Page 21 of Rules for a Bastard Lord (Rogues Gambit #2)

Never lay your heart before a bastard. They have no idea what to do withit.

M aybelle’s heart was beating triple time. The excitement of the last few minutes thrummed in her body, coalescing into a clear decision.

Everything she’d ever dreamed of had come true this day. No only was she legitimate, but she was the acknowledged granddaughter of an earl. She had a bright future ahead, and none of it could have happened without Bram.

He was the reason she was here. He had introduced her to Lady Eleanor. He had forced her grandparents to acknowledge her. And he had just risked his life to protect her in the alley. She knew he could have run. He’d only stayed because she was climbing down to help.

And so, tonight she planned to say thank you. She was going to express her heart and see if he still saw her as a deceitful chit from the country.

She made it through the window, tumbling headfirst onto the rug, feeling grateful she wasn’t in a corset. Then she turned to extend a hand to him.

She didn’t need to. Though he was a tall man, Bram was nimble. And strong. His arms bulged as he lifted himself higher than the window before pushing his feet through. Then he landed quick and quiet on her rug while she looked up at him in admiration.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. And you?” She scanned his body, and now, with the candlelight on him, she saw where his clothes had been slashed. “You’ve been cut,” she gasped.

She leaped to her feet and forcefully pushed back his shirt. Wet blood coated the fabric and her fingers. “Take this off. I can clean and stitch it.” She meant both him and his shirt.

“It’s fine.” He tried to still her hands, but she shoved him to the bed.

“Don’t argue. No one feels pain in the middle of a fight. Not like you do later. Take off your shirt now.”

“And what would you know of fighting?”

“I was taught by the witch-woman, remember? I have a fine hand for…” She swallowed. “For closing up flesh.”

“Bluebell, there’s no reason.”

She glared at him. “If you do not let me dress that wound, I will scream. And then how will you explain yourself?”

Bram’s lips twitched as he shrugged out of his coat. “Do you know how absurd that is? You’re the one who will suffer if I am caught here.”

Lord, he was moving too stiffly. It might be a deeper wound than he thought. She batted away his hands and made quick work of his cravat and buttons. And then she was stroking his glorious chest, searching for blood or bruises.

He grunted when she found it. Not the knife wound, as he’d been right about that. It wasn’t deep enough for stitches. She’d wash it clean and set a pad there to absorb any more blood. No, what he complained about was the bruising. Jeremy was right-handed, and his blows had taken their toll on Bram’s left side. Though she felt nothing broken, he would be in pain for a week at least.

“I’m glad you got him with the knife,” she said, looking into his face. “He hurt you. He wanted to…” She couldn’t say it.

She felt sick at the memory of him backing away as three men stepped out of the shadows. She’d gone to the window when she heard a noise, then felt swallowed up by helplessness as she watched three men flank out to corner Bram. What could she do from up above?

She now realized she should have just screamed. Or thrown things down at them. But she’d wanted to defend him with her own hands. She’d seen the bed warmer and hatched her plan.

“Next time,” he said as he gripped her fingers. “Scream when you see something amiss. Don’t join it.”

“That would have delayed things until the next time they found you. This way it’s done.” She hesitated. “It is done, isn’t it? They won’t come after you again.”

She watched his lips compress and his expression flatten. She knew what he was thinking, and she was sorry the idea pained him.

“You don’t know that you’ve killed him,” she said softly.

He nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. “Jeremy won’t come after me again. That’s a wound that takes a long time to heal. If it ever does.”

She touched his face. “He was going to hurt you.”

He pressed his hand to hers on his cheek. “He was going to hurt you .”

She kissed him. Horror burned in his eyes, and even if it didn’t, her fear for him still coiled in her gut. She needed to assure herself that he was still strong. And when he kissed her back with equal desperation, she knew he’d been truly frightened for her.

“He didn’t hurt me,” she said.

His hand tightened on the back of her head, drawing her back to his kiss. He pushed inside her and soon was touching every part of her mouth, thrusting in and out while her breath caught, and her belly tightened.

One of his hands slid down her side, cupping her bottom before squeezing it. But then he broke away from her. He tore his mouth aside, his breath heaving in and out.

“Bluebell,” he said. “We can’t.”

Oh, they could. They most definitely could. But she didn’t say that aloud. Instead she nodded. “Lie back. Let me wash the cut.”

“No—”

She glared at him. She knew her cheeks were flushed and her nipples tight. Lord knew she was all liquid when it came to him. But she put steel into her voice. “Take off your shirt, and lie back.”

“It’s nothing.” But when she did not change her expression, he sighed. He pulled off his ruined shirt, and the candlelight cast his hard muscles into a golden relief.

“Lie down,” she said, her mouth dry.

He did as she bid, the mattress creaking slightly under his weight. She wrung out a cloth in the basin, and she sat beside him as she gently wiped away the blood.

