Formidable Lord Quentin (32 page)

Swallowing back her fear, Bell clung to Dream’s neck. Her
heart throbbed in terror, but she had to admit that she would be useless
chasing after thieves. She had to admit that she couldn’t do it all.

She prayed and watched over her shoulder as Quent performed
a circus maneuver worthy of her own father. He leaned over and swept Kit from
the terrified pony, heaved the boy over his saddle, then spun his war horse on
a dime, and hurtled back to her while the thieves raced away.

He might call himself a tradesman, but Lord Quentin Hoyt was
a warrior through and through.

Not even breathing hard, he dropped Kit on Dream’s saddle.
“Good work, lad, hold on.” He held out his hand to Bell. “Don’t worry about
that bastard you’re kicking. He can’t go far on foot. Take Kit home. I’ll go
after the other horses.”

Once upon a time, she would have argued. That time was not
now, while she was shaking too hard to climb into the saddle.

Bell set her overlarge boot in Hiram’s too-long stirrup. With
a boost from Quent’s big hand on her posterior, she managed to throw her
breeched leg over the man’s saddle. Dream stood still like the dream she was,
letting Bell struggle astride while taking Kit into her arms. Choking back
tears, she settled Kit in front of her, clutching him with one arm while she
took the reins of both mares in her free hand.

“The horses aren’t important. Come back with me,” she
pleaded with Quent, too weary and wrung out to fight.

“I don’t let horse thieves go free,” he said with finality.

Her heart wept over this man she’d thrown away less than an
hour ago. He was an obstinate Scot, a tyrant in the making, but he had the
courage of Robin Hood and King Arthur rolled into one.

Arguing would be futile, but he was only one man. She
couldn’t let him risk his life for what was not his battle. “I can’t bear to
see you hurt. Please don’t do anything until the grooms catch up with you,” she
asked. “We don’t know how many thieves there are.”

“Take him home,” Quent said curtly. “I’ll be fine if I know
you are.”

That was as much of an admission of his concern for her that
she would ever wring from him, Bell suspected. As much as she wanted to weep
and tell him not to go, she’d reached her limits.

She didn’t have his physical strength. To help him, she must
find someone with more stamina and weapons.

Cradling a soggy but now-boisterous Kit, Bell barely managed
to stay in the saddle on the ride back to the house, trailing Kit’s mare as
well as her own. Despite the brat’s bouncing and excited chatter, she didn’t
want to release his small body. Her heart still raced, and she shivered with
fear and damp. When they reached the front steps, a footman ran out to take Kit
from her, and she nearly tumbled off.

“I kicked him!” Kit shouted the instant he hit the ground.
“I kicked him and he let me go.”

Wearily, Bell embraced Dream’s neck while Tess and a maid
ushered their little brother into the house, still shouting his triumph. He’d
have nightmares later, no doubt.

She
would have
nightmares. Right now, she couldn’t even dismount.

Syd was wearing her habit, pacing up and down, and swearing,
because the grooms wouldn’t let her saddle a carriage horse. At sight of her
own mare, she brightened.

“I have a sword,” she declared murderously. “Let us go after
them.”

Humbling herself, Bell untangled her feet from the stirrups
and slid ungracefully from Dream. Once her feet hit solid ground, she grabbed
the saddle and hung on to keep from sinking to her knees. “Where is Penrose?”

The elderly marquess limped from the shadows. “He and the
grooms took off across the fields. There is apparently a bend in the road they
mean to cut across. Where is my son?”

“He saved Kit, then rode off after the thieves. One of them
is still in the pond. We’ll need to fetch the scoundrel before he does anything
else stupid.” With her damp clothes clinging, Bell risked releasing the saddle
to climb the steps. “Syd, call for the carriage. You can’t possibly catch up
with the men, but if they corner the thieves, they may need help transporting
them or the horses. I’ll be dressed by the time the team is harnessed.”

“There are no grooms to harness the team,” the marquess
argued.

“I can harness a team,” Syd said scornfully. “Where do you
come from that you can’t pull your own weight?” She stalked off, leaving the
marquess silent.

