Page 44 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“You saw it yesterday,” she pointed out. “Why’re y’ here?” Damn it. Too fast, but at least she’d used theh.
He opened his mouth—likely to correct her words—then stopped himself. Good. At least he felt as awkward as she did.
She arched her brows in query and folded her hands in front of her, regardless of how much the blasted midges were annoying her.
“I came to apologize,” he said gruffly. “And to tell you a tale.”
Her stomach knotted. She’d heard all the vicar’s tales of how men were seduced by women, betrayed by women, plagued by women. No matter what the crime, it was the woman’s fault. Which tale would he tell to excuse his behavior?
She found that she didn’t care.
She gave him her back, squatting down to return to her weeding. There wasn’t much left to do. She’d already been at it for more than an hour.
And when he said nothing, she finally turned to look at him, a query in her expression.
“Normally, a person looks at me when I talk,” he said.
And wasn’t that just like a man? Expecting an audience whenever he spoke. “Speak your piece, Mr. Hallowsby.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I behaved abominably and in ways not befitting a gentleman. I’ve no excuse. Just my sincerest hope that I haven’t hurt you in any way.”
“It seemed like you were the one who got hurt,” she said, relishing the memory of slamming her knee upward.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his expression turn rueful. “That I did. Who taught you that?”
“Does it matter? I learned it. Because there have been men like you all my life.”
He paled at that. He didn’t like being lumped in with all the lechers who had abused her trust.
“I confused you with someone else,” he said. “It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t honorable.”
“Because I look like someone else around here?”
He shook his head. “Not here, and she wasn’t as pretty, but close. Her eyes weren’t as blue, the hair not as bright. And her…body wasn’t as sweet.”
Meaning whoever the woman was, she was flatter in the breasts and hips, whereas Maybelle could only be calledgenerous in the curves. She sighed. “That would be the tale, then?”
He nodded, then walked around, coming to stand before her. She watched where his big booted feet went, worried for her peas, but he was careful. And he held his hat in his hand as he spoke.
“I don’t make many mistakes, but when I do, I apologize.” His gaze grew a little distant, and he seemed to speak to the air above her left shoulder. “My father taught me that. He was an honest man, which is a rarity among the peers. He taught me to be the same.”
Now, that was something she hadn’t known. His father was an honest peer. Gave her hope that her father’s family was equally good. But then again, if they were, she wouldn’t have grown up in Hull, would she?
She leaned back in the dirt and regarded him. “Tell me the whole tale,” she ordered. “Then I’ll think about accepting your apology.”
She could see his start of surprise. Women must fall all over him when he apologized. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might not forgive him.
She would. She already knew that there had been a thousand ways for her to get out of that kiss, most before he’d approached. She’d known from the moment he started stomping toward her that he was going to put his hands on her. And she’d stayed right where she was, too mesmerized by his big body to stop it before it started.
But she wasn’t going to tell him that. So she lifted her chin and waited.
Eventually he explained. “After school, I wandered around London for a couple years. I went to parties, ate their food, and…” He swallowed. “And I enjoyed what was offered.”
“Drinking and whoring?”
He nodded. “Though I never had the money to pay.”
“Sponging off yer friends.”