“I love you,” she blurted out. Then she froze. Lord, she hadn’t meant to say that yet. She hadn’t meant to confess it so baldly. But there it was. She’d said it, and so she was forced to continue. “I don’t know when it started. It was a quiet thing, growing from something so tiny that I didn’t notice. Like spring, when suddenly you look around and everything’s blooming, and you hadn’t realized.”

She watched him swallow. His eyes were shadowed and his body completely still. He was holding everything inside, and she’d never know his thoughts. So she focused on her task as she cleaned his wound.

“It happened yesterday,” she continued, purposely keeping her tone light. “I hadn’t heard from you in days, and everything was awful. I missed you. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted…” Well, there were many things she wanted from him. With him. “And then today you were here, and it was spring.”

She set aside the cloth, not daring to touch him again without knowing what he was thinking.

“That’s gratitude, Bluebell,” he finally rasped. “It’s not love.”

She twisted his nipple hard. She hadn’t intended to, but she’d been looking at that brown flat disk with the tight bud. She seen the golden hair that whorled around it, and then he’d made that stupid comment. So she’d pinched him, except she’d been looking at his nipple so she pinched that.

“Ow!” he cried out, gripping her hand as his belly jerked, and his legs lifted off the bed.

“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t love. Do you think I haven’t felt grateful before? I know when my heart is given to a man and—”

He jerked her forward. A pull from his hands, and she landed flush on his chest. Then his mouth was on hers. She was greedy as she lay on top of him. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and felt him groan as the sound rumbled from his body into hers. He let his hands roam, caressing her back and bottom. And there, hot against her private parts, was his organ. Big and rock hard, even through their clothing. She rolled her pelvis against him, and once again felt that low rumble between them.

But then he pushed her back. His expression was tortured as he spoke.

“I’ve lied to you.”

That startled her. She pushed up on her arms, lifting her chest, but not moving off his hips or legs.

“When?”

He swallowed. “Do you remember that time in your kitchen? When we… When I…”

She felt her face heat. Of course she remembered that. She was hoping to do it again.

“Yes.” Her voice came out husky, and his eyes locked on her mouth.

“I told you I wouldn’t take your virginity.”

She nodded slowly. “You didn’t.”

“I—I don’t know. My fingers were inside you when… God, you were so tight, and then you came and there was blood. I don’t know if I tore your membrane. It didn’t matter then. You weren’t going to have a highborn marriage. But now…” He looked up to the ceiling, and she saw misery in the press of his lips. “I should have told you then, but…”

“But you didn’t think it mattered. You didn’t think I was legitimate.”

“Not the granddaughter of an earl. I never thought…”

She pressed a hand to his lips. “So I’m not a virgin.”

He kissed her fingers, then gently drew them away. “I don’t know. I…I don’t think so.”

“Is that the only lie?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry—”

She kissed him again, a sweet joy bubbling inside her. She wasn’t a virgin anymore. She ought to be angry, but instead, she embraced it. She was deflowered. She might as well enjoy it.

She lifted off him, annoyed with the clothing that kept them apart. With quick motions, she pulled off the boy’s shirt. She hadn’t had time to bind her breasts, so within moments she was naked from the waist up.

“Bluebell—” he choked out.

“If I’ve already lost my virginity to you, then let us do it properly.”

He was looking at her breasts, and when he didn’t move, she took his hand and pressed it to her chest. He shifted immediately. His long fingers molded to her size, his thumb brushed across her nipple, and sensation sizzled down her spine.

“What if there is a babe?” he said, his voice thick. She didn’t need to answer. “You know what to do, don’t you? You know the potion.”

She nodded. The witch-woman had taught her. “You probably do too.”

He shifted slightly, drawing her closer, feeling their skin touch and heat. “I know who to ask. But it’s not always safe.”

She smiled. “I don’t care.” He squeezed her nipple, and she arched into the sensation.

“I…” He swallowed. “I have a French letter.” And when she didn’t understand what that meant, he explained. “A condom. A thing that goes over my penis to prevent pregnancy.”

“And the spread of disease.”

“Yes.”

She smiled at him. “You came prepared.”

“I…hell, Bluebell, I am weak around you. An honorable man would set you aside.”

“Then it is a good thing that you are a bastard.”

He laughed, but the sound didn’t hold much humor. Then he drew her higher on his body, pulling her so that her breasts dangled before his lips. He captured the closest nipple, swirling his tongue around it and suckling while she moaned at the feel.

He stayed that way for a while. He feasted on her breasts while she grew restless and hungry. Her legs scissored against his. Her pelvis rolled against him. And when she put her hand on his organ, he groaned and thrust into her hold.

Then he pulled away from her breasts, and his eyes looked tortured. “What will you tell your husband? When the time comes, what will you say?”

Maybelle froze, her heart squeezing against a sudden freeze. He was not going to marry her. She wanted to ask why he didn’t want her. Why didn’t he love her when her heart overflowed for him? But she hadn’t the breath.

“I want you,” she finally whispered, then with growing strength, “I will have you.” So she gripped him. She squeezed him through his clothing, rolling her fingers as he had taught her.

