Page 66 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“Two hundred pounds,” Bram ground out, cursing himself under his breath.
“What?”
“Two hundred bloody pounds, and you take yourself off now.” He felt bad about the horse. That sweet-tempered creature did not deserve these two. “And you leave the horse for me inDover. I’ll find her there.” After all, the thing was so ugly that he’d be able to find her easily.
Clarissa’s tears ended on a hiccuping snort. “You’ll drive us to Dover?”
“No, I won’t.”
“But—”
“Jeremy will look for me in order to find you. If I’m driving you across England, he’s sure to find you.”
Even Clarissa saw the logic in that. So she whispered a tragic, “Very well.”
Seeing that his wife had already decided, Dicky sighed dramatically. “It hurts me, how you’ve forgotten our friendship.”
“It hurt me too when you ran off without paying me.” He held out his hand.
With a sullen curse, Dicky reached for a small pot pressed near his leg. Pulling off the lid, he carefully extricated two hundred pounds.
“What is that?” Bram asked.
“It’s your money,” the man responded with a dramatic sniff.
“No, no. The…small chamber pot.”
“Well, I couldn’t keep carrying it around in a rucksack, could I?”
Clarissa brightened. “Everyone has pots, you know. I thought that would blend in.”
Because everyone carried around a lidded piece of pottery wherever they went. Bram didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled the money out of Dicky’s hand before the man could find a way to palm some of the notes.
“It’s a sad thing,” Dicky drawled to his wife, “when education does not overcome breeding. Bad blood will always out.” By which he meant to insult Bram’s bastard blood. Too bad Bram was long since inured to such jabs.
“Oh yes,” Clarissa agreed. Then she smiled winningly at Bram. “Do fetch us some stew, please, before you hitch up the carriage. I think I can manage some food now that we’re away from the water.”
Dicky clapped his hands. “Excellent notion, my dear. Most excellent.”
Then together, man and wife gave him calm, condescending smiles appropriate to the king’s drawing room. Bram almost slammed the door in their faces. Almost. But if he didn’t help them, then they’d be plaguing him for the rest of the night.
So he did as he was bid. He got them stew and bread. He hitched up Mina and helped them out of the inn yard. Dicky put up a token objection that he would have to drive, but he probably needed the respite from his wife. So with Dicky driving, Bram was finally, happily, able to wave them good-bye and good riddance.
But what the hell was he going to do for Bluebell in the morning?
Chapter Twelve
Many bastards get lost looking backward. Forward, always. Or better yet, work in the right now because that is where all thingshappen.
Did she lookdifferent? Maybelle peered into the mirror, but saw nothing unusual. Was she a little flushed? Maybe, but she was heading to London where she would finally be recognized as the granddaughter of an earl. That was significant!
And yet, that paled in comparison to the changes from the afternoon before. What she had done with Mr. Hallowsby! She had discovered a whole world of surprises regarding her own body. Such feelings! So hot, so uncomfortable. Like a thunderstorm under the skin. And yet the lightning flashes, the boom inside her belly, the explosion, and the aftermath had changed her whole world.
It was like suddenly discovering she could fly!
She’d tried to recreate the sensations last night, but she didn’t want to do it without Mr. Hallowsby. Even when she’d lain there reliving every glorious touch and stroke, it still wasn’t the same.
She wanted to do it again. Many, many times more. But that could not happen. She was going to be a respectable lady and marry Charlie, a virtuous curate, or maybe someone more exalted. Did Charlie know how to do those things? She couldn’t imagine him stroking himself, much less her.
