Page 19 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
The Earl’s sharp gaze drilled into Bink, sifting through his reaction, weighing, analyzing, calculating. The honest man had died, and the bloody spy resurrected, as manipulative as the best sharker.
“Bakeley can save her, or your man here, Kincaid.”
The old man’s lips thinned. “Needs a soldier. And you’re a good one.” A coughing fit followed, and the sick man began to wheeze, sucking in sharp, noisy breaths.
Kincaid hurried around and raised him up. “Get the doctor,” he ordered.
Bink yanked the door and summoned the physician, who was deep in conversation with Bakeley. He stepped out and both men went in and shut the door on him.
He rubbed at his aching head. A few hours of sleep and he could be on his way. He’d met the Earl. Now he should pull up camp, head back to Greencastle, wrap up his plans for India.
But damned if he didn’t want to know more. He spotted a fresh bottle on the sideboard and poured a drink.
Shaldon claimed to have loved his mother, and what the blazes did that mean?
Bink had seen all sorts of the love men could feel for women, everything from a need for a plump arse to besotted servitude. Only Hackwell and his lady seemed to have achieved a genuine respect and friendship along with that bloody need to be in each other’s pockets all of the time.
It wasn’t anything he could understand. He’d only ever experienced that first kind of love.
The corridor door opened and Miss Heardwyn—Paulette—paused in the threshold, a candle held high.
And the question he should have asked slapped him—whowould she need a soldier to save her from? For if a strong arm was needed, the danger was certainly a who, and not a what.
His gaze slid down her body and took in a frock that outlined her curves. Her hair had been combed and pinned, but a few wild curls strayed over her forehead.
She’d need saving from lusty men, that was a fact.
She searched the room and her gaze landed on him.
“Come in,” he said.
She closed the door behind her.
“Did you get some rest?” he asked.
Her mouth moved in a grimace. “Yes, but I didn’t plan to. I meant to come up sooner. Is he still…is he sleeping?”
“He wasn’t a few moments ago. The doctor is with him.”
“Good.” She crossed to the door and raised her hand to knock.
Before her knuckles hit the oak panel, Bakeley opened the door, his face grim.
“It’s over,” he said. “He’s gone.”
