Page 24 of Rules for a Bastard Lord (Rogues Gambit #2)

Sometimes the world conspires against you. Sometimes it’s your bastard. And sometimes, it’s your bastard’sfriends.

B ram was exhausted, and he still stank of shite, but he had Bluebell’s potion in his pocket and hope for the future. All he had to do was wash and take the mixtures to Lord Sturman, praying that Jeremy got it soon enough to save his life.

And then, finally, Bram would be done with all the distractions and be able to focus on finding Bluebell the right husband.

“What is that awful smell?”

“Why Clary, I think it’s Bram. Good God, man, what have you been doing?”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Bram stopped at the base of the stairs. He’d ordered his feet to keep moving, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning. From looking. And yes, there sat Dicky and Clarissa, once again in his front parlor.

Bloody hell.

“You promised,” he said dully. “You said you’d never see me again.”

“Well, I like that,” Dicky huffed. “You would refuse the door to an old friend.”

Clarissa sniffed into her handkerchief. “I’ve never been more hurt in my life.”

Bram didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was too busy fighting the realization that he would never be rid of these two. They would come back over and over until he died of the nightmare.

He stepped into the room and lit a candle. It was just shy of dawn, and these two appeared to have slept in the parlor chairs. And what the hell were they wearing?

Dicky was the height of mismatched fashion. Purple waistcoat—missing a button. Orange topcoat and black hat—both creased—though Dicky was trying to smooth out the bend in the hat. Clarissa was in a gown bedecked with mismatched ribbons. She looked like a matted ball of scrap fabrics that a child might use as a toy. Or a cat. Or a cat would hack up. She still wore the shepherdess bonnet, but it was sadly crushed, and between the two sat…

An ornamental pig. Paper and paste, shaped into the vague outline of an overly happy pig. It reminded him of drunk Mr. Periwinkle.

“The money, I presume?” he said dryly, gesturing to the pig.

“There’s almost none left!” gasped Clarissa. “Thousands of pounds…” She shuddered. “Gone.”

He abruptly realized she wasn’t wearing her sapphires. “Where’s your necklace?”

“A goat ate it!” she cried. “And the earbob!”

“No, darling,” said her husband as he patted her hand. “I think it was the chimpanzee.”

She released a wail into her handkerchief.

Bram sighed. “How did you get here?”

“Well, as to that,” Dicky said with another huff. “I don’t know why you drove us across England when the menagerie was headed back to London.”

He’d have driven to Italy to get rid of these two. “Why aren’t you with the menagerie? You could be the grand master of a traveling troupe. It’s something you enjoy!”

“Well, I did—” began Dicky.

“They ate my jewels!”

“Not really, Clary. They had been paste, after all.”

“Not the one! Not the smallest stone on the right!” That last word ended on a wail.

The stone she’d constantly fondled. Yes, he’d guessed that one had been real. Meanwhile, he was all too conscious of the time ticking away. He needed to get the drink to Jeremy. “Well, now we’ve visited. Nice to see you again, but I must run. Good-bye.”

“No!” Dicky pushed to his feet, daring to come forward, though his nose wrinkled at the smell. “Look at her, Bram. She’s miserable. I could have done it, you know. I could have lived there with the livestock and the humiliation, but Clary is more refined than that. She can’t do it. We need to find another solution.”

Another solution. As if answers fell like rain from the sky. After all the things he’d already done for them! “You cheated Lord Sturman. He doesn’t forgive that easily.”

“But the money’s all gone!” wailed Dicky, which set Clarissa into another round of loud tears. “Just a few weeks, and it’s all gone!”

As if that would make Sturman go easier on them. Bloody hell. Nothing short of a miracle would make that man forgive Dicky. A miracle…

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

The more he denied the thought, the more it pressed into his brain. He was never going to be rid of these two if he didn’t solve their problem. If he didn’t somehow get them back into charity with Sturman, and then, the rest of the ton. These two were society’s creatures, and they would plague Bram until they returned to an environment where they belonged.

But the potions were his way of making good with Jeremy. They were his way of creating something positive out of this whole fiasco.

But there was Clarissa sobbing in his parlor and Dicky looking miserable. And now his landlady was up, shuffling into the room with her eyes narrowed and her nose wrinkled.

“What’s to do, ’ere?” she asked. “And what is that awful smell?”

Bram gave up.

There was only one solution that would get Dicky and Clarissa out of his life. One solution that gave them—and him—a way out.

He apologized to his landlady and told Dicky and Clarissa not to move until after he’d cleaned up. And once the smell was mostly gone, he did what he always did. The hard thing. The action that the spoiled brats of society would never consider.

He took himself, Dicky and Clarissa, and the potion to see Lord Sturman.