Page 7 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“Of course not.” Worse and worse. Lord Linsel was getting irritated and now looked desperately at Mr. Hallowsby. No, no, no! He had to look to his wife.
Maybelle pushed to her feet but was suddenly blocked by Mr. Annoying.
“Let’s get out of this place,” the man said calmly. “Your tisanes don’t agree with Clarissa.”
She’d wager her last penny that nothing agreed with Clarissa. She looked to Mr. Garwick, but the innkeeper could do nothing.He shrugged, and she knew it was up to her to mitigate this disaster. Thank God she was leaving the horrible village. She couldn’t stand much more abuse, even if it came from obnoxious Londoners. And in a village like this, everything these three said and did would be repeated for years to come.
“I’ll ready the horses, my lords, my lady,” Mr. Garwick said as he bustled out of the room.
Meanwhile, Maybelle grabbed another tisane. She would have to risk speaking. There was no other way to get the information across quickly. Except she couldn’t catch Lord Linsel’s eye. Mr. Hallowsby was in the way.
So she tugged on the irritating man’s sleeve. He looked down, his expression both mocking and indulgent. Bastard. But she swallowed her indignation and held up her offering.
“It will ’elp her sleep,” she whispered.
She could see the man considering it, but she’d spoken too loudly.
“What is that noise she’s making?” Lady Linsel moaned. “Oh, I cannot abide it!”
Mr. Hallowsby gave her a rueful shrug. “It was a good try. I’m sure you have the locals eating out of your hand.”
Well, what was that to the point? She wasn’t staying around here any longer than another hour.
He must have seen the frustration on her face. He had to, otherwise there was no explaining the low chuckle that vibrated through the air and straight to her belly. It was a rich sound that woke parts of her that she’d never felt before. It was a mocking, horrible noise, she told herself, but to no avail. Her body responded anyway.
Humiliating!
And now she was the one who wanted to leave and damn them all. These nobles, the provincial village where she’d been harassed daily, and most especially, this man.
“Good-bye and good riddance,” she all but spat. Then she grabbed her basket and…
And why were there three more men in the room? Not just men, but huge burly brutes the size of Vikings? Their shoulders were twice the size of a normal man’s, and their fists—the size of hams. They were dressed better than most, but not as well as the three here. And there was a clear leader. A man in a gray waistcoat shot with gold.
And they all had pistols in their big fists.
“Jeremy,” Mr. Hallowsby drawled in a self-mocking tone. “Why didn’t I remember you?”
The giant in gray nodded with a cordial smile. “It’s because I’m so hard to see.”
A joke, obviously. Nobody laughed. Not even the other two brutes. Clearly they were there for brawn, not brains.
Meanwhile, Lord Linsel puffed himself up, though anyone could see he was terrified. “Now see here, good man. We were just leaving. We’ll grab our things and be out of your way. Whatever business you have in this village is none of our—”
“Awwwr, but our business is with you.”
Maybelle winced at the Cockney accent. And they thought she sounded awful? What did they think of him?
“Who are these people?” Lady Linsel demanded in a shrill voice.
It was Mr. Hallowsby who answered. “This is Mr. Jeremy Dudding, bastard son of Lord Sturman.” He looked at Lord Linsel. “You remember Lord Sturman? He invested ten thousand pounds in your sapphire mine.”
Lord Linsel visibly paled. “It’s not my fault. I lost everything too. I believed there were sapphires.”
Maybelle narrowed her eyes. She could see Mr. Hallowsby thought that a bald-faced lie. His expression flattened, and heexhaled a slow breath. But then he lifted his hands slowly in a kind ofwhat now?gesture.
“What do you want Jeremy?”
“I’m Mr. Dudding to you.”
