Page 14 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
The young lady’s eyes flared with interest, he thought, not missish shock. This one was no soft bit of fluff.
Bakeley shuddered. “Perhaps.” He opened his mouth, looked at the lady and pressed his lips tight.
“He cared not to have another child out of wedlock?” the lady asked.
Bakeley cleared his throat.
“By-blows are a great nuisance for a man with a conscience,” Bink said.
“Did his lordship have a conscience?” She rose from the chair. “He seems to have one now, if he’s leaving you a bequest. Or perhaps that’s just his pride. You’re from his bloodline.”
Yes, like one of his stallions. “I’d guess in Shaldon’s case, his lady’s pride was the determinate.”
Her eyes took on a dreamy cast, softening her face and making her look even younger. “He loved her.”
Bink’s heart did a flip. Perhaps therewassome tenderness in this tough little bird.
“It was an arranged marriage.” Bakeley refilled his own glass. “From her grandfather’s commercial interests, she brought a fortune—an enormous fortune—to the union. Mother was set to marry Father’s older brother until Uncle took a fall and cracked his skull. They had to call Father back from Ireland to take on the title. She knew him a week before deciding she could tolerate him, and they were married as soon as the banns could be called. And I came along some eight months later.”
“And they lived happily ever after.”
Bink squashed a smile. The lady’s sardonic tone had returned, thank goodness. He’d hate to think he’d misjudged her.
Bakeley reached for the bottle again, and her lips turned down in a frown. “I should like to hear what you have to say, Bakeley, before you have many more glasses of that.”
Bakeley set down his glass, walked to the cold fireplace, and rested a hand on the mantel.
It was such a fine piece of drama, even Miss Heardwyn noticed. She sent Bink an eye-roll.
“Well it must be bad,” Bink muttered.
Bakeley turned. His mouth worked as if his lips were struggling with some great piece of gristle. His hands slipped behind his back, a soldier at parade rest.
“Yes, well. You are each to receive a small sum as an inheritance. Not much. Not enough for any real independence. However, if you meet certain conditions, you are to receive a great deal of cash, and the title to the house and acreage acquired for you, worth four thousand a year, with the potential for more if you manage well.”
Bakeley’s gaze skittered from Bink to Miss Heardwyn, as he tugged at his neck cloth.
The lady gave Bink a pointed look. She tilted her head and he saw the pulse at her neck, a curl bouncing against it. Her lips parted and then pressed closed. She lifted her eyebrows.
She was begging him to ask.
Talking about money was vulgar.Let the bastard do it.
Well, why not? “I’ve no need for his lordship’s money,” Bink said. “Give my small sum to Miss Heardwyn, and you’d best end the suspense and tell her the conditions she must meet to receive that property and income.”
Her eyes flared. “Shaldon wouldn’t give me a property. I’m sure it’s meant for you, Mr. Gibson.”
“No,” Bakeley said.
She went very still, yet Bink could feel the tension rolling from her. Could it be she was poorer than she looked? Her dress was finer than Lady Hackwell’s had been when she was merely a wealthy spinster, yet he knew Lady Hackwell had been an odd one. More ladies overspent on dresses to keep up appearances than dressed down.
“Bakeley, tell her what she needs to do to receive her property.”
Bakeley’s jaw moved and he took a deep breath. “It’s not meant to beherproperty. It’s meant to beyours, as in both of yours, upon meeting his condition.”
Bink’s blood pounded through his ears on the way to his feet. The Earl’s gleaming gaze when Miss Heardwyn appeared, Bakeley’s nerves, the Earl’s swoon—undoubtedly faked, like a cutpurse’s accomplice distracting a mark. Something here was amiss.
Bakeley’s aristocratic brow glistened with beads of sweat, and in spite of his tension, humor glimmered in his eyes. He cleared his throat and said, “His lordship wishes for the two of you to marry.”
