Page 3 of Rules for a Bastard Lord (Rogues Gambit #2)

There’s always a bargain to be made, for good orill.

B ram saw the mercenary gleam enter Bluebell’s eyes and knew they were in trouble. He could resist the wiles of a beautiful woman, but Dicky was hopeless in that area. If she suggested an easy path to Scotland, the idiot would insist on taking whatever she offered. And pay whatever she wanted.

He had to get this bargain struck now, before Dicky returned.

“Let’s have it,” he said in his coldest tone. “What are you offering and at what price?”

In the distance, he could hear Dicky and Clarissa as they made it to the barn. If he knew Jeremy—and he did—then the carriage would be damaged beyond use. And sure enough, he heard Dicky’s howl of rage.

“You need ’orses, yes?” she said. “To get to Scotland.”

He nodded, offering no more information than that. But she was a clever girl and knew exactly the predicament he’d been mulling in his mind.

“It can’t take long for the big man to shoot open that lockbox. ’E’ll see that you tricked ’im and be back quick as a wink.”

“What do you suggest?” he bit out.

“I know a farmer with ’orses. One’s a draft, but quick enough, especially if you don’t follow the main road north. Only got one, but there’s another two mares as well. Both young, but serviceable. Especially over the ’ills. It won’t be easy, but it’ll keep the Viking off your scent.”

“Viking?”

“Mr. Dudding.”

Oh yes. He did have a Viking look to him. “Thank you, but no. I’m sure the innkeeper will be convinced to part with some horseflesh, especially with enough—”

“’Cept he’s only got the one. An old mare sweet as can be but slower than molasses.”

He bit back a curse, but he needn’t have bothered. Her smirk told him she already knew they were in trouble.

“How much for three horses?”

She blew out a low whistle. “For you? Wouldn’t be possible. But if I approach them—”

Dicky burst through the room door, his face flushed and his hands clenching the bag of money. “They’ve taken the horses and broken the axle on the carriage. We can’t leave like that.” Then he swallowed as he glanced out the window. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

“As soon as they find out they haven’t got the real money.” Dicky paled, and for a moment, Bram thought the man would faint. So he spoke in a soothing tone. “Don’t worry. Miss Bluebell knows of some horses to borrow—”

“How much?” Dicky interrupted as he turned to the woman. Not much of a negotiator was Dicky.

She smiled, all sweet innocence. “Mr. Heady has a pair, and Mr. Mockler, a draft. If you want a carriage, though, we’ve got—”

“Just the horses. Where?” Dicky demanded.

“I can have the pair here afore you finish some stew. The third will take a mite longer—”

“Just the pair. We’ll ride overland. Clary’s grabbing what we need now. Bram, you wait until the carriage is fixed and take it up to the estate in Scotland.”

Bram nodded, but he could see the canny light in his one-time friend’s eyes. He knew what was coming next. “I’ll do it, but you pay me now.”

Dicky pulled up short, his eyes wide in mock innocence. “You’ll get paid when I reach the Scottish estate.” His phrasing confirmed Bram’s fears.

“I’m not as stupid as you think, Dicky. I know you’re not planning on going to that estate,” he said.

“Course I am,” he said with mock outrage.

“Dicky—”

“And besides, your job was to get us safely into Scotland. We’re not in Scotland—”

“Damn it, Dicky. I’m not arguing with you. You pay me what you owe, and I’ll see you safely into Scotland. But not—”

Dicky dug a hundred-pound note out of his pocket and slapped it into Miss Bluebell’s waiting hand. “For the pair.”

“Oh, sir, we’re far from London. What we got is precious.”

“What?”

“This’ll only pay for the one horse.”

Dicky had no compunction about cursing in front of a woman as he pulled out another note.

“You’re a smart man, Lord Linsel, you are. But you’ve forgotten the tack and saddles. Especially a lady and gent such as yerself—”

He slapped another hundred note into her palm. “Now be quick.”

She smiled, then took two steps into the hallway. All the inn folk were gathered there listening. Damn it, if Dicky wanted a quiet escape, he was going about it the wrong way. Meanwhile, Miss Bluebell caught the arm of the boy, Thomas, and whispered something into his ear. He nodded, then took off at a run.

Looked like the horses were taken care of.

“Dicky,” Bram tried, stretching for a reasonable tone. “We can just—”

“Take the carriage to Scotland. You’ll get your pay there.”

No, he wouldn’t. He crossed the room just as Clarissa stumbled in under the weight of two heavy satchels—clothing presumably. He nodded once, pleased that her color had returned, and then he grabbed Dicky’s arm and spoke low into the man’s ear.

“I know you plan to board a boat for the Colonies. Pay me now, and I’ll see that your tracks are covered. It’ll be years before they start looking elsewhere for you.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Clearly Dicky had thought he could escape to the New World without anyone ever thinking of him again. But one of the men he swindled had a shipping fleet. He could find Dicky if he put his mind to it. But Dicky hadn’t thought that far in advance, and he gaped at Bram.

