Page 14 of Rules for a Bastard Lord (Rogues Gambit #2)

Bastards will find another way because they must. Some call them resourceful. Some call them cruel. Pick your bastardcarefully.

B ram experienced a strange moment of absolute clarity. He recognized determination in the deluded woman sitting across from him. And he knew he had a choice.

She saw him as a knight avenger of old. An idiot of the Round Table instead of a bastard with fast fists existing on the fringe of society. He was well used to people seeing what they wanted in him. Dicky saw him as a protector. Cara had seen him as a sap. And both had wanted to exploit him.

Bluebell was no different than they were. He was a means to her end as well, and yet something in her words called to him. Like a trumpet sound to battle. He could feel the weight of the armor she put on him as she asked him to rise to a noble cause. He could expose the wrong done to her mother. He could give her peace, if not exactly happiness.

“This will not turn out as you want,” he rasped, startled by how thick his throat felt. “The earl is a crotchety blighter. Never a kind word to anyone.”

She smiled at him as if being reviled by a powerful man meant nothing. “I will speak with him. I will demand justice for me and my mother. I will look him in the eye and say my piece.”

He shook his head. “It is a fool’s errand that will only end in tears.”

She dropped her chin on her fist, staring at him with an open expression. “You’re growing tiresome.”

“You’re not sitting up straight.”

“You’ll do it.” It wasn’t a question.

“What makes you so sure?”

She smiled again. A pure and simple smile. Her bonnet had fallen back, so the sun sparkled in her blue eyes and turned her hair to gold. He saw the curving bow of her mouth and the white of her even teeth.

Did he become her knight and fight for her justice? Or did he walk away?

She was right, damn her eyes. He was going to help her. He had no idea why except that she kindled a flame inside him. A warmth or an idiocy, he wasn’t sure which. But he liked the idea of doing something noble.

It should frighten him that he’d felt this same fire years ago with Cara. It did bother him. Blond women with blue eyes and sweet smiles. They were his downfall. Especially if they had a cause.

“I cannot do it alone,” he finally said.

She arched her brows, her smile widening into a grin. “Certainly we can—”

“But I know who will help. She can polish the worst of your rough edges and get us access.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need Eleanor.” He pushed up from the table. “Come on. It’s a long way yet to London.”

*

The ride to London was the most miserable experience of her life. It wasn’t just that they were shoved together on the inside of the mail coach. That was hard enough, but Mr. Hallowsby quizzed her on every inconsequential and ridiculous thing he could possibly dream up. How did one sit in the company of an earl? How did one use a fan when sharing tea? How did one stand without fidgeting in skirts that itched?

And when she complained, he said that Lady Eleanor would demand far worse, so she’d best get used to it.

She wanted to tell him to go to the devil. She wanted to look at London. But she also wanted to know what she should do if the gentleman sitting next to her stank of vomit. And what were the rudiments of breeding a good hunting dog?

“Why is this is important?” she cried for the thousandth time. “Why don’t you ask me about mathematics or sheep husbandry?”

“Because no one in society will care about that.” Then he cast a glaring eye at the young man stuffed in the coach along with them. “And what do you know about sheep?” She assumed the question was for her and not the young man, who flushed and looked away.

“I grew up in Hull,” she said tartly. “We all know about sheep.”

“Of course,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone that. Don’t claim to be from Hull at all.”

“I am not going to lie to my grandfather!” she snapped.

He nodded slowly. “True. But he will expect you to lie, so you should confuse him with the truth.”

“But—”

“My mother was a courtesan. I was there as a boy, watching as she dealt with society.” His eyes darkened. “London and the elite are very different than anything you can imagine.”

“I can imagine a great deal,” she groused.

“Then imagine yourself going through the steps of a quadrille.”

“A what?”

He jolted as if shocked. “Good Lord, you do not know how to dance.”

She threw up her hands. “There wasn’t much call for it in Hull. No matter how much I hummed, the sheep refused to do the patterns.”

His lips twitched, but it didn’t soften his glare. “You’ll have to learn that immediately. One misstep, and you shall be branded a provincial.”

She sighed. She was a provincial, and she began to doubt that any education would change that. “Bram, I am tired. Can you not let me be?”

“And that’s another thing. Gentlemen are boring. You will have to feign interest even if you are ready to fall dead asleep.”

She dropped her head back. “I will not be talking to gentlemen, Bram. I will be speaking to my grandfather.”

“Who will either rail at you or refuse the door.”

“Neither of which is boring.”

He huffed out a breath. “I am trying to teach you.”

“No,” she said wearily. “You’re trying to frighten me.” She looked down at her clenched fists and consciously opened them. “And it’s working.”

