Page 97 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
She’d forgotten his presence. His eyes were not unkind.
“I believe, my lord, it is you who must stay with Mrs. Gibson.”
Pink rose in Bakeley’s cheeks.
Her breath caught. His father’svaletheld sway over him. Even Stewart had more authority here. He might be as much under the thumb of these others as she was.
“We’ll discuss this later.” Bakeley glanced at Paulette and she heard his unfinished words—after Paulette goes to her chamber.
Her chair creaked under the weight of Gibson’s hand. “Tell us what you know, Bakeley,” he said. “What do you know that Paulette and I don’t?”
While the silence stretched, she leaned in and refilled her glass, willing her hand not to shake. She took a sip and pushed it away. The ale was too strong. She needed her wits about her. She rose, found the bell pull, yanked on it, and went back to her seat.
A maid appeared. “Bring a pot of tea,” Paulette said.
The woman looked at Bakeley, who nodded, and turned.
Heat rose in her and she clenched the edge of the table.
“Just a moment,” she called. “Did you know I’m to be the mistress here for the next undetermined amount of time? You’ll take instructions from me, you will.”
The woman’s face paled, but she bobbed a curtsy, said, “yes, madam,” and left.
Paulette’s head began to pound. None of this was the maid’s fault.
“So you’ll cooperate,” Bakeley said. “You’ll stay and not give Bink here any trouble?”
“Bakeley.” Bink’s voice rumbled dangerously in her ear. “Paulette is my wife, and neither of us are children to be spoken to or about thusly.”
Bakeley drummed his fingers on the table, frowning.
“Let us start with a discussion of that trip to the solicitor,” Paulette asked. “Do you have plans for my inheritance, Bakeley?”
Bakeley’s mouth firmed. “You think I would steal the orphan’s mite? Of course not. We are trying to trap a traitor.”
“And if I were to not, as you say,cooperate, stay here like a good girl, would you deny Mr. Gibson and me the settlement your father promised if we married?”
Bakeley rose and walked to the fireplace. Walked back again. Behind her, Gibson radiated tension. She glanced over her shoulder. He was as hard and as fixed as a statue, jaw clenched, brow furrowed, lips firmed.
“Of course not,” Bakeley said.
Confusion swamped her, sweeping away all her moorings, leaving her hollow and alone.
A warm weight touched her shoulder.
No, she was not alone, at least not yet, not until she left for London. And then, in spite of his words now, Bakeley might very well withhold the settlement.
The truth from Lord Shaldon? You might as well hope to get wine from a milk cow.
Bakeley was Shaldon now.
“It does not matter,” she whispered. She’d take whatever mite her father had left in trust and use it to find the treasure. Or if she couldn’t, if there was no treasure, perhaps she might, if he would still have her, follow her husband to India.
Bink turned glittering eyes on her, eyes sparkling like sunlit amber. Then he offered her his hand.
What would he do? Did he mean to take her to the room and lock her up? Or would he actually speak to her? Or…
No, she must not let the kissing start. She must not. She had to think clearly. She had to rest. She had to escape.
