Page 133 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
“Hello, Paulette.”
“Youare a scoundrel. You sold my home.Sold it. To Cummings, and you…you…let him take it, and you weren’t even truly dead. And youtrickedme into marriage.”
Bink’s heart fell. He was the husband she’d been tricked into marrying. His wound ached, but the sharp pain in his heart was far worse.
He’d risked it all, had it all, lost it all.
“And you, Bakeley.” She was in a right temper, her skin pinching pink, her hair dangling at her shoulders. He wanted to kiss the anger out of her, to draw some of that spirit into himself. “You knew. You knew, and you lied, to me, and to…”
She stiffened and glared at him.
“And to me also. I did not know. And about marrying you, I’m not a bit sorry,” he said in a gruff whisper. “I love you.”
She went pinker still and her gaze darted away.
“I’m a useless lump, but it was not right,Father, Brother, to use Paulette as bait.”
Bakeley jumped in. “This shouldn’t have gone this way. If you had but trusted me—”
“Trusted you?” Bink swore a colorful oath.
“I’m your brother.”
“And he’s our father. And he’s deceived us.”
Agruen had been shackled and helped to his feet. He wasn’t dead after all.
The room filled with men, operatives of Shaldon’s. Agruen’s henchman was being led away, and Filomena’s wounds were being tended.
“Who is she, truly?” he asked.
“A whore,” Agruen said.
“There now,” Shaldon said. “Fil’s not a whore. She’s a patriot, though not of England. Never mind, she’s helped with our strategies, unwittingly I’m afraid. Dear girl, it’s always a pleasure to work with you. We shall talk. Agruen, your days of running free across England are over. How your story ends will depend on how much you wish to share with us.” Shaldon tilted his head and three men hauled Agruen toward the door. “Not you, Kincaid.”
He hadn’t noticed Kincaid. The Scotsmen too were here, as well as Tellingford and the clerks. The solicitor’s office might be real, but it was also well-connected with Shaldon’s operation.
Paulette could be a statue perched on his lap, she was that stiff. She would be up and away in moments, and he must let her go.
“Paulette,” Shaldon said gently, “Filomena De Silva is not truly your cousin.”
“No? She bears my mother’s maiden name.”
“That is true. But it was the woman who raised you who was your cousin. Filomena is your mother.”
“Bloody hell,” Bink breathed.
Paulette heard the curse explode from him and she wobbled. “How?”
Fil frowned. “Must we have an audience?”
With one nod, the room cleared, except for Kincaid, Bakeley, Shaldon and the three bloodied victims of Agruen’s violence.
Fil wheezed. “Must we do this in this filthy lair?”
“Get on with it,” Bink said.
Still speaking for Paulette, when she could speak for herself. Strange, but it didn’t bother her.
