The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (27 page)

Lady Chezwick put a restraining hand on Amanda before she could reply angrily and observed, "You must have a reason for all this concern, Nephew. Perhaps you would do us the honor of sharing it with us before you find your wife's needle stuck in your gullet."

Jared dropped heavily into a chair and tried to gain control of his temper, his possibly groundless fears concerning his one-time heir. "It's nothing, I assure you. Nothing more than an immature urge to be the one who presented my cousin with his usurpation by means of the birth announcement of our new heir. I know it's petty of me, but then I am by nature a mean man."

Lady Chezwick seemed mollified by this, but Amanda protectively spread her hands over her stomach. "Bo doesn't like the man, not at all. Your cousin wouldn't try to harm the baby?"

A vision of his cousin as he had last seen him passed through Jared's mind's eye. Would his cousin dare to harm the baby? Freddie? Never. No, his problem, if he still had one, lay with Blanche, and other than to make another attempt to cause a breach between him and Amanda, she was really quite powerless. Blast! He was behaving like an old woman, starting at shadows.

He hastened to reassure his wife. "Freddie is an impotent twit, my love. At best he'll indulge in a tantrum when our son is born, and then hide himself away from his creditors. Aren't I right, Aunt? Don't concern yourself with him. And stop frowning! Our child will be born wrinkled enough!"

"But Jared, he hates you. And once we have a son—"

"Enough, love. I refuse to let the thought of my cousin ruin an otherwise perfect day. Have you chosen your gown for the party this evening? I know you'll outshine every woman there."

Amanda appeared ready to protest this change of subject, then sighed, giving in to Jared's obvious wish to speak of something other than his erstwhile heir. "I did. I'm wearing the green silk, with just a few of those marvelous Delaney emeralds you gave me. But I'm sure Anne's new white brocade will be the prettiest at the ball. Besides, my figure is no longer one to captivate any audience."

"Untrue, my love," Jared protested, winking in Lady Chezwick's direction. "Your roundness, as you call it, becomes you immensely, does it not, Aunt?"

"Fiddlesticks, you rapscallion! You would adore her if she were the same size as Cook, and by the fish-eyed way you two are looking at each other now I can see I'm no longer needed here. Excuse me, my dears, for I wish to rest before Higgins does my toilette. The older one gets, the longer it takes to hide the ravages of time."

Amanda gave her aunt a kiss. "You are the loveliest of women, dear Aunt. I only hope I can be half as beautiful at your age. "

"Oh, Jared, "Lady Chezwick trilled, fairly dancing out of the room, "I could not have picked a more wonderful bride for you myself. Beautiful, is it? My, that takes at least half the creak out of these old bones."

#

At Squire Bosley's that evening, a glowing Amanda was content to watch from the sidelines as pretty little Anne and her ungainly swain circled the room under the benevolent eyes of the assembled guests. The pair was oblivious to the presence of others in the small ballroom, and at several times continued to dance after the musicians had put down their instruments.

Jared finally dragged Bo off to the library to share a bottle and give him some rather bawdy instruction on the care and feeding of wives, while Amanda and Anne settled themselves in a corner to have a friendly coze while sipping lemonade.

Anne pressed her friend's hand and fairly gushed, "I cannot thank you enough, dear Amanda, for everything you've done. We are so happy, Bo and I, but if it hadn't been for you and Lord Storm we might never have met."

Amanda modestly waved aside all credit and pointed out that it took the love of an intelligent woman like Anne to discover Bo's heretofore hidden depths. "Jared told me he never knew of Bo's interest in plants, and he's known him these many years. However did you manage it?"

Anne blushed and told of her desperation in trying to hold a conversation with the retiring Mr. Chevington. "I mentioned one of the plants at Storm Haven out of desperation, nothing more. We discovered that we shared an interest and, ever since that first evening there has not been an uneasy silence between us. In fact, Bo can be quite the chatterbox."

"A chatterbox? Bo? Really?" Amanda said, smiling, then looked up in time to see Jared and the monosyllabic, soon-to-be bridegroom approaching. "It would seem Bo cannot exist without you for more than a moment, dear, for he's even now fast beating a path to your side."

