The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (3 page)

"Don't try to rattle me off in that high-nosed tone, young lady," Jared warned straight back at her, his anger not quite matching her own, but still flaring through him at the thought of watching this intriguing young woman walk out of his life. "I demand an explanation of your actions, since it appears I've lent an at least minor part in standing the
haut ton
on its collective ear. Not that I mind, may I add," he finished with a wicked grin that set his sky–blue eyes twinkling.

Amanda reluctantly settled herself. If there was nothing else for it, she supposed she could humor the fellow for a moment, then be on her way. "Oh, very well. I really don't have time for this, you know. But since I don't put it past you to restrain me physically, I suppose I have to tell you that I've appeared here tonight in this outrageous gown expressly in order to thwart my stepfather."

"Thwart your stepfather?
Thwart
." He rolled the word around on his tongue. "What a pretty picture the word conjures, truly. I had no idea young ladies were in the business of thwarting people."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Not
people
, my lord. One person. My stepfather. Don't you
listen?"

This was getting better and better, and Jared would have the whole of the story from her in a moment. For some reason that currently escaped him, he realized that he preferred to drag out that moment. "Forgive my lapse," he drawled apologetically. "And who might this unfortunate stepfather be?"

"Peregrine Denton," she spat, her eyes flashing molten gold.

"Denton? Ouch." Jared gave a theatrical wince. "My condolences, m'dear. I would not care to have the man numbered among my relation."

Amanda lapsed into silence for a few moments, and then muttered quietly, almost to herself, "He says he'll sell Tempest. I'll see him in Jericho first."

But Jared heard her. "Tempest?" he repeated. "I see. No, actually I don't. What, pray, is a Tempest?"

She raised her head and tawny eyes met blue. "My horse. The last of the bloodline my father established left at Fox Chase, and the only thing in this world—except for Nanny and Harrow, of course—that I truly love. He banished Nanny and treats poor Harrow abominably, but he shall
not
sell Tempest!"

Jared dismissed the unknown Nanny and beleaguered Harrow, feeling they were unnecessary to the plot of this interesting story, and instead pursued the matter of the horse. "Perhaps I am intolerably obtuse, but what the devil does this horse—er, this
Tempest
—have to do with your somewhat bizarre appearance here tonight?"

Amanda turned on him in a fury. "It has
everything
to do with it, you simpleton!" she said, exploding in fury, then turned away from him in disgust. "Oh, all these London dandies are alike. Why am I wasting precious time here with this ridiculous man?"

Jared put a finger under her chin and drew her face back in his direction as he grinned, thus infuriating the young girl even more. "Well, now I'm cut to the quick, and find that I really must protest. I am not a London dandy. Nor am I a Pink or a Tulip of Fashion.
I
, madam, I feel impelled to inform you, am a Corinthian."

Amanda slapped his finger away. "Really? Forgive me if I fail to see the difference, my lord. But I can tell you are about to enlighten me, as you are far and away the most
obstinate
man I have ever met. However, if you could find it in your heart to make your explanation brief, I would be greatly appreciative."

Happy to oblige with an explanation, if not with her appeal for brevity, Jared raised his quizzing glass and leisurely began to slide his gaze along the room. "Ah, there we are, Miss Boynton. Just beside that far pillar to our left is one excruciating example of a Tulip of Fashion. Kindly direct your eyes in that direction, if you please. You do see the young blade talking to that spotty-faced horror in all those flounces, don't you? Yes? Very good. Now, observe his padded lilac satin coat, and that monstrosity he dares to call a cravat. Note also his pink brocade waistcoat and the ten—no, I believe that might be an even dozen fobs hanging about his chest. Then, too, take in his deep rose breeches and burgundy high heeled shoes." He gave out with a loud, injured sigh. "My dear young woman, my dear, Miss Boynton—must I go on?"

Amanda, tickled in spite of her wish to be shed of Lord Storm, barely managed to suppress a giggle.

