The Bastard Read Online Free PDF

before. She’d stayed in London until she met Lord St. Ives. Then he’d brought her, along with her parents and brother, to a quaint but expensive inn outside Liskeard.
    A drunk man lying amid the garbage in the gutter sat up as she passed by. “Ahoy thar, pretty maid,” he cried out.
    Startled into a run, she flew around the next corner, hoping to find light and people near the water. Sailors were reputed to be an unsavory lot known for carousing the night away, but their company was better than no company at all.
    The street sloped down to meet the wharves and the rest of the fog cleared, giving Jeannette her first glimpse of the night’s moon. A mere sliver of light that appeared to curve into a jeering smile, it mocked her fear and her flight. It touched the harbor with a silvery glow that caused the black, inky sea to glisten like a field of crushed diamonds. Large merchant brigs, smaller clippers, and a frigate farther out rocked upon the waves. The lanterns attached to their masts looked, from a distance, like so many yellow eyes staring back at her.
    Two men approached on a street intersecting her own. Before they could see her, she darted into the shadows to wait for them to pass.
    The stench of wet wool and sweat trailed after them. They had to be heading toward the noisy taverns along the harbor. That was the only section of town that had any life at this hour. The light and music tempted Jeannette, as well. She hesitated to visit such disreputable establishments, but she hardly felt any safer on the streets.
    In the end, the miserable weather became the deciding factor. She followed them before she could lose sight of their stocky forms, telling herself she’d let them lead her through the streets. She longed for the warmth of a fire and a safe place to rest, if only for a few minutes.
    A chorus of music, laughter, and male voices swelled as her guides stepped into a pub named, by a crudely lettered sign, The Stag.
    A moment later, Jeannette followed.
    Glad to escape the rain that was dripping into her face despite her beleaguered bonnet, Jeannette hovered near the entrance, feeling rather conspicuous in her peasant garb. Surely only women of ill-repute frequented these taverns. But she would have crawled into a beast’s lair if it meant a reprieve from the dark, the wet, and the cold.
    Although the Stag wasn’t crowded, it smelled strongly of ale, wood smoke, and foul cheroots. The barmaids were haranguing a few snoring stragglers, trying to get them to remove their slumbering bulks to the rooms upstairs. But judging by the empty glasses cluttering the vacant tables, most had already moved on.
    A huge fireplace took up one whole wall. Eager for its warmth, Jeannette sank down on its hearth and rubbed her freezing fingers before the crackling flames. Her hair lay plastered against her face and neck. And her skirt clung to her shivering body. Ah, for a warm bed, or a change of clothes...But she had no coin to purchase either.
    Content that she was safe for the moment, she stared into the flames and tried to think. She couldn’t stay long, would have to press on come morning. Otherwise, St. Ives stood a good chance of finding her before she reached Lord Darby. And, as her husband, the baron could legally drag her back to his home, beat her, do almost anything he pleased.
    Jeannette thought of Henri and her parents and hoped they fared well. No doubt they were worried about her.
    How she wished she were back in France, safe in her home. She longed for the life she’d known before the Revolution. But every morning when she opened her eyes to England, she knew those days were gone, probably forever.
    Leaning wearily against the stones, she forced back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. Her nose was beginning to run. She reached into her pocket for a handkerchief, but, realizing she didn’t have one, shrugged and wiped her nose on her sleeve, too dejected to care.
    A clatter brought