The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (11 page)

Amanda decided to be charmed by the handsome, smiling gentleman. "I return your greetings, Mr. Rawlings, and excuse you. But pray tell me, just who is this Freddie that he has everyone so upset?"

"Frederick Crosswaithe, Jared's cousin—several times removed, thank God, but none the less heir to the title until our friend produces some offspring of his own." He leaned toward her and whispered, "They don't get on, you know."

"Oh, is Jar—er, I mean, is Lord Storm afraid of this Mr. Crosswaithe?"

"Afraid? That is a good one! Jared, Miss Boynton wants to know if you shake in your socks at the thought of Freddie crossing your path."

Amanda noticed that, while Kevin and Jared dissolved in mirth at this statement, Bo Chevington frowned deeply, his cherubic face a study in consternation. "Should be, Jared. Not a nice man. Not nice at all," he warned, which set Jared and Kevin off into whoops once more.

Jared sobered first. "Afraid of that popinjay? That would be like being afraid of
you
, Bo, though I assure you I don't lump you in with such as Freddie."

Amanda could see that Bo was serious in his concern and asked him to explain himself. "Punting on tick, is Freddie," Bo confided. "Living high on expectations. Don't trust him. Shifty eyes," he ended, blushing, as if he had only belatedly realized he was actually conversing with a female.

Jared shook his head as he met Amanda's worried gaze. "Don't let Bo frighten you, Miss Boynton. My cousin is greedy and a cad, but he would never dare raise a hand to me. But it's highly gratifying to see you looking so concerned, I might add."

"Ah, yes," Kevin said. "But you must remember, old friend, Freddie has been making noises lately about coming into some sort of inheritance."

Jared looked at Kevin, shrugging. "Is that so? If dear cousin Freddie thinks I shall conveniently break my neck any time soon so that I can line his pockets, he's sadly mistaken. However, you're correct in one thing, Kevin. I don't wish to bump into my beloved relative while Miss Boynton is in my care. Do excuse us, friends, and we'll be off."

"What? Leaving already, without so much as a greeting for your relative? Shameful!" came a voice from behind Amanda, a voice she could only describe as slimy. Oily. Snake-like.

She whirled to see a small, pale, rather stringy-looking man dressed in flamboyant clothing—a
dandy
, if she remembered Jared's description correctly—bearing down on them as best he could, his ridiculously high-heeled shoes wobbling with every step. His lime green riding coat fit him badly, and there must have been a full three inches of buckram padding stuffed into each shoulder.

The gentleman's blond hair was thin, and he sported a large wart at one corner of his long, pointed nose. She was sure that it was a wart, even though the absurd creature had done his utmost to camouflage it with a black beauty patch. Beady, almost colorless eyes raked up and down Amanda and she shivered in repugnance.

Bo was right! Freddie Crosswaithe showed every indication of being an ugly, hateful little man. Amanda moved closer to Jared and he slid a protective arm around her waist.

"Ah, Freddie, I just this moment heard you were here. You don't look well though, or is it because I've never before seen you in the daylight? I must say you surprise me, coming to the mill. I had thought you'd faint at the sight of blood. Or does the thought of seeing two hulking men stripped to the waist delight your senses?"

Freddie's eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he lifted one thin white hand to his face and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a perfumed lace handkerchief. "I see the months since we last met have not dulled your vile sense of humor, cousin." He rested his interested gaze on Amanda once more. "But what have we here, cousin? Surely even you would not bring a lady to witness fisticuffs, even one so obviously fallen as this one. Is she just for you, or are all of you sharing her favors? She looks a little
worn
, doesn't she?"

Bo winced. "Told you. Not at all nice. Shouldn't have said that. Mean man, Freddie."

"Go away, Freddie, before you say something you'll definitely regret," Jared warned tersely.

"Nonsense, I never regret anything, not if it upsets you. I'll take a diddle once you're through with her, if you don't mind, to show her how a
real
man does things. Does she like it hard, cousin? I do. I like to hear them—"

Amanda watched as a thin white line formed around Jared's tightly compressed lips and a pulse began to beat rapidly at his temple. Before she could really take in what was happening, Frederick Crosswaithe was sprawled in the dirt, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth, and Jared was towering over him with clenched fists at the ready.

