The Rambunctious Lady Royston (30 page)

This was becoming almost embarrassingly easy. The chit was more than half won and Jared knew it. Not about to let his opportunity slip past him, he turned to Mrs. Halsey and requested her to allow him the pleasure of Miss Boynton's hand in the next set.

His tone brooked no denial, and the flustered Mrs. Halsey quickly agreed—for even little gray mice knew better than to naysay the wealthy, powerful, dangerous Lord Storm. Besides, she needed a few moments alone to think up a suitable story to tell Amanda's stepfather and her employer, Peregrine Denton, when the man asked for her report on the success or failure of the evening. Saying that the child had danced with Lord Storm might keep her from being turned off without so much as a recommendation. If Miss Amanda would only be cooperative, that is.

Unfortunately for the now hopeful companion, Miss Amanda immediately proved that being cooperative was the very last thing on her mind as, scenting a sensation in the making, Jared said, "I beg your pardon, Miss Boynton, but you may not dance until you've been approved by the Patronesses. He looked at her levelly. "Do you have you this permission?"

"Of course," Amanda announced calmly, and without a blink to announce what could only be an out-and-out fib.

"Oh, laws,
laws
." Mentally Mrs. Halsey shredded her letter of recommendation, packed her shabby portmanteau, and resigned herself to Lady Forsythe and her three pug dogs, two of which had the most unfortunate tendency to become nervous on the carpets. Added to these problems, she felt certain she was near to swooning again, for the room was definitely beginning to swim before her eyes. "Miss Amanda, as we have only just arrived, you know you have no such permission. Why, you haven't even been
introduced
. Think of your stepfather, how desperately frantic he was to secure you a voucher, how angry he will be!"

"That pleasant thought is uppermost in my mind, Mrs. Halsey," Amanda countered sweetly as she held her hand out to Jared. "Are you game, my lord, or shall silly
ton
edicts force you to abandon the course at the first fence?"

Jared didn't know what audacious rig his companion was running, but he was not one to shy at any hazard. Why, he might even be barred from Almacks himself—which could only be seen in the way of a heavenly blessing. He offered her his arm, and she laid her small, gloved hand on his sleeve. "Ah, another rule broken and added to the mound of sins piled high at my door. We shall both be served up for breakfast all over Mayfair tomorrow, you know," he pointed out, bending toward her to whisper the words into her small, shell-like ear. "In other words, my dear Miss Boynton, I would not miss the next few minutes for the world."

"As long as you're aware of your own danger, my lord," Amanda whispered back at him.

"Oh, I'm perfectly aware of my own danger, Miss Boynton, as you so artlessly put it," Jared replied smoothly. "Although I seriously doubt you are."

At his words, and most probably in direct response to his tone, she hesitated—only for a second—then lifted her chin and moved forward with him once more.

Together they headed toward the dance floor. Jared shook his head in warning in the direction of the approaching, clearly irate Countess of Jersey—Almacks leading and most feared Patroness, and a woman whose aging but still lovely face had turned an unbecoming crimson at the sight of Amanda's gown.

Both Amanda and Jared patently ignored the gasps and turned heads all around them as they joined the other dancers already moving through the first steps of a silly country dance. Jared could feel the tension in Amanda as their hands touched briefly—but her smile was brave as she drifted away into the first movement of the dance. The girl had spirit—pluck to the backbone, by God.

As the movements of the dance brought them together once more, Jared whispered, "We're causing quite a stir, Miss Boynton."

"I am more than faintly cognizant of that fact, my lord."

Encouraged, he lingered, to tease her further. "Your gown is as enchanting as it is inappropriate, Miss Boynton."

"You flatter me, Lord Storm," she replied as he easily maneuvered her off into the line of dancers. "Inappropriate was the most I aimed for."

Giving up any pretense of keeping to the steps, he placed himself directly in front of her. He tried again, for some reason unhappy with the notion that she could remain so cool, so composed. "You'll be denied access to these hallowed portals from this night forward, and be shunned by all but the most daring of the ton, Miss Boynton."

"Really? Then to that happy news I say,
huzzah
, my lord."

Laughing out loud at this pithy answer, Jared cast an eye toward the rank of dowagers. "I wouldn't advise that you look in her direction just now, Miss Boynton, but your overburdened companion has swooned yet again."

She faltered, taking a single step in Mrs. Halsey direction, then shook her head and stood her ground. "A pity, but unavoidable, my Lord Storm."

He cocked an eyebrow and looked down into her face as a few of the dancers began muttering that Storm and his horrible companion were making a mockery of a most civil dance. Taking her elbow, Jared deliberately leered at her, some devil inside him wishing to see just how far the little vixen was prepared to go to disgrace herself. "You seem to have planned this evening's exhibition with great care. Not that I am unwilling to help. A kiss between us now would send half the ladies in the room to swooning—if you're willing?"

Amanda pulled her elbow free and began walking from the floor, leaving Jared no choice but to follow along as she warned, "Have a care, my lord, or I shall further embarrass myself by slapping that silly grin from your equally silly face. The dance was your idea."

Jared threw back his head and laughed again as he commandeered her elbow once more and directed her through the now staring throng and toward a secluded couch half-hidden by a hideous, towering plant. "You delight me, Miss Boynton, and for that I'd gladly suffer your punishment. You're definitely your father's daughter, you know. I remember that he had the much same flair for the ridiculous, and an equally fiery temper."

Amanda sat down with a small thump, pulling out a fan she opened with a snap, to begin fanning herself furiously. "I thank you for the compliment, my lord, for I can only consider it as such," she said, her voice losing much of its hard edge at this mention of her father. "I really must apologize for involving a friend of my father's in this scheme. I hadn't planned on anyone being brave enough to partner me this evening. The gown, you understand, was to be sufficient outrage."

"You can do nothing to my reputation that hasn't already been done by myself, Amanda. Pardon me, but I feel I can call you Amanda because I must have seen you at your father's home when you were a child. Do you mind?"

She shrugged her delightful shoulders, dismissing this new informality as hardly worthy of notice. "I can't see why it should since, after tonight, you won't see me at all. That said, I have absolutely no idea why I'm still sitting here with you. Really, I must be going."

Jared looked at her intently as they sat side-by-side on the uncomfortable couch. "Going? Going where? And why have you done this to yourself? It wouldn't take the most intelligent man in England to detect an anger beneath your show of bravado, an anger that tells me you're in some distress."

Amanda scanned the room to see that all eyes were on them. She had not planned to remain past a few minutes and wished fervently that the man beside her would stop his infernal questions and conveniently disappear.

"My distress is not your concern, Lord Storm, not that I believe you give a fig for anything save your own curiosity," she answered curtly, anxious to get on with the next step in her plan. "Please escort me back to Mrs. Halsey so that I can remove her before she goes into another taking. My purpose for coming here—and it is
mine
and doesn't belong to the world—has been served."

She made to rise, but Jared quickly grabbed her elbow and sharply pulled her back down beside him, nearly knocking her breath from her. Thinking she may have badly underestimated both the man and his mood, but not really caring all that much, she warned tightly, "This grows tiresome. Unhand me now, my lord, before I do you a mischief. I wish to retire."

"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?"