“Do you really want my siblings in your household?” Bell
murmured wearily. “Kit just chased horse thieves and drove off a full-grown
kidnapper. Tess will soon come down, dressed for riding and probably carrying
one of the medieval sabers from the hall. And I have absolutely no doubt that
Syd can use the sword she was wielding. What can
you
do?”

“I can harness a team,” the marquess snarled, before
hobbling down the stairs after Syd.

***

Bell persuaded Tess to stay home, wielding an ancient
pistol, and standing guard over Kit. She let Syd carry a blunderbuss and ride
with the carriage driver as lookout. In dry travel gown, Bell climbed inside
and took the carriage’s forward-facing seat, as she always did.

Looking miffed, the marquess did the same, forcing her to
squeeze to one side. Apparently title and age had precedence over gender, Bell
concluded wryly. She refused to shift sides but stared stonily out the window,
praying for Quent’s safety.

She despised being weak, but she had to accept the fact that
Quent was stronger than she in many ways. She could not say the same for the
marquess.

Her rambunctious siblings
needed
Quent’s forward thinking. They needed his strength and
understanding. And she’d flung him away.

“I have reconsidered,” the marquess said flatly as the
carriage rattled down the rutted drive.

Bell bit her tongue and strained to see ahead, although she
had little hope that Quent was already riding back to her.

“I will grant you guardianship of your family if you will
release Quentin from his vows,” the marquess continued.

Bell almost choked. She swung to glare at the old man in the
gloom from the dim carriage lamps. “You have wanted Edward’s money for decades.
Why change your mind when your son almost has access to it?”

He gripped the knob of his walking stick and stared ahead.
“Much as you think otherwise, I love my children and want what’s best for them.
I am well aware that Quent left home to escape the chaos and responsibility of
a large and fractious family. He prefers his peace and solitude. He will be
miserable living with your . . . belligerent . . .
siblings.”

That possibility gnawed at Bell’s insides. Despite her fury,
despite everything she’d learned over the years, she still
loved
the damned man and wept at the pain of losing him. But even
her stupid, worthless heart knew that if you love someone, you want them to be
happy. Quent was happy when surrounded by books and papers—not chattering
females and boisterous children.

He didn’t deserve complete and utter chaos for the rest of
his days.

The marquess was offering her everything she had wanted—her
family and freedom to keep her own wealth. And Quent would be happier for it.

She should be triumphant. Why then, did it feel as if her
world had just crumbled into dust?

***

Dream’s offspring might run like the wind, but they were
limited to the speed of the ponies to which the thieves had tied them. Carried
on a storm of fury, Quent soon found the trampled copse where the thieves had
camped. In the moonlight, he followed a trail of broken branches and horse
droppings. It was easy enough to see where they’d returned to the road and in
which direction they rode.

That a hired hand like Hiram had dared treat Bell with such
disrespect not only infuriated him, but ripped at his insides. How could people
who had known her not see beneath her feminine exterior to what a brave,
strong, intelligent woman she was? That trick with the damned horse was proof
enough for the smallest mind. She’d taught the horse to throw off a thief!
Hiram had to be a beef-witted bastard not to have known she could do that.

She’d looked so exhausted, Quent had almost surrendered the
hunt just so he could hold her. But he didn’t want these mindless villains
thinking they could come after her again. She might have taken him into
dislike, but she couldn’t stop him from arranging it so there would be no more
depredations like this one.

His gelding followed the road in ground-covering strides
until he heard noises ahead. He slowed to a walk and took to a hilly field.

From this higher viewpoint, he could see Penrose riding
hell-bent down the road with his band of grooms. Help had arrived. He no longer
had to wait. His fury surged now that it had an outlet.

Quent didn’t bother to conceal his position any longer but
whistled in a manner that Penrose would recognize. He gestured ahead, then
struck out in pursuit.

With Penrose and the grooms riding up the road and Quent
thundering down the hill from in front, the thieves didn’t stand a chance.

Quent lashed his whip at the first raised pistol, disarming
the ruffian before he could aim. The weapon hit the ground and detonated,
terrifying the stolen Thoroughbreds into rearing and sidestepping in protest. Without
Hiram to give orders, it was all over but the shouting after that.

