When another couple joined them, then two more and four more, Betsy lifted her face to Charles and smiled. Tremulously, with tears still gleaming in her eyes.
“You see, darling,” he said to her, “sometimes it pays to be a duke and have the power to order people about.”
“Yes, I see that now,” Betsy agreed, her eyes shining with relief and mischief, “and am ever so glad, after all, that you are a tyrant.”
Charles laughed, pulled her closer, and murmured in her ear, “You will marry me, won’t you, Betsy darling?”
“I suppose I shall have to,” she replied, drawing back and feigning a weary sigh, “if for no other reason than to keep you from making a fool of yourself at every turn.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Well, no, I—” Betsy paused, glanced around at the now-crowded floor, then lifted a radiant smile to Charles and murmured softly, “I love you with all my heart.”
With the final strains of the waltz came a clatter outside the French windows. A thud, a howl, and a crash followed, then George appeared in the doorway with Davey and a smallish man in a many-caped greatcoat clenched in his beefy hand.
The sight of the footman in muddied livery and the boy in a torn velvet jacket altered for him from one of Betsy’s riding habits was too much for the Countess Featherston. She fainted dead away near the punch table, while the rest of her guests separated into small groups twittering with speculation.
“Enter the jarvey, I’ll wager,” Charles said, taking Betsy by the hand and leading her hurriedly toward George.
“Got ‘im, m’lord,” George said, grasping his captive by the scruff of the neck and hauling him up on his feet to face Charles. “Caught ‘im in the garden lettin’ Boru loose and chasin’ ‘im toward the house.”
“Who hired you to do this?”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” Owens snarled.
“Wanna bet?” Davey piped in, coming around George to kick the jarvey squarely in the shins.
“Ow!” he howled, bending to rub his leg.
“Davey, come here.” A grin tugging the corners of her mouth, Betsy caught the boy by the sleeve and tried her best to look stern as she dragged him out of the way.
Then she signed to Teddy, who nodded and moved to reclaim Boru from Lady Clymore. He led the hound toward them, and when Boru saw the jarvey, he laid back his ears and began to growl.
“On second thought," Owens said quickly, “it was that there Earl o’ Clymore paid me t’do it.”
“Owens, you idiot!” Julian screeched, unthinkingly stepping out of his hiding place.
At the sight of him, Boru let out a howl and lunged, breaking Teddy’s hold on his collar. Lord Earnshaw went sprawling on his face, and Julian went tearing through the French windows with the hound on his heels.
“Get him, Boru!” Betsy yelled, grasping Davey’s hand as Charles grabbed hers and pulled her into a run.
Like a stag in flight, Julian vaulted the low wall enclosing the terrace. Boru sailed effortlessly after him, while Charles and Betsy and Davey prudently took the steps. By the time they reached the lawn, Teddy had caught up with them, and Boru had narrowed the gap with Julian by several yards.
The upstart had two choices—a sturdy oak or the far wall enclosing the garden. Charles thought he would opt for a low-hanging branch of the tree, and that’s precisely what he did, jumping to catch it and swing himself up into the first crotch. Beneath him, Boru let out another howl and leapt up the trunk, snarling and yapping.
“The fox is caught,” Teddy said, with a laugh, as they slowed their pace from a run to a leisurely walk.
By the time they reached the foot of the tree, Julian had scrambled higher, and Boru had sat patiently down on his haunches to wait. The Earl of Clymore glared balefully down at them, his face glimmering with perspiration in the glow of the lanterns strung about the lawn.
“Call him off,” he snarled at Betsy.
“Oh, I will, Julian,” she replied sweetly, “just as soon as I’m ready to go home.”
“What?” he squawked. “That could be hours!”
“I’m sure it will be, for I intend to dance every dance.” Betsy slid her hand through Charles's arm and smiled. “With my fiancé.”
“Bit chilly up there, is it, Clymore?” Charles peered up at him and grinned.
“Damn your eyes, Braxton,” Julian growled, his teeth beginning to chatter.
“Better get used to it,” Charles advised. “Newgate is cold as hell. So is France, I’m told.”
“Elizabeth, please,” Julian begged, shifting his attention to his cousin. “Don’t leave me here.”
“I’m afraid it’s not up to me,” she said, patting Boru on his broad, shaggy head. “What do you think, my darling? Should we let him down?”
Boru rumbled and growled and inched closer to the tree.
“Sorry, Julian. Boru says no.” Betsy gave him a jaunty wave, then turned toward the house with Charles.
“Up you go, lad,” Teddy said to Davey, lifting the boy onto his shoulders and striding ahead of them.
When Julian’s howls of protest and pleading fell away into the darkness behind them, Charles turned Betsy toward him and slipped his arms gently about her waist. She spread her palms on his chest and smiled at him, her hair dancing with tiny diamonds of light in the sheen of the lanterns.
“I have only one request of you, my darling,” he murmured, drawing her closer to kiss her.
“For you, my lord, anything.” She sighed dreamily. “What is it?”
“Let’s leave Boru at home on our wedding trip.”
Copyright © 1992 by Lynn Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest
Electronically published in 2005 by Belgrave House/Regency Romance
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.