Page 9 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
She glanced at Mr. Disagreeable and found that he wasn’t insulted by the name. Or perhaps he was simply unaffected. Either way, he shifted such that he shielded her partially from view.
She didn’t want to be grateful, but she was. Profoundly grateful.
“So you’re in charge, Jere—Mr. Dudding. What do you want?”
Jeremy appeared to think this over. His eyes narrowed, and he looked like he had a digestive ailment.
“He ’ire you to protect ’is lockbox?”
Mr. Hallowsby shook his head. “Just to get him to Scotland safe and sound.” He pointed up the north road. “Twenty miles. Let me escort them the last bit, get paid, and then you can have him.”
“Bram!” Lord Linsel squeaked. “That’s not what we agreed.”
“On the contrary,” Mr. Hallowsby said with a slow drawl. “That is exactly what we agreed.” He turned his charming smile on the Viking. “What of it, Jeremy? Honor among bastards? We both get what we want.”
Sounded like a gypsy bargain to her. One where the thieves got everything, and the honest Lord Linsel lost everything, but she didn’t dare speak. Why oh why didn’t she leave for London this morning? Selling a few pennies worth of carrots wasn’t worth this disaster.
“Hmmm,” murmured Jeremy. Everyone knew he was only pretending to think. “I’d rather get wot I want and forget about you.”
“We once were friends, you and me.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Where’s the lockbox?”
That was when she realized the truth. It flashed across her awareness as quick as a divine gift, and she weighed the possibilities. If she stayed silent, then maybe she could get out of this alive but with no profit. Most days that would sting, but today of all days, she needed that money. She was still undecided when the Viking took another heavy step into the room.
“Tell me,” he said with a growl, “or I start shooting, beginning with him.” He pointed at Mr. Hallowsby.
Well, that was hardly fair. The man was simply doing his job, and he’d been a boyhood playmate. No reason to kill him first.
“There is no lockbox!” Lord Linsel squeaked.
“Awrite then,” he said as he pointed his gun at Mr. Hallowsby.
The irritating man didn’t seem to care, though he shifted away from Lady Linsel. “Why not take her jewelry instead?”
“What!” the lady gasped. “No!” she cried, clutching her necklace tight.
The Viking laughed, and the sound was not pleasant. “We all know that’s glass an’ paste.”
“Is not.” The lady sniffed.
Really?Maybelle thought as she peered at the gemstones.
“The lockbox, or I kill you, Bram.” He cocked the pistol, and suddenly, Maybelle was speaking even though she hadn’t planned on uttering a word.
“No!” she cried. “I know where the box is. I can give it t’ you.”
“What the devil are you saying?” gasped the lady.
Still whining about her accent? Maybelle planted her hands on her hips and glared. “I. Know. Where. The box is.”
“You couldn’t possibly,” said the woman with a sniff, thereby confirming that she could understand Maybelle just fine. And also, that there was a lockbox.
What an idiot.
“I do know,” she said as she turned to the Viking. “I’ll tell you if you buy all me goods.”
“Wot?”
