Page 16 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
A strangled sound escaped her as she swallowed, and he tried to remember the state of his handkerchief.
Ah no, he’d used it on the road, like a regular lout. A true gentleman wouldn’t have sweated.
“To have shelter and regular food and a maid is no small thing for a woman alone,” he said.
The plate hit the table with a firm smack and her eyes flashed. “You have no idea,” she said, her voice cracking.
Iberian temper. He’d seen a flash of it on the road.
His nerves prickled, interest unfurling. Her breasts moved with each breath, and he vaguely wondered if she was corseted under the dusty gown. “I don’t, miss,” he said blandly.
She jumped to her feet. “You’ve traveled. You have a position and a purpose. You have a f-family.”
Her face had flushed and the skin at her neck stretched tight over a jumping vein. She clenched and unclenched her fists, her anger—her passion—palpable.
His own heartbeat raced to match hers. This was a handful of woman, and wouldn’t he like to…No. This was no time for a tupping. The lack of family had her genuinely afraid. For himself, he’d dealt with that lack years ago, and she was right, as a man, he’d had more chances to make his own way. But it wasn’t impossible for her, and he needed to set her straight.
He set his plate aside and leaned back into the plush upholstery. “Family? What, you mean Bakeley? Steven Beauverde, Lord Hackwell, is more of a brother to me. I served him in the war. When he inherited I came back as his valet. I nicked him so many times shaving he had to make me his steward.”
“From soldier to valet to steward. An earl’s son? You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
She waved a hand. “No lord would make his valet his steward.”
It was what he’d thought also when Hackwell had suggested it. “No lord in his right mind. God’s truth, I had to be taught the job.” He stood. “As did his lordship. He was the second son. Unlike Bakeley, he wasn’t trained from birth to manage.”
“Bakeley is a second son.”
He made himself laugh, wondering if she’d meant to take a jab at the bastard. If so, she’d have to do better.
“His lordship and I learned though, we did. And do you know who our teacher was? Miss Annabelle Harris, she who is now Lady Hackwell. We learned from a woman.”
She sighed. “If you are trying to woo me—”
“No.”
A tremor went through her. “Then what is your point?”
What was his point? He studied her and watched her color rise again. “You’ll find your purpose, Miss Heardwyn. Shaldon won’t leave you penniless, and if Bakeley puts you out of your home, you must write to…to Lady Hackwell. I’ll speak to her and see you provided for.” She stiffened and he put up a hand. “Without matrimony, and in no way improperly. I have the ear of Lord and Lady Hackwell.” And once he’d found his fortune in India, he would have money to send to a poor spinster.
She pressed her lips firmly and stomped to the door.
“Miss Heardwyn?”
Her hand paused on the latch.
“Whatisyour purpose? What is it you want to do?”
Her shoulders dropped and she hurried out of the room.
Moments later, Bakeley popped back in.
“Ye Gods, with that one you’ll earn your inheritance.”
“We’re not wedding. Put it out of your mind. But tell me more about her.”
“You’ll marry when you see that property. If you can stand living with—”
