The Bargain Read Free

spied her pristine apron darkening with growing red spots. "You fool. You’re bleeding to death."
    Charging him, she seized his palm, and plucked out two shards of glass. The fire spit at her as she tossed them to the hearth. "You think dying will bring her back? Nothin' will do that."
    His deep blue eyes beaded as he yanked his back arm. "That hurts, woman. Leave me. Let me drink to my lady gone."
    Droplets trickled onto his waistcoat as he gazed at Eliza's portrait. The eyes formed of paint seemed focused on him, probably disgusted at his drinking.  
    The proud man would bleed to death and, with the smears on her apron, she'd be blamed. Precious came in here for freedom, not a heap more trouble. She grabbed his hand again and bound it tightly, wrapping it around and around in her poor apron. "You got a boy. Eliza's son needs you."
    Lord Welling stopped fidgeting and let her tie a knot. His bloodshot eyes widened and seemed to settle on her face. "Well, as I leave to go defend my uncle's work, it will be you who cares for him."
    "He's a good boy, but he'll need his pa to make him a good man."
    "How can I show him that? I scarcely remember what that is."
    A final knot secured the makeshift bandage. The cuts of the glass had gone deep. "Start by not going to Africa. It's a bad place." She bit her lip, but the words burned too much to be silent. "My grammy talked of how it changed when y'all came."  
    "Y'all?" His stiff accent, sort of questioning, sort of condescending, grated on her ear. He wiggled his fingers within the wrapping of her ruined apron. "You mean the slave traders, those y'all? The house of Welling never participated in such transactions."  
    No, they just inherited slaves by marriage. The baron's hands weren't clean. They were wet in the stains of it, like now with his own spilt blood. She swallowed the irksome thoughts and focused on Jonas. That would be a reason for the man to stay. "Your son needs you here. There's nothin' worse than not seeing your pa. Even just a notion or whisper of him in passing, day to day is better than never."
    His face scrunched and then tilted up toward Eliza's picture. "She hated it here. Thought the weather too foul. I should've listened and made her last years more pleasant."
    That didn't make sense, but that's how guilt worked. She eyed his very lean cheeks, ones missing his laugh dimples, through the lace of her floppy mobcap. He was tall, too tall. "She was very pleased to be a baron's wife."
    "Pleased? Was she pleased, waiting for my return from tending to my uncle's affairs? Was she happy waiting for the accoucheur to deliver the babe alone? Was she pleased she never got her title, dying before my uncle? Only a few hours separated them from Heaven's gate. Well, at least she made it in."
    Men were dumb about birthin'. "That baby didn't wait. Some women weaken in the process. It takes all they have to give life. The Lord just—" She snapped her mouth shut as a belly full of laughs rolled out of his lips.
      "Stop, Jewell." He wobbled over to his sideboard and pried at the glass top of bottled spirits. The makeshift bandage must've prevented him from getting a good grip and popping it open.
    She plodded across the thick carpet, coming again within a few feet of him. "You can't need more."
    "I surely don't want less." His eyes widened and he drew himself up as if her boldness had suddenly penetrated his drunken brain. "I didn't ask you to be my keeper."
    "But you're mine.  
    A lazy smirk appeared, making his eyes a darker shade of blue.  
    Such a turbulent river stirred within him, and sometimes it pulled her like undertow, but Precious didn't like swimming or drowning. With a shake of her head, she looked away to the floor. "That's what I came to discuss before you are off to who knows where."
    He set down the bottle and rubbed at his neck, shoving his loosed hair to the side. He wore it longer than most, giving him more of a pirate look like in the stories Eliza read.