“Well, of course—” He stopped himself, narrowing his eyes as he stared at her. She didn’t respond. She looked back, relaxing enough to let fear show on her face. She was a girl from Hull. What did she know about confronting an earl?

“This is a mad scheme,” he said softly. Then he touched her hand. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

She nodded and let his warmth seep into her. She inhaled his scent to her soul and let it stay there, supporting her. And in this way, she finally relaxed. Which is when he started quizzing her again.

All the way into London. Which was when she declared enough.

She gave him her back and stared out the window. They were at the most interesting part of the drive. Houses near enough to see into each other’s windows. Another mail coach so large, she could barely believe it. People wearing colorful clothing right next to someone in rags. All things she had never seen before, every mile bringing something new.

“It’s bad form to be pressed up against the glass like a country git.”

She glared at him, willing him to soften, just this once. It didn’t work, not even when she relied on her pleading expression. Big eyes, slight pout, even a strategic blink that suggested tears.

He laughed. “Don’t try that on your grandfather. Your eyes are pretty, but they’re not quite big enough to make a pout attractive.”

“Did you just call my eyes small?”

“No. I said they’re not big enough for the weeping kitten look. Not without cosmetics. But then, Eleanor will teach you all about those.”

Eventually, they arrived at the coaching inn, and suddenly, Maybelle was struck dumb with fear. So many people! So much confusion! If she were here alone, she wasn’t sure she could manage it. But Bram knew exactly how to go on. He commanded a hackney and handed her up while she was still quivering inside.

“Almost done,” he said, as he climbed into the smelly carriage.

She gave him a bright smile, but inside, she quailed. Getting to London was the easiest part. Getting to her grandfather would be the challenge. But first she had to meet his Eleanor.

The carriage maneuvered expertly through the crowded streets, avoiding vendors, children, and rubbish alike. Every scent imaginable found its way into the carriage, and she was both fascinated and appalled.

Eventually, the vendors disappeared, the people dressed fancier, and the houses grew large even as they tucked tightly together. She saw a tree or two, which was like a balm to her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she loved greenery until it was gone.

And then they stopped moving.

She’d been gawking out the window, her eyes tired from all the staring. The view when they’d stopped was of a narrow house of five stories. She couldn’t imagine living in something so grand! And on the front door sat a massive knocker in the shape of an eagle.

She felt the shift in the carriage as the driver set the brake and climbed down. Then the door was pulled open, and it was time. And just like before, when she couldn’t climb into Mr. Bray’s cart, she sat there frozen. A tiny movement was all she’d need. A single push, and she could go again. But she sat there and wondered if she could even breathe.

Bram shifted beside her, but he didn’t push. And for the first time this day, he patiently waited for her to decide.

“Don’t say it,” she hissed. “Don’t say that I can still turn back.”

“I don’t need to.”

She glared at him. “Bugger.”

He chuckled, but his words were firm. “None of that now. If you must curse—and ladies do not curse—say something sweet like cakes !”

She blinked at him. “You want me to say ‘cake’ when I’m angry?”

“I want you to say nothing at all, but I’ve learned that’s not possible. Is ‘licorice’ better?”

“I’ve never heard of that. Is it a sweet?”

His eyes widened. “Never heard of licorice. You have had a hard life, haven’t you?”

She didn’t know how to answer that. She was cross with him for picking at her all day. She was cross with herself for sitting frozen now like a bump on a log. And she was cross because she didn’t know what a silly sweet was and had never had it.

Then the driver had enough. “’Ere now. Out ye go.”

Her gaze cut to the grizzled man, and she tried to smile. Damnation, her mouth was weak. It trembled as her cheeks pulled.

“Don’t be sick in me carriage!” he snapped. “Out!”

“We’ll be a moment longer,” said Bram, handing over double the coin than she thought necessary. Then he maneuvered around to step out first. “Look your fill now,” he said in a low voice. “But the moment you step out of the carriage, you lift your chin and look bored.”

“Why do you think ladies are never excited. Everyone feels happy or excited or mad or—”

His heavy sigh interrupted her, and she buttoned her lip. She’d pushed him too far. So she grew quiet, lifted her chin, and held out her hand.

He took it with a look of surprise and helped her down. But once on the walkway, her breath caught. Outside, the buildings looked four times as large, and the fierce brass eagle knocker even more frightening. But it wasn’t until a blank-faced butler opened the door that she became truly intimidated.

