Page 11 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“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, rightunder 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.
