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

Women can be clever too. And cruel. And exactly what youdeserve.

H e was going to be a problem, thought Maybelle, as she played the innocent miss taking an impressive man’s arm. Not the angelic looking Lord Linsel, who was angling his head to see down her bodice. She gave him just enough of a view to tantalize and no more. It was the other one, the tall one with the righteous air, who would be the difficulty. She’d met men like him before. Angry, prideful gentlemen who found every excuse to be annoying just because they could.

Fortunately, she’d been dealing with that type of mongrel all her life. The key was to align her goals with his, and therefore, they’d both get what they wanted.

He wanted her gone. She wanted to sell all of her potions and be gone. Therefore, she would simply have to recruit him to her purpose, and then they could both be happy.

She cast a winning smile over her shoulder at him. It would only irritate him further, but she took perverse joy in his glower. Lord, if the man would only smile, he would be devastatingly handsome. But no, he chose sour pudding, and she would laugh when she bested him.

“Is this your first child, milord?” she said, opening her eyes wide to make them appear more genuine.

“We hope. The others have not…well…Clary doesn’t carry a babe well. She’s delicate that way.”

“’Ow awful for you. My ’eart simply bleeds.”

Was that a snort she heard behind her? Ha. If he thought that ingenuous of her, he was in for an earful. She’d barely started buttering up the obviously rich Lord Linsel.

“It must ’ave been an important matter then,” she continued, “to travel when she is in a delicate way.”

“Oh yes,” the man said gravely. “I’m an important man, you see, and there are unsavory characters who are after me. Hence the gentleman behind us.”

She wondered if that were true or just pretense. Either way, she could see why the innkeeper was in such a tizzy to see them happy. Rich travelers were windfalls for the entire village, and everyone was thinking of ways to bilk them.

They passed through the kitchen where she gave Mrs. Garwick a reassuring smile. She’d make sure everyone got a fair share of this fat bunny. Meanwhile, Mr. Garwick bustled forward, his face flushed and his hands knotted from swollen joints. He started to speak, but Maybelle shook her head. Instead, she patted his arm as they passed by him, making sure to press a tisane into his hands as thanks for calling her.

It was no great sacrifice. She had a half dozen more that would never sell before she left.

“For your joints, Mr. Garwick,” she said. “In return for some of your wife’s divine stew.” She turned to Lord Linsel. “Mrs. Garwick doesn’t charge half as much as she should for that beef. I have tried and tried to copy her recipe, but I simply haven’t the knack. Or the meat.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gillian nod in agreement. The woman could now charge these nobs double, and the man wouldn’t blink an eye. “Have you tried a bowl?”

Lord Linsel shook his head. “I haven’t had—”

“Oh, you simply must. It’s wonderful. An important man deserves an important meal, don’t you think? And this is the only place for miles to get one.”

The man puffed out his chest. “Well, then I suppose I will.”

“Excellent. Oh dear, ’ow I run on. I’m not used to chatting with so elegant a man. Mayhaps I could see yer wife?”

“Yes, yes. Right through here.”

She didn’t need him to lead her. She’d been coming to this inn selling possets since she was old enough to count money. But she let the man lead her and so entered the private parlor where a beautiful woman drenched in jewels sat looking bored.

Her gown was the most stunning thing Maybelle had ever seen, and a surge of desire went through her strong enough to make her bite the inside of her cheek. One day soon she would be attired in a gown like that. Lush green like the deepest forest, plus a gold necklace sporting blue sapphires, just like the one this woman wore. She’d have a big ring on her finger too, and…oh my.

The woman had been sick. The stink clung to her gloves. Her breath was foul, and her blond ringlets were greasy too. When Maybelle was rich, she’d look pretty and smell good.

None of those thoughts appeared on her face as Maybelle crossed to the woman. On the way, the edge of her boot kicked something hard hidden under the couch, but she couldn’t bend down to look. She’d already scanned the room and itemized the things that were owned by these three. Nothing much beyond the lady’s bonnet and a long umbrella. But something important was under that couch.

Sadly, she couldn’t look. Her job was to sell everything she carried. “Oh my,” she said as she neared the reclining Clary. “I’ve never seen so beautiful a laidy before.”

“What?” The woman’s face crumpled up in horror. “Gracious, Dicky, what creature is this? I can’t understand a word she’s saying.”

