Page 114 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
They both knew that wasn’t true. She chose the man who would best keep her in gowns and jewelry. Or in food and shelter.
“I loved your father. We both understood the constraints of his title and his marriage. I wanted his child anyway.”
Bram blinked his eyes, and finally his mother came into focus. “Why did you come here, Mum? How did you even know I was back in London?”
She tapped his knee. “I pay a boy to watch your rooms.”
Of course she did. Her current protector was very flush. “What do you want, Mum?”
“There’s another girl in trouble. I need you to threaten the father of her child.”
He groaned and dropped his head against the wall.
“Why?” he moaned. “Why have the babe? Why let a child be born as a by-blow? We don’t fit anywhere.”
“Of course you do. You fit on the outskirts with us.” She caressed his arm. “I don’t understand why that hurts you. I never thought I’d have a son who was so…so…”
“Stupid?”
“Honorable. Why do you want to be like them? Marrying for money, hated by your children, saddled with appearances that can never be maintained. Why do you want that?”
Because he could have her. Because he could marry her. Because he could honestly, honorably love her.
But he didn’t say that. His mother would laugh and tell him to love her in secret. Slip into Bluebell’s bedroom when her husband was away. Pleasure her in all the improper ways he knew so well.
That was what he should do.
By the time she left, he believed it as well.
*
Maybelle shuffled intoher bedroom. It was early by town standards—after two a.m.—but she could barely keep her eyes open. Worse, while Eleanor had been so excited she hummed, Maybelle was feeling completely flat.
After her first ball.
She wore a gown of pale blue with gold stitching, so beautiful she couldn’t have imagined it a month ago. She’d been announced as Maybelle Ballenger and escorted by her grandparents. The entire ballroom had gone silent in stunned shock. Then a thousand eligible gentlemen introduced themselves to her, and she’d danced until her feet ached and her head swam.
Eleanor and the countess were in alt. They said she’d been launched perfectly. Even her grandfather had nodded. And he’d lost that stiff-backed, narrow-eyed glare he usually gave her. His expression was almost fond.
So she was accepted. Lauded even. And instead of crowing at her triumph, she bemoaned Bram’s absence.
She’d expected that, of course. She’d known from the moment he’d crept out of her bedroom a week ago that she might never see him again. It didn’t seem to matter that he was in her soul. He would not break society’s rules enough to appear at a ball. Certainly not her come-out. The last thing she needed—according to Eleanor—was to be associated with a by-blow, even though he was the son of a duke.
So he had stayed away in body, but in her thoughts, he’d been everywhere. Every man she met was compared to him. This one’s shoulders were not as strong. This one’s breath was not as sweet. This one’s smile didn’t compare to Bram’s.
And none of them questioned a word she said. It didn’t matter if she claimed to be a Black Irishwoman from the Colonies or a descendent from Turkish savages. At one point, she even said her favorite drink was boiled turnips. Not a one of them looked at her oddly. Not a one noticed that what she said was complete rubbish.
They smiled and patted her hand while looking at her décolletage. They assumed she was an empty-headed miss, and frankly, she was shocked that she preferred Bram’s way of doubting everything. At least he was listening.
Tonight’s gentlemen only heard her grandfather’s title and the amount of her substantial dowry. Which had been the biggest shock of all.
She, Eleanor, and her grandparents had been in the carriage on the way to the ball. Her stomach had been tied into knots while the countess and Eleanor kept spouting last-second advice. Then in one of the few pauses, her grandfather had cleared his throat and said, “I’ve let it out about your dowry. Twenty thousand pounds. Should be enough.”
Enough? She was an heiress. And now, no one cared if she were beautiful or stupid or disease-ridden. To them, she was twenty thousand pounds.
By the midnight supper, she’d wanted to escape. By two, it took all her will to hold in the scream. Which is when she told Eleanor she was leaving with or without her chaperone. Eleanor had agreed that staying until the end of one’s come-out ball was gauche, and it was best they departed.
And now she was home. She couldn’t wait to strip out of her whale-boned torture device of a corset. Not to mention taking down her hair. The pins had been poking her all night.
