Within moments it was a full-fledged riot.
Annabelle could not believe what was happening. She was headed to give aid to a young woman when Vivian tugged on her sleeve.
“Lady Annabelle, we’ve got to get out of here.” The terror in her friend’s voice arrested her.
Annabelle turned to look at Vivian and could not miss the other woman’s white face and eyes rounded in shock. She had to protect her friend.
“Come.”
Annabelle grasped Vivian’s arm and dragged her toward the door. They dodged flailing arms and legs, trying desperately to find a way out of the room without joining the melee in the aisles. When their progress was blocked again and again, Annabelle began to despair escaping the room unscathed. She and Vivian were backed into a corner when the man Annabelle had confronted started toward them. He looked drunk with fury.
Annabelle started to pray.
Cold chills coursed down Ian’s spine when he caught sight of Belle in the riot. He uttered quick instructions to Finchley. Then Ian headed for Belle, ignoring the scuffle around him. When he reached the man who threatened her, Ian latched onto the marauder’s shirt and waistband. He picked the blackguard up and sent him flying toward the wall.
He then grabbed Belle by the arm and pulled her against his body, tucking her head under his arm to protect her from waving fists. He led her through the fray to the door, dodging flying chairs and swinging arms. When they gained the outside, he did not let up his fast pace. They reached his carriage and he swung her up, jumping in after her.
Finchley neatly tossed the other lady up and Ian helped her settle while his friend leaped into the already moving carriage.
Ian bellowed at his coachman, “Move, man. Move.” His coachman listened and before long they were headed at a fast clip toward west London.
“Neatly done, my lord. For a moment I was certain Miss Graves and I faced imminent danger.” Belle nodded her head for emphasis.
“Yes, my lords, this is most fortuitous. Thank you for rescuing us.” Miss Graves gazed at Finchley with awe.
Finchley’s cheeks turned crimson as he attempted to restore the perfection of his cravat. “Think nothing of it.”
“Oh, but it was wonderful. The way you handled those ruffians was superb.” Unmistakable hero worship shone from Miss Graves’s eyes.
“Yes, wonderful, but how did you happen to be there, my lord?” asked Belle.
“I stopped by Lady Beauford’s townhouse and was told you had gone out. I decided to follow you.”
She gave him a perplexed frown. “How did you find me? My aunt was unaware of my plans to attend the lecture.”
Ian felt his hands fisting in his lap. Aye, Lady Beauford had thought her niece was busy shopping. He had known better. The feeling of unease that had settled on him during Belle’s discussion with her brother the day before had intensified.
“I had a feeling and searched out Finchley for the particulars. I have noticed that he knows everything that is going on in Town.”
“That was well done of you, but why did you come? Are you interested in reform issues as well?”
“Nay. I am interested in you and your safety.”
“Oh.” She seemed nonplussed. “I don’t know how you could have known that I would be facing any sort of danger. I can tell you that for me it was completely unexpected.”
Belle’s naïve assessment sent his temper spiraling. Turning to her, he gripped her arms. “What were ye thinking of, Belle? You could have been hurt.” A rapid pulse beat at the base of her neck and she trembled slightly under his touch.
It reminded him of her body’s response to his kiss. For a moment, he forgot about his anger and her near miss. All he could think about was taking her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers. She had responded so sweetly, with innocent passion, in the Markham garden. He silently vowed to further her education in this area at the closest possible opportunity.
She trembled again. Belle might not want to show it, but the fracas had upset her.
She took a deep breath before answering him. “It was just a lecture. The men that came turned it into a riot.”
He shook his head. She could not be that blind. “After the reaction you got from your brother over that penny print, how could you doubt it?” She jerked her arms away from him and looked fiercely at him through narrowed eyes. “My brother, or even the reactions of those men, will not stop me from listening to my sisters in the cause speak out.”
He felt his insides churn. The words were so like those of his grandfather. The man who had fought England’s rule at any cost, including that of his family and the people on his estates. “At what price, Belle, your life or another’s?” She stared at him and the innocent confusion in her eyes added fuel to his rage. She had no idea what risk she took or who might pay the price.