Maybelle drew up short. Of all the things she’d expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. She always spoke perfectly clear. But perhaps the woman was hard of hearing. So she smiled warmly and spoke slow and distinct.

“Good afternoon, my lady. I can see you’ve ’ad a ’ard time of it. Mayhaps—”

“Oh, keep her away. Her words grate on the ears. Mr. Hallowsby, tell me her garbled screech doesn’t give you the headache. And me, in my delicate condition.” She pressed one hand to her belly and one to her mouth.

“I completely agree,” said the difficult man. “I’m sorry, Miss Bluebell, but you must leave.”

What? Without earning so much as a farthing? “You understood me clear as day outside,” she snapped. Then she forcibly moderated her tone. “I. ’Ave. Possets,” she said, each word distinct. “To. ’Elp. Stomach.” She patted her tummy.

“I’m not a half-wit,” the lady snapped. “I hear the mangled thing you call language perfectly well.” She raised her hands and made a shooing motion. “Go away. Just go away.”

Maybelle clenched her teeth, struggling to keep calm. It was always difficult braving the village to sell her wares. She’d been pinched and insulted for the last hour. And now to be dismissed for her language? That was beyond ridiculous. Her speech was no different than the innkeeper’s and they both spoke clearly.

But there were more ways than one to sell a thing. She would simply do it without speaking. And charge them triple for the trouble. So she lifted off the covering of the basket and showed the woman her tisanes and possets. Then she picked out one in particular and mimed drinking it. Then she pointed at her belly.

“Good Lord, she wants to poison my baby,” the woman moaned.

That was not what she had said…er…gestured. She looked to the room at large for help. Mr. Hallowsby was smirking, so she looked to the woman’s husband. Turning pleading eyes on him, she lifted up her best tisane. It calmed nerves and soothed aches. Truthfully, she wanted a cup of it right now, but instead she looked imploringly at Lord Linsel.

“Clary, you’re going to make the beautiful girl cry.”

Oh damnation, men were such idiots. The last thing this woman wanted was to hear about her beauty.

“Don’t you get loud with me,” the lady pouted. “You know how it upsets me.” She clenched her necklace as if she feared Maybelle would steal it.

“I’m not, dearest,” Lord Linsel said, moderating his tone. “But perhaps this will help your nerves.”

“What can this ignorant creature have that will help me?”

Ignorant? Maybelle was better educated than anyone else for miles. She had read Shakespeare and knew her figures. She had memorized chemical formulae and even knew Latin, though Greek was beyond her. Naturally, none of that would show outwardly. And apparently, it didn’t show in her voice, either.

“Are you trying to be rid of me?” Lady Linsel continued, her voice painfully shrill. “To poison me—”

“Of course not.” Worse and worse. Lord Linsel was getting irritated and now looked desperately at Mr. Hallowsby. No, no, no! He had to look to his wife.

Maybelle pushed to her feet but was suddenly blocked by Mr. Annoying.

“Let’s get out of this place,” the man said calmly. “Your tisanes don’t agree with Clarissa.”

She’d wager her last penny that nothing agreed with Clarissa. She looked to Mr. Garwick, but the innkeeper could do nothing. He shrugged, and she knew it was up to her to mitigate this disaster. Thank God she was leaving the horrible village. She couldn’t stand much more abuse, even if it came from obnoxious Londoners. And in a village like this, everything these three said and did would be repeated for years to come.

“I’ll ready the horses, my lords, my lady,” Mr. Garwick said as he bustled out of the room.

Meanwhile, Maybelle grabbed another tisane. She would have to risk speaking. There was no other way to get the information across quickly. Except she couldn’t catch Lord Linsel’s eye. Mr. Hallowsby was in the way.

So she tugged on the irritating man’s sleeve. He looked down, his expression both mocking and indulgent. Bastard. But she swallowed her indignation and held up her offering.

“It will ’elp her sleep,” she whispered.

She could see the man considering it, but she’d spoken too loudly.

“What is that noise she’s making?” Lady Linsel moaned. “Oh, I cannot abide it!”

Mr. Hallowsby gave her a rueful shrug. “It was a good try. I’m sure you have the locals eating out of your hand.”

Well, what was that to the point? She wasn’t staying around here any longer than another hour.