The two ladies made room for the gentlemen on the settee, but Jared decided he would rather stand. "It seems we have a slight problem, my love. Bo is quite convinced the—well, I can't remember the name of the thing. Anyway, some fool plant is set to bloom for the first time tonight in our greenhouse, and he wishes to take us back to Storm Haven to witness this great event. Are you willing?"

The four-mile journey was not one Amanda relished in her Condition, not if she had to return to the party, and it was certainly too early in the evening to retire without giving offense. "Darling," she said, sighing, "do you mean to say you're so dead to romance that you believe Bo desires our company? Loan him our carriage and let the two of them sneak away on their own. Perhaps they have more to discuss than the maturation of some greenery. I can witness this great feat on the morrow."

"Can't, you know. Only blooms at night. Pity you won't go."

Amanda patted Bo on his chubby cheek. "I am desolated, I'm sure, truly, but Anne shall make up in enthusiasm what you will lack in numbers. Won't you, dear?"

In answer the girl blushed and busied herself in finding a suitable place to deposit her unfinished glass of lemonade. She then rose and held out her hand to her betrothed. "I should be honored to accompany you, Bo, dearest."

Jared and Amanda went with the pair to search out Harrow, who had been pressed into coachman duty for the evening, and the lovebirds were soon off for what would probably be their first hours alone since the engagement had been announced.

The night was warm and pleasant, a perfect evening for a drive, but had it been otherwise the happy couple wouldn't have noticed. They held hands, and every few minutes Bo would lean over and press a light kiss to Anne's lips. "Love you," Bo whispered more than once.

"Me, too," would come the answer. There was more conversation but it was of interest to—and probably understood by—only them.

They were almost within sight of Storm Haven's gates when a shot rang out and two horsemen broke from the trees, shouting, "Stand and deliver!" Harrow was alone on the box and had to restrain the startled horses before he could reach for the blunderbuss kept under the seat. But before he could cock it, one of the robbers mounted the box and pressed an ugly-looking weapon between the servant's bony ribs.

Inside the coach, Bo tried hard to disengage the clinging Anne in order to reach into the pocket of the carriage door for Jared's pistols. "Promise me, Bo, dearest, you won't attempt anything the least heroic," Anne implored, showing more love for her betrothed than she did confidence in his ability to defend her. "Let them take our valuables and go. If you make them angry, they may hurt you. Please, Bo—for me?"

Bo sighed, and only grudgingly relinquished this chance to play Galahad to his fair lady, but silently allowed that she probably was right to insist he cooperate with the highwaymen. He replaced the pistols and kissed the distraught girl on the forehead. "Buy you another ring, love," he promised, and while Anne held him back by convulsively clutching at his coattails he tried vainly to stick his bright red head out the door to inform the robbers of his peaceful intentions. "I say, dumpling, can't step out to wave the white feather. Do let go my coat. Deuced difficult otherwise, you know."

Anne relinquished her hold just as Bo depressed the handle of the door, allowing her swain the freedom to tumble pell-mell into the muddy roadway—where he landed, rump skywards and perched on his pug nose.

"Oh, dear," she cried, looking down at her beloved, "that was unfortunate," and then scampered out to lend her fiance assistance. But first, in a mad moment of daring, she secreted one huge pistol in the folds of her cloak. After all, as any woman knows, there is a fine line between employing the path of least resistance and allowing oneself to be led to the slaughter!

She would not allow Bo to leap headlong into battle with heaven knew how many vicious footpads, but if the villains were out to do murder after they had pocketed their booty, little Anne—who formerly would have swooned dead away at the mere sight of a highwayman—was now possessed of the fierce determination to protect her future husband, not to mention her last chance at matrimony.

Meanwhile, her hero was busy pushing himself up onto his knees. "
Yecch
," he slurred thickly. "Drank too deep, I wager. Lost m'balance." He climbed clumsily to his feet with Anne's clucking assistance and staggered drunkenly over to the carriage, where he anchored himself to the left forward wheel, bewildering Anne by appearing to be badly castaway.

"Bo," Anne gasped, "say you're not inebriated!" whereupon that gentleman—so unjustly accused—puffed himself up to his unimposing height, adjusted (and thoroughly muddied) his twisted cravat and, doing his best to look imposing while droplets of muddy water dripped from the end of his nose, demanded to know if the lady had the audacity to suppose that he could not carry his wine.

