The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (5 page)

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They rode in silence for what seemed to Amanda an interminable length of time, finally clearing the congested city and heading into the countryside. The morning sun had already begun to rise when Jared stopped before an inn that looked more sad and old than rustic and inviting.

Turning to her, he warned tightly, "Listen carefully, Miss Boynton. You are my sister, and we're on our way to our aunt's house. We require breakfast in a private dining room, and separate accommodations in which to freshen ourselves. After we have eaten you may retire for a few hours sleep and we'll be on our way again. With luck, we'll reach Fox Chase by nightfall."

Amanda nodded at him dumbly, as the tension of the past hours and her lack of sleep were fast taking the fight out of her, leaving her far too exhausted to resist, or even to summon the effort to point out the fact that his lordship was not in charge of her life. With only a sigh of regret for her humbled state, she allowed herself to be escorted to her assigned chamber.

A quick wash in exceedingly cold water, however, refreshed her enough to do justice to a country breakfast of eggs and thick slices of ham. Jared, already at the table, waiting for her, tucked in ravenously as well, downing his meal in short order and following it with a mug of ale. Neither of them spoke a word as they ate. When finished with filling his stomach, and still without saying a word, Jared rose and made to leave the room.

"Where are you going, my lord?" Amanda asked, immediately hating herself for betraying the slightest bit of interest in the man's plans.

His broad smile told her he had noticed her discomfiture, damn him. "For someone who was so recently in such a panic to be rid of me," he quipped happily, maddeningly, "you're oddly curious, my dear. I'm off to blow a cloud, if you must know, and keep an eye out for your stepfather, though I doubt he's as yet aware that you're running about, playing melodramatic truant," he replied smoothly. "Why don't you go have a rest for a few hours? I'll call for you when I think we should leave."

"You're quite the most hateful man it has ever been my misfortune to encounter, my lord," Amanda called after him as he walked away, barely stifling a yawn she could not entirely suppress, which turned her impassioned insult into more of a lazy observation. "But I suppose you're right. I wouldn't mind a small rest."

Scarcely three hours later, Amanda woke from her nap to the realization that the time had come to knock the arrogant Lord Storm down a peg or two. She had gone along with him for a while, yes, but she had been tired then, and somewhat afraid. She had taken a very big bite, as Nanny had been wont to warn her was her most unfortunate bad habit, and had been having more than a bit of difficulty chewing on it. But now it was different. Now she had her wits about her again, she was well on her way to Fox Chase, and Jared Delaney had become as indispensable as an eleventh toe.

Not, she conceded to herself, that she hadn't been thankful of his intervention in the London alley. Then Amanda remembered again that if she hadn't been trying to get away from the man, she would probably never have turned down that particular alley in the first place, and her anger rose up again.

No, there was nothing else for it—she would have to be rid of him. She paced the floor of the bedchamber for some minutes, deep in thought, until she suddenly halted and an evil smile curled around her full mouth. Inspiration, never long a stranger to Amanda's agile mind, had stuck—and it was a most delicious inspiration.

But could she do it? Could she really do anything so mean, so low-handed. Why, yes, as a matter of fact. Yes, she could. Oh, yes, yes, yes! She most certainly could—and she most certainly would!

Eager to set her brilliant, truly inspired plan in motion, she crossed the room and rang for the maid.

Within moments a young girl appeared and Amanda quickly put her plan before the thrilled servant. "That vile man downstairs is abducting me from my parents so as to compromise me into marriage," she confided even while producing a single, sad tear for the girl's edification. "You
must
help me, Betsy, as you're my only hope! Um, you did say that was your name, didn't you? Betsy?"

"Yes, mum, Oi said that," Betsy replied eagerly, energetically bobbing her head. "That Oi did. An' Oi knew there wuz somethin' smoky 'bout hiz lordship from the furst second Oi clapped m'eyes on 'im. An' you not even in a ridin' habit. Ab-duction, is it? How can Oi help you, milady? Oi'll do anythin'. Anythin' at all!"

And with that, Amanda felt the thrill of her first small victory—soon to be followed by an even greater triumph.