"Dare to get up, you painted jackass, and I'll serve you a little more home-brewed." Jared warned tightly.

One look at the violent visage above him and Crosswaithe chose instead to crawl on all fours until he was out from underneath Jared's spread legs, declaring, "The last laugh will be mine, cousin, and don't you forget it!" Then he took to his heels like a frightened rabbit, scampering back to the inn.

"A wisty punch, Jared," Kevin said, slapping his friend on the back. "Worth missing a good seat at the mill to see that."

"Happy to oblige you, Kevin," Jared said, rubbing at his knuckles. "But now we'll be saying our farewells. Be good sorts, the both of you, and don't come visiting for a while."

As the two set out for Storm Haven, Amanda attempted to question Jared about his cousin, but he laughed away her fears, commenting only that he was flattered she should care about his safety.

"Don't be thick—I couldn't care less if Mr. Crosswaithe skewered you," she told him. But then her shoulders slumped as she sighed, knowing she didn't mean that. "But you have to consider the thing, Jared. Mr. Crosswaithe doesn't like you. He could do you some great harm. And—if he is in such dire need of money as Mr. Rawlings and Mr. Chevington say—he might even try to
kill
you."

Jared threw back his head and howled. "Freddie? He's afraid of his own valet—or in love with him. And, God help us, he's my heir. Who do you think has been keeping him in silks and satins but me? He hasn't a feather to fly with without the very generous quarterly allowance I send him. We roundly detest each other, I'll grant you that, but Freddie knows better than to raise a hand to me."

"But Mr. Chevington said—"

"Bo's an old woman. Forget it, Amanda. I'll race you to the top of that hill," he then challenged, and was off.

Amanda didn't raise the subject again, but she stored Bo's warning away in her heart—though why she should be concerned over Jared's stupid neck she had no idea.

Jared made no mention of their intimacy of the night before when they stopped along the road for breakfast or again at luncheon. Doubtless the incident meant nothing to him—less than nothing.

So why did it seem to matter so much to her?

It was a thoughtful and subdued Miss Amanda Boynton who rode beside Jared Delaney as they made the last leg of their journey to Storm Haven.

Amanda's first sight of the Delaney ancestral home did nothing to lighten her mood. Although the immaculately kept grounds reminded her of her beloved Fox Chase in the years before her father's death, Storm Haven itself was a dull gray stone monstrosity, cold and forbidding even as it was lit bythe setting sun that unkindly disclosed the details of its architecture. Even the green trailing ivy, so prevalent on English manor walls, only lay in dusty bunches along the foundations, as if shunning the pale stones.

The center of the structure, obviously the oldest part, had been cursed with very small windows, and Amanda could imagine the dreariness within its rooms. On either side of the three-storied main building were several additions that appeared to have been tacked on without thought to any overall design. The resulting hodgepodge should have appeared whimsical, even amusing, except for the overriding gaol-like feeling that seemed to emanate from the walls.

Jared rode more slowly now, reining Devil to a walk, as if he really didn't want to reach the huge black wooden doors that stood closed and unwelcoming at the head of a circular drive. Amanda stole a look at him as the horses plodded along, and she could see a slight tick working in his cheek. It seemed he shared her view of his home. Why had he brought her here, if the place repulsed him so? Yet, properly cared for, she believed the huge, rambling building could be rather attractive, even homelike...

As they neared the doorway a groom appeared and hastened to hold Amanda's horse so she could dismount. But before she could do so Jared jumped from Devil's back and held out his arms to her. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and as he tightened his fingers around her waist and lifted her from the saddle his eyes searched her face as if hoping to read her reaction to seeing his family estate. His look was more than interested—it bordered on the apologetic.

She forced a weak smile and he set her down gently, and then held her for a few moments more than was politely necessary. It was no use. She was softening toward him. On impulse, she raised a gloved hand to his cheek and murmured, "It's all right, Jared. Really it is."

His breath hissed through his teeth and he pressed his lips against the sensitive skin of her wrist as it was exposed above the cuff of her riding gloves. "I shouldn't have brought you here. Whenever I'm away I close out the ugliness and forget how much I loathe this place. Seeing it again brings it all back. Forgive me?"

