Page 135 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Chapter 27
Bright sunlight pouredthrough the bedchamber window. Bink sat on the edge of the bed letting it burn through him. If only it could burn away the pain in his heart.
He looked around the room. Paulette’s things had been delivered from all the various locations where they’d been strewn.
Her trunks from Greencastle sat in the adjoining dressing room. The small bag she’d taken to Scotland was there also, her hairbrush cleaned and placed, waiting for her lovely hair. Rowland had brought her lap desk over earlier, and it sat on the writing table under the window, along with a package addressed to him.
After they’d all but carried him out of Agruen’s foul den, he’d insisted on coming to Hackwell House, where he’d been cleaned and re-stitched and put to bed for a while. Hackwell, who was, in fact, in London, had sent his own valet to help him dress, and he’d made it as far as the shirt, trousers and boots before sending the man away.
He should struggle into his coats and his neck cloth, and go and converse with Hackwell and his stalwart lady who had, after all, refused to go down to Sussex.
But his heart felt like it was torn in two. Paulette wasn’t here. He hadn’t heard her moving about in this chamber they were meant to share.
He glanced at the package from Shaldon again. The letter enclosed might as well have been a deathbed message. It described in terse, unflowery script Shaldon’s feelings for Bink’s mother—and she also a spy, for the rebels in Ireland.
Bink shook his head. He’d not seen that in her, ever.
Shaldon had also told of his pride in Bink, and his plan to publicly acknowledge him as his son. He’d even enclosed the title and deed for Little Norwick.
And there was also a ring, a gold heart with a ruby center. The Spymaster’s candor didn’t extend to explaining where he’d found it.
Bink struggled up and lurched to the table, sliding the ring out and holding it up to the light. The marking inside would make no sense until matched with the other rings.
And this ring was properly Paulette’s. He dropped it back into the wrapping. He would leave it with her when they separated.
He fumbled his way back to the bed and plopped down.
A light step in the hall made him turn, but the catch in his side stopped him. He must stop moving around, the surgeon had said, else he would pull the stitches out again.
Anyway, this would be Thomas. He’d have spotted the valet’s departure and had come knocking to cadge Bink for the day’s story, since Hackwell had banished him from the room while the surgeon was working. The less Thomas knew of spying the better, else he’d trade his yen for the army for something more adventurous.
And given the boy’s natural disposition, perhaps more suitable.
Instead of a knock, he heard the latch turn. He rose and faced the door just as Paulette slipped in.
She was a vision, in the blue dress she’d worn the night he’d first kissed her. She was beautiful, bruises and all. And she smiled at him.
He had no words.
At his choking, her brows drew together. “You’re up.”
He nodded.
“Is that wise? You lost so much blood. Perhaps you should sleep more.”
No more sleeping. He had things he must do. “You look lovely. Are you all right?”
“Yes. Of course. I used another chamber to bathe. Even with the laudanum they gave you, I feared you might wake.”
“You’ve been here all along?”
“I was here until I knew you were well settled. Then I went back to the solicitor’s office. I wanted to collect my letter and my rings and talk to my…to Filomena a little more.”
“What have they done with her?”
“She’ll be released, my uncle said, to return to Spain, where she’s plotting against Ferdinand. Him I believe. But not your father.” She laughed ruefully. “What a cheat he’s pulled on us.”
“Yes. I want to talk to you about that. Come.” He reached for her hand. “Let us sit down.”
