Page 15 of Rules for a Bastard Lord (Rogues Gambit #2)

Never have a back-up plan. Have at leastthree.

B ram watched Eleanor closely as Bluebell told her tale. She did it with a storyteller’s natural talent, adding enough detail to make it sound real, and even letting her voice catch when she spoke of her mother. He knew he was being cynical. She did mourn her mother and she believed her tale. Still, it was impressive how she brought everyone—including him—into her story.

Except for that one problem.

“Was there a second son, Eleanor? A boy named Oscar?”

“Who died at school? Yes, maybe,” Eleanor answered. “But I cannot be sure. I think I heard that it made the earl bitter.”

Bluebell’s hands tightened in her lap. “That’s why he never came for my mother. It must be—”

Bram held up his hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We aren’t even sure about his name.”

“But it all fits.” She pushed to her feet. “I want to talk to him.”

“But he died—” said Eleanor.

“Not my father. My grandfather. He’s alive, yes?”

“Alive and in town,” Eleanor confirmed. “He prefers the city.”

Bluebell turned to him, her chin lifted in that imperious way of hers. “Take me to him. Please.”

Bram set down his teacup with a click. “I told you. You can’t just burst in on the man. He won’t see you.”

Eleanor agreed. “He’s right, you know. If your story is true—”

“If!”

“Then it needs to be handled appropriately. Oh!” She turned back to him. “That’s why you came to me. To get the introduction right and to give her some polish beforehand.”

Well, truthfully, he’d come here because his sister knew everything about everyone in the ton . He’d hoped she knew the truth of what really happened. Because legitimate children—even daughters—didn’t grow up in Hull forgotten by everyone.

“Can you do it?” he asked Eleanor. “She’s got no money, but it wouldn’t take much. A borrowed gown. An invitation to tea?”

Eleanor tapped the edge of her teacup. “You saw the church register?”

“Yes,” they answered together. And for added emphasis, Bluebell handed over the vicar’s letter.

Eleanor read it quickly, then passed it back, her expression thoughtful. He waited, his belly tight. If Eleanor refused to help, then they were at a dead end. The earl was notoriously full of his own consequence. Bram was a bastard. He and anyone with him would never be accepted into the house.

Then Eleanor nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Bluebell released a breath. “Thank you, my lady.”

But Bram shook his head. There was more. There was always more. “Why?”

“Two reasons. First, because you’ll pay me a thousand pounds.”

“Wot?” gasped Bluebell.

“You know we don’t have that much.” Bram lied. He had that much, but he had other plans for that money.

“It’s a pittance if he recognizes you. You’ll be outfitted and lauded in the coming Season.”

Bram shook his head. “You know that won’t happen.”

“On the contrary. I wager my time and influence that it will happen. Provided, of course, everything you’ve told me is true.”

“It’s the absolute truth,” Bluebell said. “I swear it.”

Unfortunately for Bluebell, Eleanor was looking at him. “Bram?”

“She believes it,” he finally said.

“And you’ll be looking into the rest.” It wasn’t a question. If Eleanor took up Bluebell’s cause, she would expect him to find and eliminate any resistance to their plan.

“I’ll do what I can,” he promised.

“And I won’t expect a penny until she’s recognized.”

“Then my grandfather will pay it,” Bluebell said, her words soft and hesitant. As if she couldn’t quite believe it would happen. Smart woman.

“One more thing,” Eleanor said, her eyes dancing with excitement.

“We don’t have anything else—” he began, but she folded her hands together and hit him with her most delighted smile.

“I want the truth, Bram. How did you really get Lord Haims to dower his bastard?”

Bram groaned. “I talked to him.”

“I don’t believe it. The man is an ass. He’d never pay that exorbitant an amount unless you did something dire.” She looked over to Bluebell. “That’s the only reason I have hope for you. Bram has already done it, you see. Lord Haims had a girl by his mistress, but refused to take care of her. Wouldn’t educate her or anything. Bram made him educate and dower her. The girl married a barrister and they’re quite happy. So you see, he’s done it before.”

But he didn’t get the man to legitimize the child. And he certainly hadn’t convinced Haims to marry the mistress. That was what he’d been hired to do, but even then he’d known it wasn’t possible. He got the mistress money and helped the girl build a good life.

“I just talked to him, Eleanor.” And threatened to expose the man’s enjoyment of being tied up and spanked. As a rule, Bram didn’t care what a man did in his leisure time. But certain high-ranking politicos did not want their peccadillos exposed. And given Bram’s overblown reputation for exposing spies and murderers, the ton would believe whatever salacious thing he said about Lord Haims.

But he’d promised not to reveal that, and so he refused to answer Eleanor.

“You must have hit him,” she said. “But there weren’t any bruises. Did you hurt his dog?”

“What? Why would I touch—?”

“It’s well known that he adores that dog more than his wife. You must have at least threatened his dog. Did you catch him alone? In a dark alley where you had already chained up his animal?”

“I went to his house.”

“That’s where the dog was.”

“I didn’t touch his dog!”

“But you wouldn’t have to, would you? Just threaten it.”

He let his head drop back as he glared at the ceiling. Good Lord, now he would have to make up something ridiculous just to satisfy Eleanor’s lurid curiosity. But then Bluebell saved him.

“Did he have gambling debts?”

Bram shrugged. Nothing out of the ordinary. “A few.”

“And did you throw your knife at him?”

His head snapped up. “What?”

Too late. Bluebell had already taken up the tale. She did what everyone did. She spun up a story that would be absorbed into the legion of ridiculous stories about him.