How had this happened? How had she come to pity her tormentor, even wish to comfort him? Was this the way of all women, or was she just more of a fool than the most empty-headed debutante? She took a deep breath, steeling herself against him. Forgive him? That was twice in less than twenty-four hours he had begged her forgiveness. Such humility from the arrogant Lord Storm was almost too much for her. With a shake of her dusky curls she dismissed any lingering sympathetic feelings from her mind and concentrated on Jared's ultimate plans for her. Pity Jared Delaney? What utter nonsense!

"Enact me no Cheltenham Tragedies please, my lord," she warned sharply. "It's but a house. Now, if you're done with your bout of conscience, I suggest we go inside. I feel the need of a hot tub."

Jared released her as if he'd just been stung. "Don't try me too far, Amanda. We stand in my territory now, with no innkeeper's daughters, urchins, old men, or well-meaning friends to protect you—and you're completely in my control. You would be wise to measure your words."

"Please don't deign to instruct me as to what would be wise, Jared. My stepfather said it would be wise of me to listen to him. Had I done so, I would by now be surrounded by lecherous old men who wanted a young wife in their beds. You said I would be wise to allow you to accompany me to Fox Chase, and look what has happened. I am so utterly sick of people telling me to be wise. They only mean I should do what they think is best. I'm ten and eight, and a woman grown, and it seems to me I would be wisest to start listening to myself. At least then I could be sure my best interests would be served." Her speech completed—and feeling rather well satisfied with it, actually—she turned abruptly and mounted the stairs to the front door.

"Well, I'm abashed, certainly. Allow me, queen," Jared said sarcastically, brushing past her to push open the door, and then bowed deeply and flourished one hand to usher her inside ahead of him. She inclined her head stiffly, definitely looking as regal as any queen despite her stained riding habit. With her head lifted high she strode purposefully into the grand entrance hall, casting her golden gaze over high walls adorned in ancient flags and shields.

Jared shook his head ruefully as he watched her. Amanda was the most confusing woman he had ever met. Part woman, part child, she appeared equally at ease when conversing with grooms in a stable as when defying the
haut ton
. He had seen her beautifully if outrageously gowned; he had seen her dressed in outgrown muslins. But whether standing over him, laughing down while he lay sprawled in the mud, or facing him toe to toe in a verbal battle—or even lying beneath him in the first throes of passion—he could never quite override the feeling that she was first and foremost a lady of quality.

Any other woman would have succumbed to hysterics long before this. She should, in fact, right now be pleading for mercy, her eyes swimming in tears as she begged for him to deal gently with her. But then, any other woman would never have dared to so defy convention by running away from her guardian. How could anything so small and soft be made of such stern stuff?

He looked at her now, standing in this great drafty Hall, surrounded by moldy antiques, alone and unknowing of her fate. Still, her shoulders remained unbowed as she stood stripping off her riding gloves, gazing around her as if she were mistress of this damned and damnable mausoleum.

And here Jared was also, asking Amanda's forgiveness for rescuing her from Denton and then saddling himself with a useless old man, not to mention a runaway orphan, just to please her. Fool that he was, he could have taken her at any time within the past few days and eased this burning in his loins.

Instead it was he who felt uneasy, he who felt unsure and faintly out of step. Well, no slip of a girl was going to have Jared Delaney dangling at her shoestrings. Wait until they were legally wed! Then he would be master and the imperious Amanda Boynton would be conquered.

Conquered? Even as Jared's mind formed the word his heart laughed at its folly. Amanda would never be in anyone's power. No, he could take her body, but her mind and heart would have to be freely given. He knew he had erred badly in ever thinking he could indulge in a lighthearted adventure with Amanda, marry her to maintain the conventions, then leave her at Storm Haven and return to London when his passion died. If his passion died...

It had all seemed such a lark at the time they set out from London. He would tease Amanda, wed and bed her—the former to please his dear Aunt Agatha, the latter to please himself. But now he wasn't so sure. This new person he'd become in the past few days, this stranger who now possessed his mind, his heart, only knew that he wanted this girl as he had never wanted anything in his life. Possessing her body would not be enough for him, would never be enough for him. He wanted her to care for him,
really
care for him.