Page 12 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
The manservant, Kincaid, sent them a stern, unservile look, the kind Bink had deployed often himself in the service of Hackwell. He nodded to the man, one servant to another.
“I’ll send word when he comes to.” Kincaid said.
The lady’s face hardened. Bakeley tucked her hand on his arm and clamped his own firmly over hers.
“Very well. Brother, Paulette, I can see the road dust on both of you. Please come and refresh yourselves.”
“I will gladly stay and help,” she said.
“Kincaid would not let you near him. We’ll discuss his bequests. He won’t mind, and they’re unlikely to change.”
Paulette tuggedat her hand trapped under Bakeley’s. “But—”
Something in the red-haired man’s throat rumbled and stopped her train of thought.
Danger, his eyes flashed, at Bakeley, not her. He turned on his heel and walked to the door, exactly as if they were expected to follow him, as though he were the older brother and the heir to the earldom, and not some gentleman’s bastard.
Bakeley nudged her. She cast a last look at Shaldon, and wondered if he was feigning a swoon. She’d seen it done by girls at the village assembly.
But no. Surely not. Though Mrs. Everly had attempted to shield her from the mysteries of dying, Mabel had no such scruples. Going in and out of a swoon seemed to fit. And Mabel had said they might not make it in time.
To be so close…tears welled and Paulette squeezed them back.
“Shall I carry you then?” Bakeley asked, sounding bored. “Are you fainting, my dear?”
Her cheeks burned. She straightened her spine and allowed herself to be led out. “I am not your dear,” she whispered. “Your father is dying. Your demeanor is entirely inappropriate.”
“I am grieving in my own way.”
She gritted her teeth. “It’s so unfair. I’ve tried and tried to speak to him.” Her voice broke and she gulped in air. “Ineedhim to answer some questions. Ineedhim to tell me the truth.”
Shaldon’s bastard had waited still as a statue by the door to the corridor. “The truth from Lord Shaldon?” he said. “You might as well hope to get wine from a milk cow.”
The flatness in his tone spiked her irritation. “How would I know? I’ve only had a chance to speak to him once, years ago, when I was so young I barely remember.”
“That’s one more chance than Bink has had,” Bakeley said.
“Bink?”
The big man fixed his gaze on her. “That would be me, miss.”
What a ridiculous name for a man playing a gentleman.
Bakeley whisked them along to a drawing room, ordered refreshments, and closed the door. “Now.”
He still gripped her hand. She tried to pull away, but he clamped tighter.
“Introductions. Paulette Heardwyn, meet Edward Bink Gibson. Mr. Gibson is my half-brother, and his lordship’s eldest son.”
“That we know of.” Mr. Gibson studied her, all his earlier warmth gone. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Heardwyn.” He turned to Bakeley. “Is Miss Heardwyn a younger relation?”
The hair on her neck quivered. Shaldon wasnother father.
“Heavens, no.”
Even if she could doubt Bakeley’s words, his loud laugh reassured her.
“Absolutely not. Paulette’s father was one of our father’s men who died in service.” Bakeley dropped her hand and went to a cabinet, setting out glasses and a bottle of brandy. “Father settled Paulette and her mother onto one of his properties.”