He must have seen the frustration on her face. He had to, otherwise there was no explaining the low chuckle that vibrated through the air and straight to her belly. It was a rich sound that woke parts of her that she’d never felt before. It was a mocking, horrible noise, she told herself, but to no avail. Her body responded anyway.

Humiliating!

And now she was the one who wanted to leave and damn them all. These nobles, the provincial village where she’d been harassed daily, and most especially, this man.

“Good-bye and good riddance,” she all but spat. Then she grabbed her basket and…

And why were there three more men in the room? Not just men, but huge burly brutes the size of Vikings? Their shoulders were twice the size of a normal man’s, and their fists—the size of hams. They were dressed better than most, but not as well as the three here. And there was a clear leader. A man in a gray waistcoat shot with gold.

And they all had pistols in their big fists.

“Jeremy,” Mr. Hallowsby drawled in a self-mocking tone. “Why didn’t I remember you?”

The giant in gray nodded with a cordial smile. “It’s because I’m so hard to see.”

A joke, obviously. Nobody laughed. Not even the other two brutes. Clearly they were there for brawn, not brains.

Meanwhile, Lord Linsel puffed himself up, though anyone could see he was terrified. “Now see here, good man. We were just leaving. We’ll grab our things and be out of your way. Whatever business you have in this village is none of our—”

“Awwwr, but our business is with you.”

Maybelle winced at the Cockney accent. And they thought she sounded awful? What did they think of him?

“Who are these people?” Lady Linsel demanded in a shrill voice.

It was Mr. Hallowsby who answered. “This is Mr. Jeremy Dudding, bastard son of Lord Sturman.” He looked at Lord Linsel. “You remember Lord Sturman? He invested ten thousand pounds in your sapphire mine.”

Lord Linsel visibly paled. “It’s not my fault. I lost everything too. I believed there were sapphires.”

Maybelle narrowed her eyes. She could see Mr. Hallowsby thought that a bald-faced lie. His expression flattened, and he exhaled a slow breath. But then he lifted his hands slowly in a kind of what now? gesture.

“What do you want Jeremy?”

“I’m Mr. Dudding to you.”

Mr. Hallowsby looked hurt by that. “I’ve known you all my life. We’re both bastards. We played marbles together as boys. Shared the same tutor. Jeremy—”

“Mr. Dudding.”

The tall man sighed and nodded. “That’s hurtful, but very well. What do you want?”

“I’ll take his gold lockbox, if you please. See—I know he’s got profits. He just ain’t sharing them.”

Lord Linsel huffed out a breath. “There were no profits! I swear on my life!”

At which point, both of the silent Vikings lifted their pistols and aimed. It took Lord Linsel a few breaths before he understood what he’d said. And it truly was his life at risk here. His wife had a quicker intellect, and she squeaked in alarm.

Mr. Hallowsby eased his weight sideways, slowly moving in front of the lady. Obviously, he was protecting her, and Maybelle felt a little slighted that he wouldn’t stand bodily in front of her. But then again, she had already shrunk into his shadow.

“Let the ladies step out. We’ll talk about this like gentlemen,” offered the irritating man. Except Mr. Hallowsby wasn’t being irritating right now. He was acting heroic, and she ought to be grateful, especially as this problem had nothing to do with her.

Sadly, the head Viking wasn’t buying any of it.

“Ladies?” Mr. Dudding mocked. “It’s that blighter’s wife who got my father involved.”

“That’s not true!” cried Lady Linsel. “Not a word of it! I have nothing to do with my husband’s schemes.”

Not the best choice of words, and her husband shot her a glare. Mr. Hallowsby was forced to draw attention back to him or risk things getting worse. He stepped sideways, further hiding Lady Linsel as he gestured at Maybelle.

“Then let her leave,” he said. “She’s the local witch-woman. She’s got nothing of importance for anyone.”

Maybelle wanted to be insulted by that, but as she also wanted to leave, she kept silent as Mr. Dudding looked her up and down. His gaze was insolent, and she felt herself grow cold. She’d defended herself against lechers before, but not one his size, and certainly not one carrying a pistol.

“She looks plenty ladyloike to me.”

Mr. Hallowsby made a show of disgust. “I’m trying to handle this like gentlemen. Jeremy, you know me. I’ll deal honorably with you.”

“You cheated at marbles!”