The girl was proving ridiculously easy, almost too easy for the thing to be quite sporting. Nevertheless, Amanda stifled a giggle and proceeded to outline her plan, and within minutes Betsy was leading her down the back staircase and across the yard to the stables. The horses had not been unsaddled by the dozing ostler, so Amanda wasted no time there—although she did stop beside Jared's mount for a few moments before Betsy gave her a boost up onto the sidesaddle and blushed her thanks as Amanda pressed a coin into her hand. Then, with a loud whoop, Amanda urged her mare through the stable doors and out across the yard, brushing past a startled Jared.

"You can pick up your mare at Fox Chase, my lord! Farewell!" she called over her shoulder, and then disappeared down the road, laughing at the dumbstruck expression on Jared Delaney's face.

Jared cursed under his breath and whirled to run to the stables, calling himself ten times the fool for trusting the little brat to stay where he'd put her. Just as he was preparing to mount and go in pursuit of her, he was confronted by the burly innkeeper and a young girl who kept screeching, "There 'e be—there's the bounder what tried to lope off with the pretty miss. Stop him, Da! Break all his nasty bones! Box his ears!"

Jared warily eyed the approaching mountain—holding his arms out straight in front of him as he prudently took refuge behind his horse. "Hold on there, innkeeper. I don't know what your daughter was told, but that girl is my sister. She ran away from school with some young fop, and I was bringing her home before she could ruin herself. Now you've let her escape."

He could see the doubt creep into the innkeeper's eyes and stepped out from behind his mount to press home his advantage. "Now see here, my good man," he continued placatingly, "do I look the sort of man who must
steal
himself a woman?" He smiled broadly as the innkeeper ran his eyes over the immaculately dressed figure now in front of him.

"No-o-o," the man pronounced uneasily at last.

Jared expelled his held breath in a rush. He might be a strong man himself, but he wasn't stupid—and the innkeeper was as tall and broad as a barn door. "That's right! Of course not! Amanda was always a mischievous hoyden. I quite understand your daughter falling under her spell, but I assure you she is not the first to tumble for one of Amanda's tall tales. But please, if I wait much longer she will have escaped again and you, good sir, will be responsible for her possible ruin."

The girl took that moment to intervene, curse her and all of her sex. "Don't believe him, Da. Oi know milady wuz tellin' the truth! Besides, 'e wuz goin' to lope off without payin' us our due."

"No, he ain't, Betsy!" The innkeeper's hands bunched into great fists once again, and Jared hastily pulled out some coins and offered them. Satisfied at last, the big man stood back to allow Jared to lead his horse into the yard, where he swung himself into the saddle and then spurred his mount forward into an immediate gallop.

Before he had traveled more than a few yards the saddle suddenly slipped to one side, the stallion reared in fright—and Jared found himself seated on the muddy ground.

His breath was knocked out of him for a few moments and as he sat there, shaking his head to clear it, he saw Betsy's plump feet planted in the dirt front of him.

"Oh, that wuz a good trick her ladyship pulled on you, that it wuz. A right fine one, the ladyship is," she chortled—and Jared raised his eyes to see the gold bar pin that had so lately been on Amanda's dress being lovingly fingered as it rested against Betsy's ample bosom.

"Yes," Jared gritted out from between clenched teeth, rising slowly—and not without some discomfort—slapping his hindquarters free of dust. "She's a rare handful the ladyship is, isn't she?"

The ostler had trouble rounding up the frightened stallion, and it was several minutes before Jared was again ready to leave, was more than ready to leave. "Read her out proper, my lord, when you find her," the innkeeper advised, his hand raised to give a bracing slap to the horse's rump.

"Read her out, is it? I'm going to throttle the brat!" he called over his shoulder, convincing the innkeeper that the girl well and truly was his sister, and Jared was gone.

But the "right fine one" had a good thirty minute head–start on him, damn her ingenious hide.

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Amanda pushed her horse for a solid half-hour, and then settled down to a more leisurely pace, thoroughly enjoying being on horseback again, even if she'd been forced to ride sidesaddle. As she rode along, thoughts of the insufferable Lord Storm being held prisoner by an irate, pitchfork-brandishing innkeeper—or lying in a puddle after being unceremoniously dumped by his horse—kept a happy smile on her lips.