"Now, madam," Jared continued, knowing full well that he was being adorably charming, and that his charm was having some effect, "if you would please be so good as to direct your eyes to
my
attire. A plain blue satin coat and matching breeches, the best Weston has to offer. A striking but subdued waistcoat. An intricate, precisely starched and folded, and yet tastefully unexceptional cravat—"

Amanda raised her gloved hands in laughing protest. "Oh, stop! Stop! You have my most heartfelt apologies, my lord. I could never call you a dandy. Excuse my ignorance. But, please, you must escort me back to my companion. Unexpectedly pleasant as this interlude has been, I have no more time for malingering."

"Yet again we're faced with this obsession with the hour. I confess you intrigue me, Miss Boynton. And, again, I refuse to let you go until you tell me something of why you've appeared here tonight."

Amanda looked down at his lordship's left hand, which once more rested on her arm, holding her in place. "You are the stubborn one, aren't you? Very well. It seems I have no choice, for if I refuse you'll simply keep me here until all my plans are ruined. So, if you must know, I'm running away from my stepfather."

Jared cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Running away? From Denton? Well, of course you are. I should have sensed as much. Denton is a most incredible toady and an intolerable bore, although I must tell you that bolting to Almacks makes no more sense than anything else you've said tonight. So now, and I'm afraid I must insist that you answer—what does any of Denton's failings have to do with this outrageous gown?"

"I altered this gown while Mrs. Halsey was resting," Amanda said in exasperation at his dull wits, for she had thought she'd already been perfectly clear about the thing. "It has done the trick quite well, I think. I also believe you may have helped me considerably in parading me onto the dance floor, for which I thank you. It is, I suppose, only due to the enormity of your consequence that I have not as yet been thrown out onto the street in disgrace. But you see, my stepfather demands that I marry well, thus affording him a fat marriage settlement and a wealthy son-in-law to pay his way for the rest of his life. I refused, naturally, and he threatened to sell Tempest unless I obeyed him."

"Tempest. That would be the horse. How could I have forgotten? Please, go on. But for the moment, if you please, concentrate on why you are here tonight."

"If you wouldn't persist in interrupting me, I could. Now, to continue. Unless you have something else to say? Very well. Please try to follow along as best you can, all right? I made myself a spectacle tonight to make certain no one will offer for me, and to embarrass my stepfather so that he cannot possibly show his face in town for the rest of the Season. If he can be embarrassed, that is, which I rather highly doubt. I'll return to my stepfather's house now and gather my belongings for my escape to Fox Chase. Once there," she concluded, feeling well satisfied with both herself and her plan, "I shall saddle Tempest and disappear into oblivion."

She sighed deeply and rather happily, and made to rise, the heroine on her way to a glorious, most courageous exit. "Now that your insatiable curiosity is assuaged, may I please retire without the fear that you will straightaway tackle me and hold me down to keep me here?"

She sat down again quickly at Jared's hard, most ungentlemanly tug on her arm. "Of all the preposterous, cork-headed, totally juvenile and unworkable schemes I have heard, yours, young lady, has got to carry off the palm."

"Oh, is that so?" Amanda shot back at him, wishing he didn't look half so competent, and that she didn't suddenly feel at least a third less sure of herself and her brilliant plan.

"Yes, Miss Boynton, that's damn well so. Now look, you idiotic little brat, it's already too late to do anything about your foolhardiness in appearing here tonight, but it isn't too late to salvage something from the wreckage. Gather up Miss Halsey, go home, throw yourself on your stepfather's mercy, and he can take you to Fox Chase to live down your shame. Your appearance tonight will be a nine-days' wonder, with a new scandal to replace it within a fortnight, and by next season you can make your debut with no fear of reprisal."

Amanda was incensed. "You
dolt
. Have you heard nothing I've said? My stepfather wishes to
sell
me into a marriage I neither want nor need. Oh, he may have hoped for a title as well as a fortune, which is why he begged for the voucher to Almacks, but now that I've disgraced him? Ha! By the end of the week he'll have simply sold me to the highest bidder. Don't you understand? There
is
no turning back for me."

