Page 47 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“How long ago did she pass?”
“Spring. Almost a month now.”
So recent? No wonder she was still reeling. He stood up and guided her to a seat beside him. “Tell me about her.”
She shook her head. “What was your blonde’s name?”
He winced. “Cara.”
“And she was faithless?”
“She was a good deal worse than that, though I suppose that was bad enough. I nearly died because of her, and at the time, I was too stupid to see her as the culprit.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “Now, there’s a tale worth hearing over Mum’s jam. I’ll just get us some plates.”
He stopped her, then grabbed the items himself. There were only a couple cupboards, so it was quick work to find what they needed. Then a moment later he sat down beside her and took a sip of her strong tea.
“I like it,” he said in surprise. Most poor households fixed it weak to conserve on leaves, but it was not only strong, she’d done something to give it an orange tang as well.
She smiled in thanks, but didn’t speak. Her eyes told him that she waited on his tale. He nodded, using the delay of drinking his tea to plan out the steps of her seduction.
“You know that I earned money in school by hiring myself to protect the younger boys. School can be brutal on the little ones, the weak ones, and the…”
“And the illegitimate ones?”
He nodded. “I grew early into my height. That helped a lot. By the time I was done at school, I’d gained a reputation for being a protector of sorts.”
“And this Cara, she needed a protector?”
“Yes.” And a keeper. “She came to me with bruises on her face and red-rimmed eyes. She made sure that night that I felt…” He cut off his words. “Are you not hot in that apron? There’s a breeze in here, but you were working in the garden. Surely.”
“She made you feel…?”
“Take off the apron, Miss Bluebell. Get comfortable. It is a long tale.” And getting her undressed was an early step in any seduction.
She waited a long moment, then abruptly untied the cheap muslin rag. It peeled away from her body like a ribbon on a package, discarded in favor of the intriguing gift underneath. She did not discard her apron but set it neatly on a peg. And he got to watch the way her body stretched for the peg and turned—
“Miss Bluebell!” he said in pretend horror. “Are you not wearing a corset?”
She flushed and bit her lip. “I wore one in town this morning.”
“But now?”
She shrugged. “I was working in the garden, and it was hot.” Then she looked down. “I apologize if I offend.”
He laughed in true delight, then when she looked up, startled, he gestured her back to her seat. “Shall I tell you a secret? Men like knowing the state of a woman’s underthings. Most especially if they are not wearing any.”
She snorted in disdain, but her lips curled in a smile. “That was not a gentlemanly thing to say.”
“On the contrary, ladies adore learning men’s secrets.”
“And you were in the middle of a tale?”
She spread berry jam on a hard biscuit. He watched the length of her fingers and imagined where she might hold him. It was a crass thought, and he was ashamed of it, but it was there tall and proud in his imagination.
“Mr. Hallowsby? She came to you with bruises on her face and red-rimmed eyes.”
“I was lonely,” he said. “My friends were on holiday outside London. It was nearing Christmas, and my mother had a new gentleman to entertain. So I sat alone and hungry in my tiny room and thought dark, angry thoughts.”