She was in familiar territory now, and could soon take to the fields, where not even Jared Delaney would know how to follow. She would reach Fox Chase long before him and, once on Tempest's back, he could not possibly catch her, even if he knew which direction she had taken. Which he would not. Oh, no. He would arrive at Fox Chase only in time to retrieve his mare from Harrow and return to London.

She felt an occasional qualm of conscience about her hapless rescuer, about the trick she had played on him. But it served him right for interfering. For in truth, she thought as she idly watched a lapwing cut through the blue sky above her head, she had never before met anyone capable of infuriating her to this degree.

Amanda rode on, her gaze now searching for her planned turnoff from both the road and possible pursuit. She was just about ready to set off cross-country when she saw a small shape huddled by the side of the road. She slowly eased her horse past the bundle of rags and thin, dirty limbs, and the sound of muffled sobs came to her ears.

She rode on a little further before drawing the mare to a halt. "Damn," she said as she turned the horse, hating herself, knowing she was courting disaster, but also knowing she couldn't go on.

Dismounting, she approached the small body and saw that it was that of a child, a child so dirty she could not make out its sex. She knelt down by its side. "What's the matter, little one?' she questioned softly, reluctant to frighten the small person.

The pathetic figure jumped up and made to run away, but Amanda reached out and grabbed one thin arm, easily holding the child in place. "Ho, now, I'm not going to harm you. Are you lost? Tell me your name. Are you hurt?"

The grimy face turned and peered into her eyes. Obviously something there convinced the child Amanda meant no harm, and it collapsed once more at her feet.

"Tom's me name," he said at last, "and I not be hurt." A grubby chin went up in defiance. "It's runnin' away I be. Runnin' as far an' as fast as I can go! I only stopped here for a little while, that's all."

Amanda sat back on her haunches and gave the boy a conspiratorial smile. "Ah, well then, it seems we have something in common, young Tom, for I, too, am running away. What are you running away from?"

"Jake." The name came out quietly and not quite fearlessly, as if it was the Devil's name, and must be whispered.

"Jake? Is he your master?" Amanda inquired, frowning as she stared at the bruises on the boy's legs—marks that looked as if they had been made by the furious application of a cane, or some other hard stick.

Tom vehemently nodded his head, saying, "But not no more, he ain't!" then began telling his story in short, disjointed sentences intermingled with a few manfully-stifled sobs. Amanda eventually deduced that this man, this Jake, had taken young Tom from the parish poorhouse as an apprentice of sorts, and then used him to beg in the surrounding villages. There were ten or more others like Tom "apprenticed" to Jake, but only Tom had been brave enough to defy him. Jake beat Tom whenever he refused to beg, and the boy had eventually run off. He'd been on the road for about three days—Tom wasn't sure just exactly how long—and, no, ma'am, he hadn't eaten more than a bite for at least two of them.

By now he was crying again in earnest. Amanda instinctively reached out and gathered him into her arms, unmindful of the resultant dirt on her already travel–stained garments. "How old are you, Tom?" she asked, sparing a moment from her thoughts of how lovely it would be to have the man named Jake slowly roasting on a spit in front of her.

"I dunno, ma'am," he replied, looking up at her, "but I thinks I be twelve. That's nice, ma'am, how yer be rockin' me and all."

Twelve? Amanda was appalled. He was so small, he seemed no more than seven or eight. She weighed her need for haste with her conscience, and her conscience won. She could not ride off and leave Tom to fend for himself, not and still be able to sleep at night. She would simply have to mount him in front of her and take him along to Harrow, even if it would slow her progress.

After that, however, Amanda's plans were vague, as her plans usually were. Amanda operated on a grand scale, painting her plans with a wide brush, leaving all those niggling details for lesser minds—like Jared Delaney's.

Delaney! God's teeth! She had forgotten all about the dratted man. She looked own the road behind her and, her heart sinking, saw dust rising in the distance.

"Damn and blast! Now I'm in the basket for sure. Up, Tom. You must get up. We have to ride, now!" But Tom had fallen dead-asleep in her arms and, though slight, he was still far too heavy for Amanda to lift onto the mare's back.

She sighed, looked down the road again, and resigned herself to her fate.