Page 16 of Rules for a Bastard Lord (Rogues Gambit #2)

When the world spins out of control, trust a bastard. Their world was never under control, so they know how to navigateit.

“R eally, Bram,” Dicky drawled. “Your manners have become deplorable. One does not swear in front of a lady.”

What lady? he nearly snapped. But losing his temper had never helped anything. “How did you get in here?”

“Your landlady let us in.” Dicky flicked a dismissive finger. “Not much of a butler, but sweet enough. The tea was good.” He gestured to the full tea service set out before them.

“I’ve told you,” Clarissa cut in, her voice tart. “In his situation, he has to make do. You can’t expect proper servants from…oh. Well, you know.”

From a bastard. Bloody hell. He looked at the rear of the house where his landlady lived. He occupied a set of rooms upstairs. She’d probably retired for the night—it was past dark—but these two idiots could still muck thing up.

He glared at them, sitting primly in bedraggled clothing as if this were a proper social visit. They’d obviously been caught in a downpour and had their clothing dry on their bodies. Clarissa’s hair was beyond repair, though she’d tied up the locks with sad bits of ribbon. The only things still pristine were her sapphires. They sparkled bright on her neck, though she’d lost an earbob. And as he watched, she fondled the stones again.

Nervous habit, that. She ought to stop. But then Dicky would have to stop caressing the enormous belly of…

“What the devil is that?”

Clarissa clucked her tongue at his language, while Dicky held up an enormous clock. It was a shepherdess with three fat sheep.

“Good God, did you put the money in that?”

“Shhh!” Dicky hissed. “The crockery broke. Can’t trust anything made by a Scot. So we got this instead. And Clary had the idea to dress the part. See how her bonnet matches?” He gestured to an enormous bonnet on a side table. Clarissa obliged by putting it on and batting her eyes. It might have worked if she didn’t look like a drowned rat.

“I was a shepherdess at a masquerade once, and everyone said I was the prettiest one there,” she said.

“Most definitely,” agreed Dicky. “And that’s how we got the idea, you see.”

Oh no. No, no, no. He did not want to know the plan. But Dicky kept talking, and Bram couldn’t stop him.

“We tried the boat, you see. Even got on the little one to row out to the big one, but Clary was so nervous, and her stomach was tetchy.”

“I don’t like boats,” she sniffed.

“Yes, well, the rower was terrible and Clary was clutching at my hand, but I was holding the crockery. Then there was this wave—”

“At least seven feet tall!”

“Undoubtedly! And I dropped the crockery—”

“It broke. All those pieces and the coins and the notes—”

“Flying everywhere, and Clary and me trying to grab them.”

“And the sailors—”

“It’s terrible hard to get decent folk, you know. And sailors are the worst lot.”

“Terrible thieves.”

“We got some of it, you see.”

“But the wave came and—”

“Blasted sailor was more interested in my money than rowing the boat.”

“And… And…” Apparently, Clarissa could barely pull herself together enough to voice the last of it. So Bram did it for her, though it was only a guess.

“Capsized, did you?”

“Into the ocean!” she wailed.

Dicky patted her hand. “Lost everything. But what notes we could clutch as we waded to shore.”

“Waded?” Bram asked. Bloody hell, they hadn’t made it more than a few feet off shore!

Dicky’s words were rushed. “Swam. We swam to shore.”

“I nearly drowned!” Clarissa gasped.

“Well,” continued Dicky, “nothing on Earth would induce me back into the water after that. Not with those thieves!”

Bram folded his arms. “Lost your passage money, didn’t you?”

“Stolen!” gasped Clarissa.

Bram had no words. He couldn’t fathom why these two had decided he was their savior. There was only one thing he cared about. One small detail and he’d wash his hands of them.

“Where is Mina?”

“Who’s Mina?” asked Dicky. Clarissa was too busy pretending to cry into her crumpled handkerchief.

“The horse. Where’s the carriage and horse?”

“That horse!” huffed Clarissa.

“You should have told us it was such an ugly thing,” Dicky admonished him. “We would have waited while you found a more appropriate one.”

“More appropriate? A high-stepper, perhaps, in Hull. I thought you were trying to flee without anyone noticing.”

Dicky stiffened. “Don’t take that tone with me. Just because we’re relocating doesn’t mean we should be subjected to that mongrel horse.”

“Where is Mina?” he ground out.

“Stabled just down the road. Filthy place. Don’t know why you abide it.”

“Because I don’t have a horse.”

“Well, you do now. I’ll not have that hideous creature as one of my own.” He lifted his chin. “You owe me three hundred pounds.”

“Like hell I do.”

“Bram!” Dicky huffed. “I must insist that you watch your tongue.”

“Or what? You’ll throw me out of my own home?” It was late, he was tired, and he was in no mood to deal with these two. “What do you want, Dicky?”

“Well, as to that, do you think everyone’s forgotten about us by now?”

Bram blinked at the man. He couldn’t possibly be that stupid. “It was a week ago. Even the ton can remember last week.”

Clarissa sniffed louder into her handkerchief.

Dicky sighed. “We knew that was possible, Clary.” He patted his wife’s shoulder. “Good thing we have another plan.”

A plan. Wonderful. He didn’t know whether to be elated or terrified. “What is it?”

“We can’t go anywhere on water. And everyone thinks we’re in Scotland. Jeremy hasn’t come looking for us, has he?”

“No,” Bram said slowly, and that worried him. “But I’ve only just returned to London.

“So he must be up in Scotland, right?”

That’s what Bram hoped.

Dicky brightened. “So that’s our plan!”

“What?”

Dicky waved to the porcelain shepherd and Clarissa’s mammoth bonnet. “We’re going to live in Plymouth. As shepherds.”

Bram didn’t say a word. Not with the two staring at him with hope in their eyes.

“It’s the perfect thing,” Dicky continued. “No one would expect it of us. We don’t have to go on the water, and we’re still in England.”

“Where people will find you.”

“Nonsense. Who would think us common shepherds?” He grinned at his own cleverness.

“Dicky, do you know anything about sheep?”

“They’re dumb animals. And I got excellent marks in school—I’m sure I can figure it out.”

He’d barely passed his classes, and that was by paying underclassmen to write his papers. Bram tried to picture the two of them herding sheep. Clarissa in her massive bonnet, Dicky with shears in his hand, calmly ordering a ram to submit like a good sheep.

“It won’t work.”

“Of course—”

“But I know something that will,” he lied. Nothing would work for these two, but this might serve everyone’s purpose. If he could bring it off. “But only on one condition.”

“Yes?”

“That once I have you established, you never, ever speak to me again.”

“Well, I say!”

“Oh no!” Clarissa gasped.

“Not one word. Not one glance. Never again. Swear it.”

They had no choice but to relent. And once he had their solemn word—not that it meant much—he ushered them out the door. Finding a hackney at this hour was hard. Sitting in it with those two was even harder. Eventually, he found his friend Bernard, manager of the most reputable gaming hells in town. He was also the brother to the new Duchess of Bucklynde.

He held off telling them what they would do until the last moment. First, he paid Bernard an enormous fee for ensuring Dicky’s and Clarissa’s places in the troupe. Then two more days of miserable travel—in the carriage pulled by poor Mina—in order to find the group. But after three days, it was done, and he could finally tell them about their new jobs.

“You’re going to be host and hostess of a traveling menagerie.”

Then he dumped them on the proprietor, who really did need a showman like Dicky. Then he reminded them of their promise to never speak to him again, and departed as fast as poor Mina could manage.