The grooms galloped in and secured the frightened horses,
leading them from the fray. Penrose ran down a thief who tried to escape on
foot. After leaping from his horse and knocking off the bounder who had tried
to kidnap Kit, Quent trussed him up with sailor’s knots.

With the thieves secured, he returned to his mount and went
in search of Hiram—not difficult since Bell had unhorsed the old stable hand.

By the time the carriage lumbered up the road, three thieves
and Hiram had been gathered and bound, prepared for transport.

As his father climbed down from Bell’s city carriage, Quent
nearly fell off his gelding. Concealing his shock, he rode over and snatched
the blunderbuss from Syd before she could accidentally shoot anyone. He nodded
in surprise at his father but didn’t dare hope that Bell would have deigned to
travel with him.

His eyebrows nearly flew off his head as she climbed down
next. His father and Bell in the same carriage for miles . . . did
not bear considering.

“Where’s Dolly?” was the first thing she asked.

No one answered. The thieves’ silence was telling. They knew
the name. The harridan still had to be around. Quent turned to Bell’s head
groom. “Check at the inn. Who is the magistrate here?”

“Used to be Belden,” the groom answered. “Squire’s been
doing the work these last years.”

Quent didn’t bother glaring at his father, the absentee
landlord. It wasn’t as if the law would allow a woman to act as magistrate—even
though Bell had to be equal to any man he’d yet to meet.

With some understanding of all the frustrations she faced as
a female, Quent swung down from the saddle. Without asking her permission, he
gathered Bell in his arms. He needed tangible proof that she was well and
unharmed by the evening’s escapade.

She resisted his hug—proving his rebellious Bell was alive
and strong.

He narrowed his eyes when she stepped away the instant he
released her. “How’s Kit?” he asked warily.

“Acting as if he’s as big and brave as you,” she retorted.
“He’s well and with Tess. Shall I go with you to find Dolly?”

Quent glanced to his father leaning on his walking stick.
“I’d thought to use the carriage for transporting the thieves to the
magistrate. My father has complicated the issue.”

“Yes, he seems to have a habit of doing that,” she agreed coldly.
She nodded toward a neat farm on a slight rise ahead. “Perhaps you could lock
the men in that barn over there and fetch the squire in the morning.”

Taking Bell’s hand to reassure her—and himself—that all was
well, Quent ordered one of the local men to run up to the house and inquire. She
disentangled her hand and stepped away.

Irritated by Bell’s coolness when his own blood was running
red hot, he regarded her with caution. “I can take Penrose and go into town for
Dolly. Do you want to return to the house with my father?”

“No, I want to go after Dolly with a whip,” she grumbled,
finally showing some spirit.

“We didn’t bring any side saddles,” Quent warned, eyeing her
trailing skirt.

With a sign of resignation, she leaned against him for just
a moment, letting him wrap his arms around her. “I know my limits. I’ll ride
back with your blasted father. I’m sure you and Penrose are quite capable of
trussing Dolly and dumping her in the river where she belongs.”

Quent held her tight, knowing everything was all wrong but
not knowing how to make it right, not while he had a troop of men and thieves
waiting on him. “I’ll carry you home myself and let the others sort themselves
out,” he suggested.

She shook her head and pushed away. “No, I’ll be fine. I’ll
try not to stab your father until you’re there to witness it.”

He snorted and let her walk away, but his heart had taken a
dive to his boots. He would have enough difficulty sorting through the mess
he’d made. If his father had said something to Bell to make her react this way,
he’d have to wait and whip the marquess in the morning.

In a bit of luck, Quent discovered the squire in the village
tavern. He’d left Bell’s grooms at the farmer’s barn, guarding Hiram and the
thieves. He and Penrose sat down beside the tall, saturnine landowner who had
assumed the Hoyt family responsibilities as magistrate. In a few curt sentences,
they explained the situation.

“Horse thieves ought to be hanged,” Squire Blackstone said.
“Simple enough and saves His Majesty the expense of transportation.”