautiful creature will tend Clary. Do I make myself clear?”

Bram clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep quiet. Meanwhile, Dicky held out his arm for Miss Bluebell Ballenger. “Come inside, my dear. Let us see what you have to offer.”

Bram was left to trail in their wake. Damn it. They were never getting to Scotland. He was never getting paid. And he blamed it entirely on the witch.