“That’s not it at all.” Her words came out in a shocked whisper.
He had hurt her. He swore under his breath.
The other woman spoke up from her seat next to Finchley. “Lady Annabelle has done nothing to put her family at risk.”
Ian glared at her. “No, it’s her own person she’s put in danger.”
Miss Graves blushed at the rebuke, but did not give up. “When she went to the lecture, she had no way of knowing some unruly men would arrive and cause a scene.”
“Was more than a scene, eh what? That chap looked ready to do you and Annabelle some harm.” Finchley’s voice carried conviction for all of his dandyish ways.
Miss Graves turned to him and smiled tremulously. “Yes, I do believe he was, but you and Laird MacKay appeared at just the right time.” Finchley patted the chit’s hand. “Forget about it.”
“Bloody hell.” Ian wasn’t going to be able to forget it. The sight of Annabelle trapped in the corner, trying to shield her friend, would haunt him for the rest of his days.
“My lord, your language,” Annabelle chided him.
“My language? What about you? Belle, you shouted like a fishwife and started a riot.”
“It is unkind of you to remind me of my behavior. I had great provocation.”
“And I dinna?”
She pursed her lips. “I will not debate it with you.” He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was so prim and proper when minutes before she had been abusing a man with her parasol.
Belle frowned at him. “It is hardly gentlemanly to laugh at me, Lord Graenfrae.”
“Ian.”
She started to shake her head and opened her mouth to speak. He wouldn’t let her.
“After what we just went through, you can bloody well call me Ian.” She closed her mouth with a pop.
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her in silence. She gave him a mutinous frown.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Very well,
Ian
. I can see that it is important to you, although I cannot imagine why.”
Satisfied on at least that point, he nodded. “As to why, you ken well enough that I’ll no have my wife addressing me by my title.”
Her eyes grew wide. “I thought… I mean you haven’t… It’s impossible.” She opened and closed her mouth several times. She closed her eyes for a few moments.
When she opened them again, her expression had cleared. “Never mind. If you are finished ringing a peal over me, I will introduce my friend.” He shrugged.
She looked like she wanted to throttle him. He understood the feeling.
“This is Vivian Graves. Miss Graves, I would like you to meet Laird MacKay and Lord Finchley.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lords.” Finchley took her hand and bowed his head over it. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Graves.”
Miss Graves blushed and smiled.
Ian grunted. “Miss Graves, I willna lie. I would rather we had met under other circumstances.”
Belle shifted impatiently next to him. “Really, must you continue harping on the unfortunate occurrence? Your resemblance to my old nurse is most regrettable.” Miss Graves gasped. “
Lady Annabelle
.”
Belle tugged her spencer to smooth it. “It’s true. Laird MacKay has a lamentable tendency to nag at me like a nursemaid.”
He didn’t know if he would rather pull her into his lap and kiss her or turn her over his knee. The second image was so ludicrous in the face of her independent nature that he almost laughed aloud. Belle would never tolerate that form of husbandly discipline.
“This inclination you have to laugh at me is most unpleasant, Ian.”
“I wasna laughing at you, Belle. ’Twas something I was contemplating.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed. They rode in silence until they reached Miss Graves’s home. Belle said good-bye to the other woman and Finchley escorted her to the door.
As the coachman drew away from Miss Graves’s home, Belle turned to Ian. “Do not speak of me as your future wife in front of others, Ian. It is unseemly.”
“What is unseemly about the truth?”
She twisted the strings to her reticule. “I am not your future wife and I do not like being the brunt of gossip because of you.” Tears sparkled in her eyes.
Pulling her near, he pressed her face into his coat and massaged her back. “Dinna cry, Belle.”
“I’m n-not crying. It’s just that you keep saying that I’m going to marry you, but you don’t mean it and there was an article about us in the society pages in most unflattering terms, and my…my hand hurts.”
He latched on to the last thing she said. Nothing else made sense to him. Of course he meant to marry her. Hadn’t he said so? As for the article, he had read it too and been satisfied that the
ton
recognized his claim on Belle. Robert had told Ian that it upset Belle to be the center of gossip. So, Ian had made an effort not to single her out or call on her too frequently.