Jared shrugged, still largely unimpressed with her logic. "I still really don't understand all this anger. So you'll have your marriage arranged for you. It's no different with the hundred or so young misses you see here tonight. You have an added attraction in that you're an exceedingly fine-looking specimen. You would have had your choice of mates if you'd behaved yourself. Why, I imagine even your lack of fortune wouldn't have dissuaded more than the most penny-pinched among the gentlemen of my acquaintance."

Her eyes narrowed, freezing into hard, golden chips. "You're despicable," she ground out, her voice heavy with loathing. "You're
all
despicable! When I marry it will be for love, as it was for my parents. It most assuredly won't be on orders from my stepfather or according to the mercenary rules of society."

"Ah, I see it now. You're one of those hopelessly romantic females, aren't you? I should have guessed as much. Young women often are, although my Aunt Agatha has taken this fairy tale notion with her into her old age, unfortunately. All of that to one side for the moment, however, and if I might be so bold as to dare to inject at least a modicum of sanity into this absurd conversation—what was to have kept you from falling head over ears in love during the Season? Besides, you may find—as I have—that love is a highly overrated emotion."

"Obviously you have never been witness to a great love as I have. And, in any event, I would not subject anyone I loved to the avarice of my stepfather." She glared at him in great disgust. "How could you suppose such a thing?"

Jared raised his hands in mock fear. "I submit, I submit, please don't attack me. I will even bow in reverence before the gods of pure, romantic love if necessary. But, if you're sincere in your plans—and I'm most pessimistically confident you are—just how do you plan to escape your stepfather's avaricious clutches? I doubt you would make good time in the carriage with the die-away Mrs. Halsey by your side."

"Don't be ridiculous," Amanda snapped. "At least not more than you can help. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, saying, "I travel alone."

Jared smiled. "Ah, it becomes clearer. You're going to travel on the public coach."

"At least you're consistent, my lord. Consistently incorrect, that is. I intend to hire a chaise and drive myself," Amanda admitted, not without some pride.

"In truth?" Jared leered at her. "You did mention something about disappearing into—what was that you said? Ah, yes—
oblivion
yet this evening. And of course you're right, you can't afford to wait until morning to make your escape, because by then Mrs. Halsey will have already made her report to dear Peregrine. And where do you propose to find such a conveyance for hire in the middle of the night?"

"I shall simply walk until I find a conveyance for hire," she answered, with all the reasonableness of a green as grass female fresh from the country.

Jared couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a conversation so much. "And what about the footpads?" he questioned, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"Footpads?" That single word seemed to have robbed Amanda's formerly confident tone of much of its conviction.

"Yes, you rather adorable simpleton, footpads. Thieves, robbers, no-goods who would slit your pretty throat for a penny. And a young female alone on the streets? Ah, my dear girl, you would wish all they would do is murder you. This isn't the country where you know everyone and everyone knows you. This is London, Miss Boynton, where even strong men take care to travel in groups after dark."

Amanda's face fell, and her next words came out in a most endearing squeak. "Oh, I see. Footpads."

Jared leaned over and bracingly patted her gloved hand, showing his commiseration with her dilemma. "But cheer up, my dear, it's not to worry. You'll doubtless be picked up by the Watch before the footpads spy you out. I hear our local guardhouses are one experience to be missed, however."

She pushed his hand away and stood up, all in a single, defiant motion. "Oh, do shut up. I won't listen to you anymore. I should never have confided in you. And I wouldn't have, except that you took unfair advantage of me by speaking kindly about my father. You know, now that I think on it, for all your smiles and friendly conversation—you really aren't a very nice man."

She turned from him and took a few quick steps in her companion's direction, then turned again and flashed him her bewitching smile. "Oh, I almost forgot. Thank you so much for the dance, my lord. It will be something to tell my grandchildren." And then, with an imperious toss of her head, she was gone.

Jared watched until she and her companion had taken their leave of the Assembly, Amanda walking proudly ahead of the trailing Mrs. Halsey and acting as if her sojourn at Almacks had been a unmitigated boring interlude not worth another moment's extension. He then approached his aunt and had her gathered into her carriage before she could so much as utter a word.