Page 34 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“But what, Bluebell? It’s not proper? That is true. In fact, a properly reared young girl would have run away squealing bynow. She wouldn’t be standing bold as brass discussing things with me.”
She should run. She definitely should. Even she knew she was courting disaster by talking to him like this. If the vicar found out, she would be branded a whore and worse. But she could not make her feet move. And when she spoke, it was to challenge him. As if she had planned her defiance.
“You said ‘young girl.’ I’m four and twenty. What would a lady of my years do?”
“Well, she’d be already married and know exactly what to do with me. But she wouldn’t be waiting on the opposite bank.” He glided forward in the water, stepping into the sunshine where—if the angle were right—she would see so much more. But it wasn’t right, and she was looking into his eyes.
He’d know if she looked lower, damn it.
And yet, she still tried to sneak a peek.
“Shall I stand up?”
“No.” Not yet.
“Are you sure? Those are lessons I would be more than happy to teach you. No one expects a girl of your years—reared in the country—to be ignorant of these things.”
“Yes, they do!” she snapped. The vicar had spoken oftentimes of the sins of relations outside of marriage. And if she’d missed it in church, he had come to talk to her often enough as she aged.
“A lady is expected to be a virgin, Bluebell,” he said, his tone laced with humor. And temptation. “There is much that I could teach you that wouldn’t change that.”
She thought about it. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to finally learn these things. She knew married girls whispered together. She knew that people found something so enjoyable that all the bellowing from the pulpit meant nothing. A little peek wouldn’t hurt. A tiny peek…
“I’m standing up now, Bluebell.”
But to see, she’d have to give up her dream of being a lady. Even she knew that a lady never looked at what he was going to show her. Never saw until she was safely wed.
“No!” she cried. And then she ran.
But not before he’d risen like a god before her. And she’d seen everything.
Chapter Seven
A pig is a pig is a pig. He may be drunk, clever, funny, or even adorable. But in the end, he is a pig. Same is true of bastards. Do not deny the essence of thething.
Avirgin. Bramshifted restlessly in his bed and dreamed of debauching a virgin.
It wasn’t his usual style because innocence equaled stupidity in his mind. But one voluptuous peasant girl had him twisted up with lust like never before. So much so that he’d dreamt of her all night long when he wasn’t stroking himself while fantasizing about her. It was appalling, and yet by the time dawn colored the sky, he’d come to a reluctant conclusion.
He was going to debauch her.
Not just take her virginity, but spread her thighs and do things to her that he’d only pictured in his most lustful teenage fantasies. He was going to take her every way possible, and when he was done, he’d leave her to the ruin of her life as he returned to London. Because no vicar’s son would marry her after he was done with her.
That last part saddened him. He was a man who fought for those who could not fight for themselves. Certainly he hired himself out to whatever wealthy man could afford him, but when he had the time, he worked unpaid for the unprotected. Except now he wanted to debauch one, even though she had no defenseagainst his practiced knowledge. Damnation, he wanted her with a fever that boiled in his blood.
And because he was a bastard in all senses of the word, he would debauch her.
Part of him hoped that Jeremy would return just for the distraction, but the man was stubbornly absent.
So in the morning, he dressed in his new country togs. Widow Dwight had gotten a good deal on his clothes. The fine linen he’d had was worth five times what he was putting on now. But that was just as well since he had decided to paint the carriage himself.
He had no interest in increasing the price of the vehicle, though that was an added bonus. It was his excuse to stay longer so he could find a way between Miss Bluebell’s thighs.
He ate his breakfast and then headed to the stable where the carriage was being repaired. Two days’ work that should be nearly done. As he entered, Mr. Grummer straightened from his crouch with a smile on his face.
“That axle’s strong as an ox now, Mr. ’Allowsby. Strong as an ox.”
“Thank you. And now I’ll—” He cut off his words as Miss Bluebell appeared around the other side. Her hair was tied back this morning with a soft gray ribbon that had seen better days. Her dress had too, but that didn’t matter since it clung to her curves whenever she twisted or moved. Tight, then soft against her, in flashes that tantalized a man and made him desperate to see her without the ugly shroud. “Miss Bluebell, what brings you here this morning?”