“You taught me how.”

The Viking glared, then slowly shook his head. “She stays,” he said with a sneer. “She looks like the lady’s maid. And that means—”

“For God’s sake,” Mr. Hallowsby huffed. “Miss Bluebell, would you please tell him what you’re doing here?” His gaze never left the Viking. “Listen to her voice, Jeremy.”

Well, if that didn’t just take the cake. They could understand the brute’s Cockney but had to point out her accent? She had half a mind to—

“Miss Bluebell,” Mr. Hallowsby said, his voice tight. “Please tell him what you’re doing here.”

She straightened up to her full height, which barely topped the man’s shoulder. “I am no’ a witch! I’m selling possets.” She held up her basket so he could see.

“That looks like carrots.”

“Possets, tisanes, and carrots,” she corrected.

Jeremy snorted. “Awrite. She ain’t no laidy’s maid.”

And what was that supposed to mean? “Of course I’m no laidy’s maid—”

“But she stays ’ere anyway.”

Mr. Hallowsby huffed. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

The Viking shrugged. “I like the way she looks.” His eyes narrowed. “And I don’t take orders from hired bastards.”

She glanced at Mr. Disagreeable and found that he wasn’t insulted by the name. Or perhaps he was simply unaffected. Either way, he shifted such that he shielded her partially from view.

She didn’t want to be grateful, but she was. Profoundly grateful.

“So you’re in charge, Jere—Mr. Dudding. What do you want?”

Jeremy appeared to think this over. His eyes narrowed, and he looked like he had a digestive ailment.

“He ’ire you to protect ’is lockbox?”

Mr. Hallowsby shook his head. “Just to get him to Scotland safe and sound.” He pointed up the north road. “Twenty miles. Let me escort them the last bit, get paid, and then you can have him.”

“Bram!” Lord Linsel squeaked. “That’s not what we agreed.”

“On the contrary,” Mr. Hallowsby said with a slow drawl. “That is exactly what we agreed.” He turned his charming smile on the Viking. “What of it, Jeremy? Honor among bastards? We both get what we want.”

Sounded like a gypsy bargain to her. One where the thieves got everything, and the honest Lord Linsel lost everything, but she didn’t dare speak. Why oh why didn’t she leave for London this morning? Selling a few pennies worth of carrots wasn’t worth this disaster.

“Hmmm,” murmured Jeremy. Everyone knew he was only pretending to think. “I’d rather get wot I want and forget about you.”

“We once were friends, you and me.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Where’s the lockbox?”

That was when she realized the truth. It flashed across her awareness as quick as a divine gift, and she weighed the possibilities. If she stayed silent, then maybe she could get out of this alive but with no profit. Most days that would sting, but today of all days, she needed that money. She was still undecided when the Viking took another heavy step into the room.

“Tell me,” he said with a growl, “or I start shooting, beginning with him.” He pointed at Mr. Hallowsby.

Well, that was hardly fair. The man was simply doing his job, and he’d been a boyhood playmate. No reason to kill him first.

“There is no lockbox!” Lord Linsel squeaked.

“Awrite then,” he said as he pointed his gun at Mr. Hallowsby.

The irritating man didn’t seem to care, though he shifted away from Lady Linsel. “Why not take her jewelry instead?”

“What!” the lady gasped. “No!” she cried, clutching her necklace tight.

The Viking laughed, and the sound was not pleasant. “We all know that’s glass an’ paste.”

“Is not.” The lady sniffed.

Really? Maybelle thought as she peered at the gemstones.

“The lockbox, or I kill you, Bram.” He cocked the pistol, and suddenly, Maybelle was speaking even though she hadn’t planned on uttering a word.

“No!” she cried. “I know where the box is. I can give it t’ you.”

“What the devil are you saying?” gasped the lady.

Still whining about her accent? Maybelle planted her hands on her hips and glared. “I. Know. Where. The box is.”

“You couldn’t possibly,” said the woman with a sniff, thereby confirming that she could understand Maybelle just fine. And also, that there was a lockbox.

What an idiot.

“I do know,” she said as she turned to the Viking. “I’ll tell you if you buy all me goods.”

“Wot?”

She sniffed and stomped around Mr. Hallowsby. He was giving her a bemused expression, but she turned her back on him. Sadly, that only made her spine tingle with awareness, though she focused totally on the Cockney Viking.