Inside was every lush and expensive thing in the world. Decorative vases, brass accents… Even the walls were gleaming bright with expensive beauty. Suddenly, she remembered that she’d been sweating in the heat of the carriage. That her clothing, even new, hadn’t been as crisp as the butler’s coat. That she’d never possessed gloves as white as his or seen a staircase that rose endlessly before her.

She swallowed, and her grip on Mr. Hallowsby’s arm tightened while he spoke to the butler.

“Good evening, Seelye. Is my sister at home?”

Sister?

“Good evening, Mr. Hallowsby. I shall see if Lady Eleanor is at home to you and…?” It took a moment for Maybelle to realize he was asking for her name. She was still stuck on the fact that his sister was Lady Eleanor.

Fortunately, Bram didn’t falter. “Miss Maybelle Ballenger requests a word.”

“Of course, sir.” The butler glanced behind him at a footman in pristine livery. The man took a sharp turn and mounted the stairs. Meanwhile, the butler held out his hands.

Maybelle had no idea what he was doing until Mr. Hallowsby stripped off his hat and gloves.

“Oh,” she gasped, then colored up to her ears. With jerky movements, she pulled off her bonnet and gloves. Bram said to act haughty and remember her h ’s.

“This way, if you please,” intoned the butler as he led them at a snail’s pace to a parlor stuffed to the brim with old things. Porcelain, brass, silk—all in a complicated display of history that confused her. Furniture likely sat on by royalty, clocks that kept accurate time, and exquisite paintings on the walls.

She stood in the middle of the parlor and wondered if she was allowed to sit. Were ladies allowed to seat themselves where royalty had once been?

Haughty, she reminded herself. So she crossed to the settee. Her bum had nearly connected with the cushions when Mr. Hallowsby spoke. “Seelye, are the duke and duchess at home? I have not yet made my bow to them and would welcome the opportunity.”

Maybelle froze. This was the residence of a duke and duchess? This… Oh, shite. Did she sit or not? She couldn’t hang out here all day in a crouch.

In the end, gravity decided for her. Her knees gave out, and she landed with a soft umph on velvet cushions. At least she didn’t break the furniture.

“Their Graces are not at home,” the butler said gravely.

“Perhaps next time, then. Thank you, Seelye.”

“Mr. Hallowsby. Miss Ballenger.” The man bowed slightly, then backed out of the room. But he remained at the doorway like a sentinel listening to their every word.

Maybelle cast a terrified look at Mr. Hallowsby and mouthed, “Duke? Duchess?”

He nodded, his lips curved into a smirk. She knew what he was thinking. Would she run? Would she call everything quits and head back to Hull and Charlie? Part of her desperately wanted to. What could a father—or grandfather—give her now that she didn’t already have? Except answers to a lifetime of questions.

She stood her ground.

“Lady Eleanor,” the butler announced from the doorway.

“Bram! My goodness, you look like you’ve been sitting in a dust storm.”

The most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen floated into the room. Her movements were so smooth, her expression so serene, she might have been a ghostly apparition.

“Very much like a storm, I’m afraid,” he said as he took her hands and kissed the back of each one. “The road to London is not paved with gold, but mud, dust, and things much worse. You must forgive my appearance.”

“I always have,” she said with a beatific smile. “Because you always bring such tales when you come.” Then she turned to Maybelle. “And are you, perhaps, his latest adventure?”

Maybelle rose to her feet, forcing herself to pretend a nobility she didn’t feel. She dipped into a small curtsy.

“Miss Maybelle Ballenger, my lady.” Then she held out her hands as she’d seen Lady Eleanor do. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

The woman stared at her, and there was a moment when Maybelle thought a frown was forming. But no wrinkle disrupted her features. Instead, she took Maybelle’s hands in hers.

“I am all agog.”

Mr. Hallowsby leaned back against the mantel. “It is not my tale to tell.”

Lady Eleanor cast him a glance. “No, you never tell. Very well…” She released Maybelle’s hands. “I’ve called for tea. Will you share some with me?”

It wasn’t a real question, and so Maybelle didn’t answer. She took her seat and prayed none of the dirt on her dress found its way onto the velvet. Meanwhile, Lady Eleanor continued to chatter with Bram.

“It’s beastly hot, isn’t it? I can’t abide London at this time of year, but their graces wished to summer in the country, so I remained here, letting them have their privacy.”

“Do I hear affection in your tone?” Mr. Hallowsby asked. “For the sailor turned duke?”

Lady Eleanor opened her perfect mouth, but then shut it with a silent shrug.

“You are set on enduring,” Mr. Hallowsby said in a dry tone.

“What else can I do?” she returned serenely.

Show some emotion, perhaps? Something to indicate that she was human and not porcelain come to life?

