Page 103 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“Where is Linsel?”
“I don’t know! Scotland?”
“I went there. ’E never showed.”
So that’s why he’d had this week’s respite. Jeremy had been up to Scotland and back.
“He sailed for the Colonies, Jeremy. Went up to Scotland and took a boat from the coast.” Well, he’d tried to. “Jeremy, think. Why would I give you a chest full of rocks?”
“Because you ’ave it.”
Bram felt his belly clench with fear. He could hold his own against Jeremy despite their difference in size. But with the two others? His odds were not looking good.
He scanned the alley. Two shadows solidified into Jeremy’s men in one direction. The other way was choked with debris, but he might be able to use it to his advantage. He was tensing to do that when he chanced to look up. A small figure in breeches was climbing down the wall. Bluebell. And she was carrying something long and badly wrapped in cloth.
Idiot woman!
He couldn’t run now. Not with her about to drop into the fray.
“Jeremy, the blighter didn’t pay me either. Took off to America, and I haven’t a bloody clue where they are!”
Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “You know what I think?”
Not a lot and not well.
“I’m dying to know.” Probably not the best choice of words, but his mind was split between Jeremy, his thugs, and Bluebell as she dropped silently onto the ground.
“That’s just it. Dying. I think they tried to run off, but I think you caught ’em.”
“I was stuck with the bloody carriage and no horse.”
“You’ve done more with less,” Jeremy said as he cracked his knuckles. Oh shit. He always did that before a fight.
“Exaggeration. Some of it outright lies. I haven’t done half of what they say—”
“Half is enough.” Jeremy took a slow, halfhearted swing. It was a testing blow to see how Bram reacted. The man might be drunk, but he still knew how to fight. “I want me father’s money.”
“I don’t have it. Dicky does.”
“Dicky’s dead.”
“What?” A shot of panic went through him. “How would you know that?” Such was his distraction—trying to watch Bluebell without actually looking at her—that he was being stupid. It was a thoughtless response, not meant to imply anything, but suddenly, Jeremy was grinning.
“I knew it. You killed him.”
“Are you daft?” Bram asked.
“You just said it. You said he was dead. How did I know it? I know ’cause you said it.” Jeremy advanced slowly. “’Cause you did it. He tried to run off with yer money.”
“I didn’t kill Dicky! Bloody hell, we were friends.”
“So were you and me.”
Of all the times for Jeremy to use logic.
Jeremy punched. It was quick on the left, then faster on the right. Bram evaded both swings, but he was being maneuvered around. Before long, he’d be in the center of the three men.
Normally he wouldn’t have allowed it. He would already be down the alley in the other direction. He was faster than any of these blighters. But not with Bluebell gripping—