Once. Twice. And then suddenly the world upended. He surged forward, gripping her hips as he rolled her over. She was lying on her back, and he was above her. With quick fingers, he undid her breeches and pulled them down. Within seconds she was naked beneath him, and he was stroking her skin from breast to hip. And then between her legs.

His thumb slid between her folds, sending bolts of hunger up her spine. She gasped as he pushed on her most sensitive place. Her legs spread, and her body began to pulse. Tiny beats from her heart as everything in her opened to him.

He sat there stroking her, his eyes trained on her face as she pushed down against his thumb. “I will remember this until the day I die.”

She gripped his thigh, angry at the clothing he still wore. “All of you, Bram. Hold nothing back.”

He lifted up her knee, pushing it aside such that there was room for him. She dug her fingers into the waist of his pants, tugging uselessly at it.

“Off,” she ordered.

Instead, he leaned over and kissed her knee, then the inside of her thigh. She didn’t understand what he planned as he moved higher on her thigh, biting lightly before soothing it with his tongue. Higher and higher he went, while she tried to shift beneath him.

He didn’t let her move. He adjusted her until he was lying between her thighs, his shoulders keeping her spread. Then he licked her.

She didn’t know it could happen like that. She didn’t know that the wet stroke of his tongue could feel so amazing. Especially as he pushed his fingers inside.

He stroked her deep while she clenched around his fingers. He licked her open, and he sucked that place. The part of her that made everything in her pull tight…

Tight…

Yes!

She burst apart.

The waves consumed her, and she reveled in them. She cherished every pulse and every fading moment of bliss while he watched her, his eyes luminous in the candlelight.

When she could, she touched his face. She stroked his cheek. And then she gripped his ear.

Hard.

“Ow!”

“All of you,” she repeated.

She tugged him up her body. He came slowly, kissing her belly and breasts while her muscles quivered beneath the attention. She fumbled one-handed to unbutton his clothing. And then he was free. She could touch him where he was thick and hot and proud. She could stroke the wet tip and hear his hiss as he thrust into her hand.

“Condom,” he gritted out, his breath hot against her neck.

“Show me,” she said as he pushed himself away. But lest he go too far, she still held him. She squeezed and played as she wanted. And she grinned when he groaned and thrust again into her hand.

“Coat pocket,” he rasped, but she didn’t let go.

He grabbed his clothes, his breath ragged as she continued to play. Tight squeeze one moment, then a long, languid stroke. A pinch at the top and then a hard pull down. She saw the sweat on his chest, and she used her other hand to stroke his chest. She stopped twice to tweak his nipples.

Then she watched with curiosity as he unfolded a piece of foolscap and pulled out a sheath.

“Teach me,” she said, and he did. He guided her hands as he drove into it.

It quickly warmed to his body, and then he was kissing her. Hard and deep, dominating her mouth as he pushed her onto her back. She went willingly, loving the urgency in his touch, the demand as he kneed her legs apart.

Then his cock pressed against her, a soft push that slid the tiniest bit inside.

“Bluebell,” he whispered, the sound tortured. She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes.

One last attempt. One last opportunity for him to hear her.

“I love you, Bram. I am yours.”

“Mine…” There was awe in the word.

Then he thrust.

She gasped at the hard, thick intrusion. He was so big.

“Bluebell?” he asked, his tone worried.

“You are everywhere,” she said. He surrounded her, penetrated her, and held her. She touched his face, loving the fierce way he held himself still, the perspiration on his lip, the intensity in his gaze.

She lifted her knees and gripped him.

“Is there more?” she whispered, knowing that there was.

His hips jerked, and the uncontrolled push made her quiver.

“Again,” she whispered.

He drew out slowly, but before he was gone, he slammed back in. The impact sparked a soft cry of delight. This is what she’d wanted. This was the possession she’d craved.

“Again!”

He was already doing it. Already sliding back before that glorious thrust back inside.

She didn’t have to ask again. His tempo grew faster, the impacts harder. She helped with her legs, pulling him into her, then moaning as he slid back.

When the quickening came, it was nearly an afterthought. Her belly tightened, her body arched, but the whole of her was already pulsing, gripping, taking.

His rasp was loud in her ear, and then…

He moaned.

A slow release of sound while his body shuddered inside her.

And it went on. He jerked against her. Hard and harder.

His breath caught.

And then he exhaled.

Soft. Low. A release.

He’d done it. He’d given himself to her.

She knew it on a level so deep, so holy, that she did not question it.

He was hers.

Forever.

Then he kissed her. A tiny press of his lips so tender that it brought tears to her eyes. She was languid in her pleasure, boneless and awed by what they had done. And when she would have snuggled closer, he set her aside.

“Bram?”

“Shhh.”

He climbed out of her bed and tucked the covers gently about her. Then he pulled on his clothes.

“Bram,” she said, sadness in his name, because she knew what was to come.

“Good night.”

He climbed out her window and was gone.