The butler came in, walking in measured steps. Given the bustle everywhere else in London, Maybelle couldn’t understand how these two were so slow. The tray was set down, the lady nodded formally, and then she leaned forward to pour.

“Miss Ballenger, may I offer you some tea? How do you like it?”

Maybelle’s first thought was to answer, “With hot water.” But she saw sugar and cream on the tray, not to mention a lemon sliced neatly in half. What riches! “Um, a squeeze of lemon, if you please.”

“My father also liked it strong. None of that sweet nonsense, he used to say.”

Yes, that was the reason, she thought, her lips tight to keep from giving in to a hysterical giggle. It wasn’t because she’d never been able to afford sweets.

“Bram? You prefer it almost white, don’t you?”

“I do like cream,” he said.

Was this polite conversation? Tea? Dust? Maybelle sipped her tea and tried to keep her mind quiet and her senses alert. She drank. She nibbled at some cakes. Meanwhile, brother and sister discussed who had left London, who had remained, and who had married.

“And what of Lord Linsel?”

“Gone. He left me in Hull, which is where I met Miss Ballenger.”

“He left you? But—”

“He became frightened.”

“And well he should be. Were you in danger?”

Mr. Hallowsby answered with a shrug. His sister, however, turned to Maybelle.

“Miss Ballenger, you must tell me. Was he in true danger?”

“Three men appeared with pistols. A bear of a man and two ugly ones on either side.” She didn’t need to fake her shudder.

“With pistols?” the lady cried, her eyes wide as she turned to her brother. “ Pistols? ”

“There wasn’t any danger.”

“There was,” insisted Maybelle. She had lost patience with sitting like a bump on a log. It was time for her to add to the conversation. “But Mr. Hallowsby tricked them, and Lord and Lady Linsel were able to escape.”

“My goodness. How did you trick them? Did you punch them insensate?”

Mr. Hallowsby sighed. “No, Eleanor—”

“Of course not,” the lady said, tapping a finger on her teacup. “That wouldn’t be a trick, would it? Now, don’t tell me. Let me see if I can guess.”

“Eleanor, we didn’t come here to—”

“I have it. You distracted them somehow. You found someone who looked like Dicky and Clarissa, and the brutes followed them instead.” She looked to Maybelle. “Was that it?”

“No, my lady.”

“Hmmm. But he could have done that. He’s done that before with an extremely dangerous murderer.”

“Really?” Maybelle looked to Mr. Hallowsby, who rolled his eyes.

“No—”

“He’s being modest. It was the talk of the ton for at least a week. Set up a decoy, and the murderer ran after the wrong person.”

“But wasn’t the decoy in danger?”

“Of course, but he was very fleet of foot and got away. The murderer got lost on the London streets, and Bram came up behind him and…” She clapped her hands.

Maybelle jolted. “What did you do?” she asked him.

Lady Eleanor answered instead. “Bram killed him, of course. The man was vile. The constable was very impressed and gave Bram a medal.”

“Really?”

“No, not really,” said Mr. Hallowsby, clearly exasperated.

“Bram never talks about it,” said his sister. “Bad form to talk about the people he protects. He’s very secretive, you know.”

No, she didn’t know. He’d never seemed that way to her. Especially if she listened closely. But Lady Eleanor was too busy talking over his exploits to even look at Bram.

“Eleanor, please, can we get to the business at hand?”

“No, no. I’m still working out what you did to help Dicky.”

“I gave them Dicky’s gold, that’s what, and off they went. They got what they wanted, Dicky and his wife stayed unharmed, and I managed to get paid.”

Eleanor frowned. “Well, that’s not very sporting.”

Maybelle was also frowning. “And that’s not what happened. He only pretended to give away all Lord Linsel’s money.”

“Oh! Very clever. And after Dicky got away, did you pursue the brutes? Do away with them?”

Mr. Hallowsby sighed. “Eleanor, when did you get so bloodthirsty?”

“I bet you beat them soundly. You’re ruthless when protecting someone.” She turned to Maybelle. “He did, didn’t he? He won’t say, so you’ll have to.”

“I never saw the men again,” Maybelle answered, knowing she was feeding Lady Eleanor’s imagination.

“You wouldn’t. Bram took care of them.”

“Eleanor,” he cut in. “Miss Ballenger is here to ask for your help.”

“Is she under your care? Is she in danger?” The woman sounded excited by the idea.

“No danger,” Mr. Hallowsby said firmly.

Maybelle shifted in her seat. “My mother was wronged, we think.”

Lady Eleanor set her cup down, her eyes bright. “Tell me everything.”

Finally.