“Surely no one will find us out there.”

Bram sighed. “Dicky, think—”

“No, no,” Dicky interrupted. “Damn it, I’m sorry, but we need every copper.”

“You just overpaid for two hacks and a pair of saddles,” he snapped.

Dicky nodded. “Exactly.”

Bram ground his teeth. “I’m only going to say this once. You’ll regret this. Pay me what you owe, and I’ll—”

“I can’t!” It was a wail, and Bram knew that Dicky actually believed what he said. And given their spendthrift ways, they probably did need every penny. And a good deal more besides.

“We were friends once, Dicky.” That was a stretch, but he’d use it. “Would you do this to a friend? You gave me your word as a gentleman.”

“Take the carriage. It’s yours.”

It wasn’t worth half what he was owed. “Not good enough.”

“It’s all you’re going to get.”

Bram pulled up to his full height. He put on his most frightening glower. But Dicky wasn’t a complete fool.

“You’re not going to beat me. Not in front of my wife. Not in front of these people. You only hurt people who deserve it.”

“You deserve it,” he said.

“No, I don’t. It’s only money, not blood. You fight for blood.”

He’d never quite phrased it that way, but perhaps the idiot had the right of it. It was only money, and Dicky wasn’t worth dirtying his knuckles. Besides, he knew he’d get his pay another way.

“Last chance, Dicky.”

The man wavered. Bram saw uncertainty in his eyes. Fear and regret, mixed with a true terror of his circumstance. But before Dicky could choose the honorable path, the boy returned. “They’re bringing round the horses.”

Thomas pointed, and sure enough the boy’s older brother was leading two yearlings, prancing in their tack. Lively things, but not worth what the man had just paid, especially since the saddles looked older than his grandfather.

“Come along, Clary,” Dicky said as he grabbed his wife. The two rushed out. The fact that Clarissa didn’t protest told him what he’d always suspected. The woman was in on all of her husband’s schemes. Bloody hell, the two were made for each another.

He watched them mount up. Dicky didn’t even help his wife but clambered up and waited impatiently as she struggled with her skirts. Then they were gone, pretending to ride up the north road, but he knew they’d veer off as soon as they were able. In another day, they’d be aboard a ship and headed far away.

He released a sigh of satisfaction, finally allowing himself to relax. Another job done and well paid. He whistled as he wandered outside and over to the carriage. Popping open the boot, he saw his bag. Feeling from the outside, he knew that the wad of bills he’d taken from Dicky’s treasure chest was still there.

“You’re awfully chipper for a man who got left with a broken-down carriage and no pay.”

He’d been aware Miss Bluebell was following him, but had hoped that ignoring her would encourage her to be on her way. Apparently, she was the stubborn sort. Worse, she was smart.

“You took your pay already,” she said. “When you switched out the money in the lockbox. I’ll wager you took double.”

He had actually, but he was uncomfortable with the way she’d figured him out so easily. “I would have given back the extra had he been honest.”

“And now you got double pay and a carriage. A good day’s work for you, I’m guessing.”

Actually, it had taken much more than a day, but she was right. He’d made sure there’d been solid profit for the trouble. “Good enough,” he said as he slanted her a glance. She stood in the doorway where the afternoon sun made her hair shimmer like gold. He especially liked the way the tendrils escaped her chignon to curl about her neck and bodice. Pretty as a picture, his mother would say. Pretty as a viper , he thought.

“Stop guessing and be on your way,” he said.

She smiled and turned lovelier. Rosy cheeks, a sweet bow of a mouth, and the subtle way her breath moved her curves. She was a woman created to entice a man to ruin.

He turned away.

“What are you planning for that carriage? It’ll take Mr. Grummer a couple days to replace the axle.”

He grunted. “I suppose you have an idea of who might like to buy it.”

“I do. Though what she’ll be wanting with a carriage, I haven’t a notion.”

“How much, you think?”

“Next to nothing from you. She don’t like men.”

He straightened and allowed himself to look at her. He needed to read as much of her face as possible while they negotiated. “Let me guess. You’ll buy it off me for a song, then sell it to this woman, whoever she is.”

“You’re welcome to go about asking who might want a fine carriage.” She looked over her shoulder and gestured to someone to come forward. It was Thomas. “You know of anyone who might buy this fine carriage off Mr. Hallowsby?”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “It’s too ’igh fer us. Nobody has the need.”

Damn. She was going to swindle him again. “What about your mother?” Bram asked the boy. “Would she know of someone?” In his experience, the women knew the secrets, not the men.

Thomas shrugged, and Bram flicked him a copper. “Go ask her.”

The boy nodded and ran off.

“I’d save your blunt if I were you,” Miss Bluebell commented. “You still have to pay your shot at the inn, and I know ’ow he’ll charge you.”

Bram shook his head. “He saw me left high and dry—”

“Except I know the truth.”