“They’s good Christian possets ’ere. For ’eadache, for fever, for a laidy’s increasing pain.” She shot Lady Linsel a glare.

“Oi don’t need that,” said the Viking.

“And carrots. Do you need carrots?”

“I loike carrots well enough, but I don’t mean to be paying for them.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I’m selling them. And I won’t tell you aught about the lockbox unless you buy every single piece of it. Basket too.” The basket was a last second inspiration, but she counted it worth a shilling at least. “There’s quality goods in there. Great for whatever ails you, even if it’s hunger. Especially if it’s hunger.”

“I don’t need any old lady possets!”

“But you do need the lockbox, and I know where ’tis.”

Lady Linsel threw up her hands. “She knows nothing!”

Lord Linsel huffed. “Because there is no lockbox!”

“One guinea for the lot.”

“I don’t ’ave a guinea,” the man growled.

A low voice interrupted, the words laced with humor. “Course you do, Jeremy. You love flashing that gold.”

The Viking looked up and glared. And after a furious gesture at his men, the pair stopped looking at her carrots and re-aimed their pistols at Mr. Hallowsby.

“What are you going to do?” Mr. Hallowsby taunted. “Even up here, there’s law. The innkeeper’s seen you by now. And his children. There’s folks in the street too. It’s a beautiful afternoon. Everybody’s out. You planning on shooting everyone? Pay the woman, and then leave us be.”

“Bram!” Lord Linsel cried.

“Dicky,” Mr. Hallowsby responded. “You paid me to get you safe and sound to Scotland. I’m trying to do that, so shut up and let me handle things.”

“Not when you’re—”

“A guinea,” Maybelle interrupted. She had to, or the men would start squabbling like chickens. “And another for the basket.”

“Wot!”

She lifted her chin. “Keep wasting my time, and it’ll be a guinea per carrot.”

“I’m not paying that!”

“Then I’ll be on my way, and you’ll never find that lockbox. Not in a million years.” It was a lie. Even these brutes likely knew how to search a room.

The Viking glared at her. Then it became a glower. She didn’t even blink. If she had to deal with this nonsense on her last day in this town, then he would damn well make it worth her while.

It worked. With a curse, Jeremy pulled out his purse. “I don’t have two guineas,” he groused.

Maybelle could see he had one guinea and several other coins.

“Your men have purses, don’t they?” she challenged.

They did, but they were loath to hand over their coin. Until Jeremy kicked one. “Your sis is increasing, ain’t she? Think she’d like a potion?”

The other one nodded slowly. “It’s ’er birthday Tuesday.”

Maybelle smiled. “There you go. Drop it in boiling water. Let her smell the steam, and then drink it. Wonderful soothing.”

“Which one?”

Maybelle pointed. Behind her, Mr. Hallowsby stifled his laughter. He covered it well. Made it sound like a snort, but she knew. And she almost smiled as well because this was a strange windfall today.

And so it was done. The coins counted out clearly. They didn’t have two guineas. Just the one and coins to add up to enough. She pocketed them quickly, set her basket in front of the Viking, then gave them a demure curtsy.

“A pleasure, sirs.” She turned to leave, but they stopped her. She didn’t think they’d let her get away, but she wanted to edge closer to the door. Her plan was to slip away when they looked for the box.

“The lockbox?” the Viking pressed as he caught her wrist.

“Under the fainting couch. Over yon.” It was the hard thing she’d kicked with her boot when she’d first arrived. It was covered by a large blanket, but it was the only logical possibility. Unless it was a chamber pot. Or one of Thomas’s toys. Or any of a thousand other things.

But then Lord Linsel exploded into sound and fury. “There is nothing under the settee. She’s a mad witch! You can’t possibly expect her to know anything. Who knows what she’ll do to you when you bend over to look…”

Nobody paid him the least mind. And lest she think she could escape, Jeremy Viking kept her standing there while he motioned one of the other men to look. And sure enough, right under the couch was a heavy iron box painted gold. A huge padlock clanked as the brute set it down on the table.

“Look at that,” said Lord Linsel, overly loud. “Oh goodness. What do think the innkeeper is about, keeping that there?”

What an idiot. Even the Viking didn’t bother arguing except to point his pistol at Lord Linsel.

