Page 93 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
Bram pushed into the room when the man ripped the sketch out of his wife’s hand. He heard the crash as the frame splintered and used his deadliest tone, praying that it worked.
“Touch that page, and I will hurt you.”
Everyone froze—for a second. He saw the women look at him, their eyes a mixture of confusion, hope, and sparkling adoration. That last was from Bluebell, and it terrified him as much as it warmed him. What if he couldn’t stop this debacle?
And sure enough, the earl ignored him. He made a show of lifting the sketch in his fist. Fortunately, he was slow, and Bram was there at nearly the same instant. He grabbed the earl’s wrist and dug in his thumb at the vulnerable place just beneath the palm.
“Put it down,” he said, his voice crisp enough to be an order from a commanding officer. The earl had been in the military. Perhaps he’d respond—
“You bastard,” the earl growled.
Bram couldn’t tell if it was a curse or a statement of recognition. Either way, he twisted his hand, forcing the earl’s wrist into an untenable position. The paper slipped, and Bluebell grabbed it and began to smooth it out.
No, it wasn’t Bluebell. It was the countess, her hands shaking as she tried uselessly to fix a rip with her finger.
Then the earl shoved him hard. The earl’s weight was equal parts fat and aging bones. It was a simple thing to stay steady against such a force. And within seconds, Bram had twisted enough to get the man to sit down. Or collapse, depending on perspective.
And once the earl was seated, Bram showed his lips into a semblance of a smile.
“I believe you wanted tea, did you not, Lady Eleanor?”
His sister’s eyes were huge, but she was equal to the task. After a quick double-blink, she gripped the bellpull andrang. She needn’t have bothered. Seelye was already there, maneuvering to set down the tray.
“Here you go, my lady,” the butler said as he walked briskly into the room. Who knew the man could move that fast? Seelye spoke with extra animation. “Cook has found some delightful cucumber at market. She says they are quite crisp.”
“Thank you, Seelye,” Eleanor said with a bright smile. “I understand cucumber is the earl’s favorite.”
“Oh yes,” said the countess, her voice so breathy, there seemed to be extra air in every syllable. “He does like cucumber. And two dollops of cream in his tea.”
The earl grumbled deep in his throat and made to rise. “I will not—”
Bram clapped a hand down on the man’s shoulder, keeping him firmly seated. “I had not meant to intrude,” he said dryly. “But as the earl insists on dragging this conversation into the gutter—”
“Mr. Hallowsby, please,” Eleanor interrupted. “Tea is no place for such talk.”
Bram frowned. That had been entirely his point. Especially as the earl was gripping the sides of his chair hard enough to make the slender wood creak. “And so I will remain to be sure that—”
This time it was the countess who interrupted. “Teatime is really a ladies’ place, don’t you think? The men are obliged to sit and listen to us chatter.”
Had he just been told to sit down and be silent? Like a boy in short coats? Apparently so. He consoled himself that the message had been for the earl as much as himself. But still…
He eased off the man’s shoulder but stayed standing directly beside the chair.
Which is when the man rounded on his wife, his expression fierce. “I will not have you upset,” he said. His glareencompassed Bluebell, Lady Eleanor, and most especially Bram. “I will—”
“I know, my lord,” interrupted his wife as she gestured for the teacup. She took it from Eleanor with a smile before firmly setting it in her husband’s hand. “Two dollops of good cream. I know you’ll love it.”
The earl stared at his wife, but he didn’t throw the porcelain cup back at her. And then she set a cucumber sandwich in his other hand. And there he was, sitting rigid with fury, with a teacup in one hand and a cucumber sandwich in the other. Then his wife turned to Bluebell.
“You are quite pretty.” She looked at the sketch of Bluebell’s mother. “The eyes are the same, I think. But the bone structure is much stronger.”
“Mum said I favor my father in that.”
“Yes, the Cavener nose is distinct.”
Bluebell’s eyes widened, and she pressed her hand to her nose. Personally, Bram thought it one of her best features. Not the flattened button that most women seemed to want, but a strong beacon of direction. It fit her character.
“And the ears, too. I remember looking at Oscar’s ears and finding them delicate. His hands were all his father’s.” She glanced at the earl, but he hadn’t moved, and his fingers were hidden beneath the food. “Do you study like he did?”