“You know he can do that, right? Take a knife from his hip and fling it dead center, quick as a wink.”

“Dead. Center.” Eleanor breathed the words like she was speaking holy text.

“Oh yes. I watched him skewer any number of trees.”

“Trees? Why ever would you hit trees?”

“He was defending me from a massive pig. They’re quite dangerous in the country. Largest pig I’ve ever seen. I could have been trampled to death.”

Well, that was probably true. Damned thing was huge.

Meanwhile, Eleanor was hanging on every word. “He threw his knives to frighten the pig? Brilliant!”

Bluebell nodded, her gaze flicking to him before looking away. She knew she was creating another story out of whole cloth.

“Is that what you did to Lord Haims? Threw your knife at him?”

“I only learned the skill recently and am not very good at it.”

“He’s marvelous,” Bluebell said.

Eleanor nodded. “He tries to keep what he does a secret, but everyone knows.” She leaned forward. “Did you see him breathe fire?”

“What? No!”

“Learned it from a gypsy. When he needs to, he can incinerate them with his breath.”

Bluebell didn’t speak, obviously trying to accept such a preposterous statement.

“So is that what you did to Lord Haims?” Eleanor pressed.

“Which? Throw my knives or incinerate him with my foul breath.”

Eleanor giggled in that musical way she had. It was obviously practiced. When she was little, she had a laugh like a braying donkey. “Either one. Or both!”

He sighed, deciding to tell the full truth this time. “Neither. I know a secret about him. One I would expose if he didn’t do what was right and moral by his child. A man who wants to lead the country ought to take responsibility for his offspring.”

“What was the secret?”

“Gambling debt, most likely,” said Bluebell.

Eleanor shook her head. “Too many people would know about that. Entire fortunes have been won and lost on the green baize. Nothing could be more common.”

Bluebell nodded, though she was obviously thinking hard. “Not if Mr. Hallowsby bought up the markers. Imagine the scandal if this lord lost his fortune to a bastard.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Of course. Of course!”

If he could collect the markers for a fortune, he’d have bought a small property with it. Someplace outside of London to live in peace with a dozen dogs. He certainly wouldn’t have traveled to Hull with Dicky and Clarissa. But logic didn’t seem to have any sway here.

“Ladies, if I share, then Lord Haims will take back his support. And Jenny deserves better.”

Eleanor lifted her hands. “She’s married, and the dowry already paid. What could—”

Bluebell reached forward, touching Eleanor’s arm. “But don’t you see? Her husband is a barrister. Couldn’t Lord Haims malign him? Make it so he couldn’t work?”

Eleanor nodded. “I suppose so. But I won’t tell.”

“It don’t work that way,” Bluebell said. “He can’t tell a soul.”

Which was the perfect way to silence Eleanor. Not the statement. He’d said something similar time and again, but everyone swore they wouldn’t tell. They could keep a secret. Which is exactly what Eleanor would have said if only Bluebell had used correct English.

But she hadn’t. And so Eleanor narrowed her eyes and released a sigh of disappointment. “So she hasn’t been gently reared.”

“Of course she has,” Bram said. “But it was in Hull.”

“Well, we can’t say that. No one of any interest ever comes from Hull.”

“I’m a good Christian soul!” Bluebell cried.

Eleanor waved that aside. “I thought you were speaking too clearly. I knew it wasn’t natural for you.”

“Of course it is,” Bluebell said, proving the point by speaking slowly and clearly.

“She’s been practicing,” Bram began.

“Not enough.”

True. “But that’s why you’re here. You’re going to help her.”

“I was measuring how much training she needs.” She lifted her hands as if it were a futile effort. “She knows nothing.”

“I know a lot!”

Eleanor didn’t even look at Bluebell. “Don’t raise your voice. If we’re to convince the earl you are the real thing, you must perform exactly as the lady you claim to be.”

“I don’t have to perform. I’m his grandchild.”

“And if you appear no better than a Cockney rat? If you don’t make the man bend far, he may accept you.”

“But I am his grandchild,” she repeated.

“And when,” Bram interrupted, “have you ever been served by the truth?”

He held her gaze, silently reminding her that she’d just spun a tale about his exploits. More than one, if he included the nonsense about Dicky’s escape and the damned pig. They both knew that no one cared about the truth. Only reputation mattered.

She grimaced. “I will practice harder.”

Eleanor nodded. “See that you do.” Then she turned to him. “Very well, Bram. Leave her to me. Send word when you have done what is needed.”

He blinked. “What is needed?”

“You’ll have to intimidate the earl somehow. Frighten his dog or gather whatever secrets he’s hiding. I think he’s fond of his horses.”

“What kind of man do you think I am?”

“One who will stop at nothing to see justice done for Miss Ballenger.”

He grimaced. “I am not a miracle worker.”

Bluebell gave him a smile. The kind that lit up her face. And the room. And his organ. “Yes, you are,” she said. “And you already promised to help.”

“I have helped,” he said irritably. “I brought you to Eleanor.”

“Exactly,” the ladies cried together. It was disconcerting.

Meanwhile, Eleanor waved to Seelye, who had somehow appeared at the door. “Now leave her to me while you do what you do.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do anything.”

“Of course not,” his sister said as she winked at him. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“And with me!” Bluebell said, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

And on that ridiculous note, he was shown to the door. He fumed silently as he traversed London. He was achy and his feet hurt when he finally arrived at his tiny bachelor room. All he wanted was to lie down and not wake up for a week.

Instead, he nearly tripped over Dicky and Clarissa.

“Bloody hell.”