“Open it!”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Lord Linsel whined. “I haven’t got a key for it.”

And they called her an ignorant provincial? Did he truly think anyone believed him?

Meanwhile, Mr. Hallowsby huffed out a breath. “Don’t be stupid. Just shoot it.” And then when two of the henchmen lifted their pistols, the man quickly raised his hands. “Not here, you idiots! There are people everywhere. Someone will come running when you shoot. Then how would you explain things?”

“Damn it, Bram,” Lord Linsel huffed. “I paid you to protect me, not help them!”

“I am protecting you, Dicky. Or would you rather they shoot you now?” Then he glanced back at the Viking. “Don’t do it because I’d have to stop you and neither of us wants that.”

Mr. Dudding seemed to consider that, and Maybelle spent an interesting couple of seconds looking from one man to the other. Whereas Mr. Dudding seemed unconcerned by that, something quiet died in Mr. Hallowsby’s eyes. As if he truly was seeing the end of a friendship. What kind of man would count this thief a friend?

In the end, Mr. Dudding nodded. “I’ll take the box then. Be grateful I didn’t do to you what I did to your carriage. But I will…if you follow me.”

Mr. Hallowsby groaned. “I told you, I have to get him to Scotland. Twenty miles. That’s all.”

“Guess you’ll have to walk it,” said the Viking as he jerked his head at his men. Then he paused long enough to tip his hat to her. “Miss.”

She curtsied out of reflex, her attention split between the withdrawing Vikings and Lord Linsel as he began screaming.

“What? Wait! Damn it, Bram, do something! That’s my property!” Then suddenly, the idiot rushed for the door. He might be able to catch the Vikings. They’d just made it out into the courtyard with the lockbox slung under their leader’s arm. But Mr. Hallowsby grabbed Lord Linsel and forcibly held him back.

“He’ll kill you, Dicky. Listen to me! If you follow him, he’ll shoot you just because he can. Do you think there’s a surgeon anywhere near? One who can save your life?”

She could answer that. “None, sir. No doctor for fifty miles, and no surgeon for thirty.”

And still the man struggled. Physically, he was no match for Mr. Hallowsby, who easily held him back, but he did rage enough that Maybelle began to feel sorry for him.

“That was everything, Bram. Do you hear me? Everything I have is in that box.”

Everyone could hear him.

“You have your life. Your wife is well and increasing. Be happy with—”

“ Everything . How am I to live? Damn it!”

Meanwhile, Maybelle shifted to the inn window. She saw the brutes on horses. The three who’d been in the room plus a fourth. And they were leading away a pair of matched bays.

“Are those your carriage horses?” she asked. She didn’t think she could be heard over the noise of Lord Linsel’s tirade—or Lady Linsel’s moaning—but Mr. Hallowsby must have heard her because his head shot around.

Maybelle drew the curtains back so he could see the Vikings leaving. He didn’t say anything, but Lord Linsel was really loud with his curses.

“Shut up, Dicky,” Mr. Hallowsby snapped. “Let me think.”

“Shut up? Shut up! I hired you—”

“To get you to Scotland. And I will—”

“What good is Scotland if I don’t have any money once I get there?”

“You’ve got plenty of money squirreled away in Scotland. And I’ve got your damned gold in the boot of the carriage. Hidden in a rucksack. Or I did. Don’t know if they found it.”

Maybelle’s eyebrows rose at that. Well, that was a bit of keen foresight. Apparently Lord Linsel thought so too, though it took him longer to comprehend.

“I don’t have any money in Scotland. That was all… Wait…what?”

Mr. Hallowsby snorted. “Only an idiot goes around clutching a lockbox like it was gold.”

“It was gold!”

“It was paper and pounds sterling. And it’s in a rucksack in…” No need to finish speaking. Lord Linsel bolted out the door, running to the carriage house as fast as his long legs could carry him.

Lady Linsel was on her feet as well, moving quickly after her husband, though with much more dignity. Which left Maybelle alone with Mr. Hallowsby.

“You still have to get them to Scotland,” she said.

The man nodded grimly. “And without horses.”

Well, then. This day was turning out to be the biggest windfall of all.

“As to that, sir, perhaps I could help.”

His eyes narrowed. “You have horses? A carriage?”

She grinned. “Mayhaps. For a price.”

She started laughing the moment he groaned.