Page 102 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“I see,” she finally said.
Both ladies exhaled in relief. Obviously, they assumed they had made their case. That Maybelle would turn her back on Bram because he was a bastard. And while she smiled and pretended to go along, she privately made her own plans.
Chapter Twenty
Sometimes a bastard lives up to his name. Sometimes he lives down to it. Both experiences are dangerouslythrilling.
Bram paced outsideher window. It was nearly midnight. Her window was open, a candle burning brightly inside. He’d watched as one light after another was extinguished—Eleanor’s and the servants’. But Bluebell’s still danced in the breeze.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t even be thinking of the easy climb up the ivy to her arms, but he needed to tell her the truth. He needed to confess his sin from a week ago when they were in Hull. He’d taken her virginity—albeit accidentally—and she needed to know that before she accepted any high society marriage proposal.
He had to tell her. He had to risk her bedroom window knowing—once he confessed—that she’d throw him out. Then she’d go on to the life she was meant to lead as the granddaughter of an earl.
A black wall of bitterness rose inside him at that thought. An honorable man—bastard or not—would do this. He would ensure that she tossed him aside so that she could have the life she deserved. And so he stripped off his shoes and climbed.
He’d gone barely three feet when he felt a knife cut across his ribs. Not deep. Barely grazing the skin, though his clothing was ruined. And while he was still processing that, rough handsjerked him down hard. He landed with a thump that rattled his teeth.
“What—”
“Good evenin’, my old friend.”
Jeremy. He’d know that bear of a bastard anywhere, if only by the looming shadow and the man’s foul breath.
Bram blinked several times, pretending to be knocked stupid. It wasn’t hard. He’d been so focused on Bluebell that he’d had no idea Jeremy was there. And then he was pelted with rocks. Very specific rocks. Tiny ones that smarted where they hit his chest and his arms. They only missed his face because he was shielding it behind his battered forearms.
“What are you doing?” he cried.Ow. Ow.
“This ’ere’s my treasure from Lord Linsel,” Jeremy growled. “Rocks. Rocks in a chest meant to ’old gold.”
Right. He’d known back in Hull that things weren’t over, but a certain blond vixen had distracted him so much that he’d clean forgot.
Jeremy ran out of rocks, so Bram lowered his arms. He hoped his expression looked ignorant. “There were rocks in that chest? Rocks?”
The brute stepped into the moonlight, his bloodshot eyes doing more to worry Bram than the welts from the rocks. The man was drunk.
“Where is ’e?”
“Who?” Bram pushed himself upright slowly. If he was going to get a boot in his ribs, he wanted to see it coming. He also wanted to locate the other two brutes who always flanked Jeremy.
“Lord Linsel, ye blighter.” And then he went for the kick.
Bram twisted away from the blow, grabbed hold, and jerked Jeremy forward. The large man was drunk and off balance, so Bram was able to force him sideways while still gaining his feet.
“I don’t know where Dicky is. He took my money too,” he lied. “Then he ran off while I was fixing the damned carriage.” He glared at Jeremy. “That same carriage you tore apart. Probably with your bare hands.”
He hoped that the backward compliment would stave off the man’s fury. It was a touchy thing talking to a drunk. Especially when the man was spoiling for a fight.
“I’m going to tear you apart—” Jeremy growled.
Bram cursed. Jeremy was too pissed to see reason, but perhaps Bram could narrow the odds. He glared into the shadows where the two henchmen lurked. “I got no quarrel with you. Linsel played us all for fools, and I got—”
“Me father was right furious when I gave him that treasure box. Rocks!”
Worse and worse. He’d thought Jeremy would open the box long before London, but he hadn’t. He must have proudly offered it to his father, only to see what was really in there. And Jeremy’s father wasn’t a forgiving man.
“Blame Dicky. I thought there was gold in there, same as you.”
Jeremy had regained his footing and was now raising his fists as he stomped forward. Like the steady creep of a behemoth.