Yes, she did. Damnation. This is why he hated little villages. Every single one of them out to rook the outsider. “I’d rather pay him than you.”

She offered him a sunny smile. “Suit yourself. But I’m the only one who knows who might buy that carriage.” She gestured down the road. “I live up the road. Ask anyone. They’ll show you. When you’re ready to sell that carriage, you let me know.”

Then she sauntered off, her skirts swaying, her face lifted to the sun. Her bonnet dangled off the back of her neck, doing nothing to keep her skin from turning brown. But he knew the sight would haunt him for the rest of his life. Sweet creamy skin, high cheekbones, and that soft smile on rosebud lips. Lust came as an afterthought. Her beauty was that absorbing.

Then she was gone. She rounded the bend out of the inn yard as she hummed to herself, and that soft sound lingered in his thoughts.

“Keep looking,” said a male voice beside him. The innkeeper, he realized. “All the men hereabouts look, but she’s got eyes for only one man.”

He turned, his brows arching. “And who is that?”

“Vicar’s son about eight miles that way.” He jerked his head to the west. “All the girls are like mooncalves after him. He’s a bookish boy, but handsome as sin. Smiles like he has a secret he won’t share unless you’re nice to him.”

Bram ground his back teeth. He didn’t want to think about Miss Bluebell with anyone but himself, illogical though that was. He didn’t want her. And if this bookish vicar’s brat wanted her, then good riddance.

“Are they engaged?” he pressed, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“Lord no. His father won’t hear of it.”

So the father saw what the son couldn’t. “She’s not so fine a woman, then.”

“Bluebell? Nonsense. Known her all her life. She’s grown into a right smart girl, but there’s a question, you see.”

Bram shifted to look closely at the innkeeper. With girls like her, there was always a question. “What is it?” he pressed, but the man shook his head.

“Not right of me to share gossip. She’s a fine girl. Will make someone a fine wife.”

Obviously, the man needed some inducement. “Dicky gave me this carriage here, but the axle’s been cut.”

“I know. Miss Bluebell told me by way of Thomas. I’ve sent round for Mr. Grummer, but it’ll take a couple days.”

A couple days in this backwater hole was not what he wanted. Worse, at the end, he’d have a carriage with no horses and no place to put the thing once he got to London.

“Know anyone who’d want to buy it?”

“That thing? We don’t have much call for a fancy carriage around here. Can’t think of a soul.”

“Miss Bluebell says she knows of someone.”

The man’s brows arched. “Well, then I’d trust her. She’ll drive a hard bargain, that one, but she always delivers. Got that from her mother. Honest folk, those two. It was the mother who made sure of it.”

There was a story here. He was sure of it. “The father a bounder?”

The man harrumphed as he wandered to the carriage. “Don’t know. Never met the man.”

“Missing?”

“Dead. Miss Bluebell’s mum comes here six months pregnant and settles down. Says her man’s dead in the war, and she’s got to make her own way. And she did. My wife and me, we helped out here and there, like we do with everyone, but there wasn’t much need with them. She tended her babe, grew her garden, and then soon enough, there was little Bluebell mixing and making possets and selling them for coppers.” Then his expression shifted to a fond smile. “That little girl could sell wings to a bird, but you don’t mind when you’re paying her. She’s always so sweet about it.”

Of course she was. That was part of the job when tricking a man. Smile and promise with everything you have. That makes it a pleasant experience even as you’re fleecing them. He knew. His mother was a master at it.

“So that’s the problem then, isn’t it? No father so everyone thinks she’s a bastard. What about the aunt she mentioned?”

The man screwed up his lips and spit. “Never seen her. Never visits, never writes. It’s been just her and her mum, leastways until recently.”

“Recently?”

“Her mum died. A cough plagued her for years, and the winter was the end of her. Though it took until a few weeks ago for ’er to give in. Strong was that woman.”

“So now it’s Bluebell all alone,” he murmured.

The man’s gaze sharpened. “Now, see here, we look after one another here. Have to, you understand. If something ’appens to her, I’ll be coming to see you.”

It took a moment for Bram to realize what the man was thinking. “I’m not going to touch that girl!” he said, meaning every word. “But I do need to sell this carriage, and I drive as hard a bargain as she does.”

“That’s a sight I’d like to see,” the man said with a grin. “Some fancy nob getting the better of our Bluebell.”

“I don’t want to get the better of anyone. Just want a fair deal.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I don’t want anything except that.”

“Then you ain’t a normal man. Everybody looks at ’er and thinks of more. She’ll be by tonight. You’ll see her then.”

With the whole village watching? And invested in making sure Miss Bluebell got the better of the outsider? Ha! Might as well hand her the carriage for free then, because he wouldn’t get more than a copper for it.

But he didn’t say that aloud. Instead, he nodded and smiled as if that was exactly what he’d do. Ten minutes later, he was sauntering up the road to see where Miss Bluebell lived all alone.