Pulling away from her, he lifted her hand to examine it. “Let me see, Belle.” When she didn’t resist, he drew her glove off, being careful not to squeeze her hand in the process. An ugly purple bruise marked her palm. He wished that he’d taken the time to leave a few bruises of his own on the man that had done this.
“We’ll have the doctor look at it.”
She stiffened, blinking away the remnants of her tears. “I’m sure that’s not necessary. It’s just a bruise.”
“We must make sure nothing is broken.”
“Better safe than sorry, eh what,” Finchley said.
“If you are both going to badger me, I suppose that I have no choice.” Ian smiled at her cranky tone. “Aye, Belle, you have no choice.” And she had no choice about marrying him either. She would be his. She needed him to watch over her.
* * *
The Scotsman was becoming annoying again. William had thought the laird had moved on to greener pastures. For the past two weeks, he had found the field wide open.
William had danced with Annabelle at soirees and even managed several bouts of uninterrupted conversation. The laird had been conspicuous in his absence and William was certain his suit was progressing nicely.
Now this. Following Annabelle to the lecture had been easy. He hadn’t even had to pretend any real interest in the misguided woman speaking.
Property rights for women. Ludicrous. Where would William be now if his dead wife had had control of her own property? She had whined enough about the sad state of her wardrobe and the house. Would she have let him sell her small properties to buy his
hunters? Of course not. No one had the right to tell a gentleman how to spend his money.
Especially not his wife.
When Lady Annabelle had instigated a riot, William had been incensed. She was weak-minded like the rest of her sex. He had barely escaped the room with his skin intact.
His coat had been ripped. A new one was unthinkable right now. His tailor was not receiving him. Him! It was infamous. Did the man not know what a favor William did in giving the tailor his business?
Money. Money was definitely becoming a problem. He needed to marry Lady Annabelle soon or he would lose his hunters and maybe even his freedom to debtor’s prison. Maybe he should speak to Spinks again. The man was full of information.
Perhaps there was something else William could use to his benefit. He needed stakes for a night of gaming. One good night at the gaming tables would set him up nicely until he could convince the spinster to marry him.
Chapter Seven
Annabelle twirled the pencil lead in her hand and stared at the blank foolscap on her escritoire. She had come to her room for some needed peace and quiet. The soft lavender walls and white bed hangings offered refuge from her tumbling thoughts. She smiled at the posy of violets her maid had placed on the white gilded table at which she sat. Purdy liked to remind her mistress that for all her modern ways, she was still a lady.
She couldn’t focus on writing her treatise on women’s issues. Her mind insisted on dwelling on the previous day’s events. Had she truly cried all over Ian’s shirtfront?
He had indeed insisted on calling for the doctor. Aunt Griselda had been beside herself and all over a little bruise. Okay, not so little. Her hand had throbbed well into the night, although the doctor had treated it with a topical salve. Surely that was why she had such trouble sleeping. It was merely coincidence that she spent the dark hours tossing and turning as images of furious brown eyes flashed through her mind.
Ian had been so angry. It made no sense. The day before he had defended her to Robert, but when he rescued her from the riot he had been livid. And then he had held her when she cried. His hands had been so gentle against the back of her spencer. She still tingled when she thought of him rubbing circles on her back.
She scratched a few lines on the foolscap. Looking down at the paper she couldn’t even remember what she had written. Restless, she stood up and moved to gaze out the window. The brown air of Town put a pall over the beautiful garden behind her aunt’s townhouse. She did not want to go back downstairs and listen to further lectures on her behavior. Lady Beauford had not exhausted her ire and continued to chastise Annabelle with very little provocation. To hear her aunt or Ian, one would think that she had deliberately put her very life at risk.
Ridiculous. The man who had called her
ducks
had indeed been angry, but not murderously so. It would be worse tonight. Undoubtedly Aunt Griselda would inform Robert of Annabelle’s mishap when they met at the theater later that evening. Her one