Page 107 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
Maybelle’s heart wasbeating triple time. The excitement of the last few minutes thrummed in her body, coalescing into a clear decision.
Everything she’d ever dreamed of had come true this day. No only was she legitimate, but she was the acknowledged granddaughter of an earl. She had a bright future ahead, and none of it could have happened without Bram.
He was the reason she was here. He had introduced her to Lady Eleanor. He had forced her grandparents to acknowledge her. And he had just risked his life to protect her in the alley. She knew he could have run. He’d only stayed because she was climbing down to help.
And so, tonight she planned to say thank you. She was going to express her heart and see if he still saw her as a deceitful chit from the country.
She made it through the window, tumbling headfirst onto the rug, feeling grateful she wasn’t in a corset. Then she turned to extend a hand to him.
She didn’t need to. Though he was a tall man, Bram was nimble. And strong. His arms bulged as he lifted himself higher than the window before pushing his feet through. Then helanded quick and quiet on her rug while she looked up at him in admiration.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine. And you?” She scanned his body, and now, with the candlelight on him, she saw where his clothes had been slashed. “You’ve been cut,” she gasped.
She leaped to her feet and forcefully pushed back his shirt. Wet blood coated the fabric and her fingers. “Take this off. I can clean and stitch it.” She meant both him and his shirt.
“It’s fine.” He tried to still her hands, but she shoved him to the bed.
“Don’t argue. No one feels pain in the middle of a fight. Not like you do later. Take off your shirt now.”
“And what would you know of fighting?”
“I was taught by the witch-woman, remember? I have a fine hand for…” She swallowed. “For closing up flesh.”
“Bluebell, there’s no reason.”
She glared at him. “If you do not let me dress that wound, I will scream. And then how will you explain yourself?”
Bram’s lips twitched as he shrugged out of his coat. “Do you know how absurd that is? You’re the one who will suffer if I am caught here.”
Lord, he was moving too stiffly. It might be a deeper wound than he thought. She batted away his hands and made quick work of his cravat and buttons. And then she was stroking his glorious chest, searching for blood or bruises.
He grunted when she found it. Not the knife wound, as he’d been right about that. It wasn’t deep enough for stitches. She’d wash it clean and set a pad there to absorb any more blood. No, what he complained about was the bruising. Jeremy was right-handed, and his blows had taken their toll on Bram’s left side. Though she felt nothing broken, he would be in pain for a week at least.
“I’m glad you got him with the knife,” she said, looking into his face. “He hurt you. He wanted to…” She couldn’t say it.
She felt sick at the memory of him backing away as three men stepped out of the shadows. She’d gone to the window when she heard a noise, then felt swallowed up by helplessness as she watched three men flank out to corner Bram. What could she do from up above?
She now realized she should have just screamed. Or thrown things down at them. But she’d wanted to defend him with her own hands. She’d seen the bed warmer and hatched her plan.
“Next time,” he said as he gripped her fingers. “Scream when you see something amiss. Don’t join it.”
“That would have delayed things until the next time they found you. This way it’s done.” She hesitated. “It is done, isn’t it? They won’t come after you again.”
She watched his lips compress and his expression flatten. She knew what he was thinking, and she was sorry the idea pained him.
“You don’t know that you’ve killed him,” she said softly.
He nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. “Jeremy won’t come after me again. That’s a wound that takes a long time to heal. If it ever does.”
She touched his face. “He was going to hurt you.”
He pressed his hand to hers on his cheek. “He was going to hurtyou.”
She kissed him. Horror burned in his eyes, and even if it didn’t, her fear for him still coiled in her gut. She needed to assure herself that he was still strong. And when he kissed her back with equal desperation, she knew he’d been truly frightened for her.
“He didn’t hurt me,” she said.
