Page 4 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“Go.” Bram was startled to realize he’d said the word. Worse, it came out more as a growl than intelligible speech. But it was enough to terrify the boy into bolting.
The woman shook her head. “There was no need to frighten ’im.”
He’d meant to frighten her, but obviously, she was of the fearless sort. “Clarissa just needs attention, not any magic potions.”
“Magic potions!” she cried, obviously offended. “I make good Christian tisanes, sir. Nothing ’eathen about plants tended with care and picked at the right time to ease a lady’s delicate stomach.” She narrowed her eyes. “I ’ave a wonder of a posset for a man with a sore ’ead too, but I’ve nothing for stupidity.”
He snorted, but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest. “Clarissa just needs some attention—”
“And I’ll be giving ’er that, if you would stand aside. Unless you’d prefer to let ’er aim her illness at your thick ’ead.”
That, of course, was exactly why he was outside. Damn it. Not only was this woman manipulative, she was clever too. He had no problems with simply barring her way, illogical as it was, but he knew time was ticking away. The first thing young Thomas would do was tell his da what was happening out here. And a minute after that, the anxious innkeeper would appear, begging and bowing enough to give him a headache.
“Show me what’s in your basket,” Bram ordered while he tried to think of some better way to get rid of the woman.
She drew back. “You have no cause to—”
“I’ve every cause to protect those two. It’s my job.”
“Then it’s your job to see the lady gets tended.”
“Not by you.”
“Then who?” She gestured to the few hovels that made up the town. “There’s no doctor for fifty miles. And no surgeon for thirty. When people get ill, they tend to it themselves, or they callme for a tisane. If ’tis naught but a woman’s complaint, then let a woman tend ’er.”
He glared at her, knowing she was right. But he couldn’t give in. It wasn’t pride—though he was man enough to admit that played a part—it was his whole mystique. He had to appear wholly intimidating, or his entire life would fall apart. The only jobs he had were from peers who had need of someone impressive to protect them. If that mystique fell away, so would his employment. So he braced his feet and glowered. “I’ll see what you carry in that basket, or I won’t let you in.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. I’ve a knife in there. As big as an ax, and I’ll use it to murder you for no reason at all.”
His lips twitched. He didn’t want to be amused, but she was so queenly in her outrage. Even in her dirt-stained dress with that broad northern accent that dulled the mind, she carried herself as a queen, and he was impressed.
Worse, he was out of time.
He heard heavy footfalls and knew Dicky was tromping out of the inn. He heard the man’s quick gasp of surprise. Stupid man would never look beneath the surface of a beautiful woman. He’d see the flawless skin, the sweet curves of lush breasts and full hips, and he would be lost. How had the man swindled thetonfor so long?
“Bram, my man,” Dicky said as his footsteps slowed to the tempo of a swagger. “Is this lovely creature the lady bringing possets?”
The woman shifted immediately into a demure curtsy that completely fooled Dicky. “I am, sir. Me name’s Maybelle Ballenger, but everyone calls me Bluebell on account of my eyes.”
“Bluebell!” Dicky exclaimed. “Charming. Absolutely charming. Lord Linsel at your service.” He stepped forward and executed a courtly bow. If nothing else, Dicky knew how toimpress an ignorant woman. Maybe even a clever woman too, since Miss Ballenger colored and ducked her eyes. Bram wanted to curse her for the act, but every woman colored and ducked her eyes when the ever-gorgeous Lord Linsel turned his charm in her direction. “And this rude gentleman,” Dicky added with a wink, “is Mr. Hallowsby.”
“Your basket, Miss Ballenger,” Bram cut in, his voice cold. “Just let me see what’s inside.”
“Is that what the fuss is about?” Dicky said with a hearty laugh. Which was when Bram realized the man wasn’t carrying his chest of gold. That was a surprise. “I hardly think this young miss means me harm. And besides, you’re more than a match for one little slip of a girl, don’t you think?”
He slid his gaze to Dicky, wishing he could strangle the man. Especially when the lady continued to keep her gaze down and her expression demure. Gone was the bold-as-brass woman who’d been facing him down. In her place stood a simpering child, which was exactly what would appeal to Dicky. He’d married Clarissa, after all, hadn’t he?
“I just want to see what’s inside,” he said, keeping his voice cold. “You tasked me with your safety—”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Then Dicky shifted his gaze back to Miss Ballenger. Or rather, to her ample bosom. “I must apologize deeply, but I am in somewhat of a pickle. Quite dangerous, actually. Would you mind terribly helping me out? Just a peek at your basket, please.”
“Well, milord, since you ask so sweetly.” She held out her basket and tugged off the cloth cover.
Bram glanced inside, cataloging the items in an instant. She did indeed have a knife in there. A small one meant for cutting fruit. It was very sharp as it gleamed in the sunlight, but the handle was old and worn. He didn’t regard it as a threat. Alsoinside were a variety of bottles, packed securely amid sachets and carrots.
Nothing damning at all, except the lies she sold in those bottles. And the overall lie of her body and smile.
“There now,” soothed Dicky. “Nothing to fear. And will anything in there help my dear wife?”