The two footpads, with Harrow now securely trussed up like a Christmas goose and harmlessly stuffed rump-down into the space beneath the driver's seat, showed all signs of mightily enjoying Bo's little show.

"Drunk as a wheelbarrow," the big one commented.

"Ain't met a flash cove yet what could 'old 'is drink," the second concurred.

While their would-be robbers laughed uproariously at their own would-be victim, Bo took the opportunity to wink at his beloved, letting her know he was running a rig of his own. Anne frowned, not quite seeing the necessity for such outlandish buffoonery but, as she had a contingency plan of her own, she saw no reason to belittle Bo's efforts.

Suddenly the larger and dirtier of the two robbers bellowed, "Stow the shilly-shallying. We's got us a job o'work ta do, Clem, so let's 'ave at it. The gentry mort what 'ired us says ta make it look like robbery. Does yer want to lift the goods now or pick em from the corpses?"

"Bo?" Anne whimpered. "Did you hear that? I think they mean to murder us."

"
Sssh
, love, I know."

Harrow could hear every word from his undignified position in the driver's foot well. He began struggling against his bonds—a movement that only knocked his knees into his shoulders and settled him more firmly into his prison, where he could do no more than bang his head against the wood again and again in frustration. But the stamping of the startled horses drew the eyes of the robbers away from the seemingly harmless Bo and Anne for a moment, a precious moment Bo knew would not likely come again.

He pushed his chubby body away from the carriage wheel, and with a fierce yell that would have done any warrior proud, launched himself at the scoundrels who would dare harm his beloved.

Clem, most secure when limiting his capers to mild bits of Pick-pocketing, felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck lifting at the terrifying sound and ran for his horse as if the Hounds of Hell were after him. His companion, however, was made of sterner stuff. As Bo vaulted into the air to hurtle himself broadside into his foe, the man merely shifted one large step to his left—leaving Bo to renew his acquaintance with the muddy roadway.

The robber laughed, as indeed most anyone might, and courteously allowed Bo time to regain his feet. This time he rose dripping brown goo from his red curls as well as his nose and nearly every other part of his anatomy.

"Timing off," Bo admitted ruefully.

"My poor darling," Anne said, sighing.

"Coo, wot a sad sorry sight ye be, covey," the thug remarked, shaking his head as he leveled a brace of pistols at the pair. "Pity. Like yer. Like the skirt too. Real plucky. I almost wish I could let yez go, but now that Clem's gone and I don't have to split the ready, cain't see as 'ow I can. Must thankee fer scarin' 'im off. Won't stop till 'e reaches Tothill I wagers. Now, if yez would just go to join up wit the lady we can get this done all right and tight and old Bob will be on 'is way. Looks like it's comin' on ta rain agin, and I don't like ta get wet."

"Don't know. We both could stand a bath," Bo spluttered, wiping mud and grit from his eyes and stumbling blindly back to Anne to place one grimy arm protectively about her shoulders. "Shoot us, did you say?" he questioned blankly, as if the truth of the matter had just hit him. "Funny. Don't remember any enemies. But spare the lady. Never harmed anyone. An angel, I say, a regular angel."

"Not yet, guv," the bad man corrected. "But soon. Step clear, or do I shut yer lights first and 'ave the gel face the grim reaper alone?"

"You bastard!" Bo shouted, dropping his drunken pose. His rage was so all-consuming that he could form no other plan but yet another frontal assault. He charged bull-like into the line of fire while desperately praying for a miracle.

Two shots rang out, their reports so nearly simultaneous as to be heard as a single blast, and moments later two bluish clouds of smoke wreathed the three figures lying very still in the roadway.

First to move as the haze cleared was Bo, his ears ringing from the assault of two pistols fired so close by. He shook his buzzing head and the resulting burst of pain assured him he was still alive. Presently he became aware of a dull ache in his shoulder, and he reached inside his coat only to have his fingers come away sticky and wet. Obviously he had been shot. This surprised him, for he had thought being shot would hurt more than it did. He gawked stupidly at his fingers for some moments before more pressing concerns could crawl into his rattled brains by way of an earthy curse reaching his ears.