The Rambunctious Lady Royston (29 page)

The End

. . .

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Jared Delaney bowed low over his partner's hand after he returned her to her hovering mama, then left her to regale the turbaned dowager with a word-for-word recitation of everything the handsome, eligible Lord Storm had said during their turn on the floor.

He strolled away, his lips curled into a secret smile as he recalled the girl's blushes when he had commented on the "fetching" neckline of her gown as they had come together during one of the movements in a boring country dance.

The giggling girl had only trod heavily on Jared's foot in her sudden agitation, but there had always been the chance that she would collapse in a horrified swoon in the middle of the floor—which would have rendered the exercise well worth a little personal pain. Anything, anything at all that might relieve the crushing boredom of his enforced visit to this absurd Marriage Mart.

As he considered the possibility of an early exit from the building, Jared spied his aunt beckoning to him from across the room, a Chatsworth chit done up like a Christmas pudding clutched to her side. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for his beloved Aunt Agatha, but he'd be damned if he'd squire that antidote. Miss Charity Chatsworth was cursed with a decided cast to one eye, so that one never knew which eye to look into when she spoke—not that she had ever said anything of interest in her entire life, which Jared considered to be her true fatal flaw. Not a one of the Chatsworth females was up to snuff, which was a pity for Baron Chatsworth, as there were so many of them.

Ignoring his aunt's frustrated signals, Jared quickly changed direction and made for the foyer, where perhaps he could bury himself until he could politely retire. He doubted he could avoid his aunt for long, as he was a big man, nearly a full head taller than most of the gentlemen present, and with the broad shoulders and slim hips of the sportsman. His profile, reflected in a nearby gilt-edge mirror, was a study in planes and angles, softened only by startling blue eyes that were surrounded by absurdly long, coal black lashes his aunt had once, to his horror, described as giving him the look of a fallen angel. Idly, he inspected his reflection, and giving an unaffected push to an unruly black curl that had burst the confines of his studiously casual Windswept style, he then silently cursed himself for at least the fifth time in as many minutes for being precisely where he'd promised himself he would
not
be, not ever again.

He had been lingering in the foyer for some minutes, wondering when his Aunt Agatha would realize the futility of her plan to snare him in some parson's mousetrap, when his attention, and his interest, were caught by a movement near the door.

First to enter through the hallowed portal was a little mouse of a woman, her thin cheeks flushed, her turban slightly askew. Hers was an understandable dishevelment, Jared supposed, as the hour had crept dangerously close to eleven—after which time not even Prinney himself would dare try gain entry to the Assembly.

Jared decided her charge must be unconscionably vain to have take this long at her toilette, then pushed himself away from the wall, his interest not extending to bearing witness to the arrival of yet another simpering debutante. Besides, it was time he ignobly sought out another bolthole safely out of his marriage-minded aunt's way. He wasn't being very brave, he knew, but he did have a healthy respect for Aunt Agatha's determination.

He had taken only a few steps in the direction of the main rooms when the door opened wider and a small female shape huddled in a black velvet evening cloak moved into the room.

As the young woman passed through the doorway she shook her head free of its enveloping hood, and Jared's breath unexpectedly hissed audibly through his teeth. She had hair as dark as night, yet shot through with flashes of gold as though lit from within; hair which cascaded in enticing curls from the topknot on her head, while wispy tendrils caressed her slim white neck. Intriguing...

But it was her face that captured and held Jared's frank interest. Brows like raven's wings perched above her darkly fringed, tilted eyes which—incongruously—reminded him of the color of old gold coins, and her pert nose, deep rose lips, and a stubborn, pointed chin all fitted nicely into her small face.

Gorgeous, Jared decided. Eminently gorgeous. And most definitely intriguing.

Two high spots of color appeared on the young woman's creamy cheeks as her gaze swept the room and finally encountered Jared's lazy, faintly mocking smile. Her expression immediately became imperious, one brow lifted in mocking derision, so that he found himself looking away in something akin to embarrassment—not a familiar sensation. He felt a quick, fleeting sense of anger at the infant. Who was this chit to openly bait him? And who was he, that he should feel even momentarily unsure of himself? Not that she would ever know he'd had a moment's confusion as he returned her look, stare for haughty stare.

He was about to introduce himself, dazzle her a bit with his infamous Delaney charm, when a footman relieved the girl of her cloak. The little mouse gasped as the gown beneath the rich velvet was revealed. Jared merely blinked. But, then, he had long ago learned to mask his emotions beneath a smile, a joke, or a casually cutting remark.

In a practiced and calculated move, Jared lifted his quizzing glass to his eye and proceeded to visually inventory the outrageously rigged-out young beauty. Strong men had been known to pale when the dangerous Lord Storm used his famous glass on them, although he sensed that this girl, this small, delicious slip of feminine illogic, probably didn't know that. Or much care, for that matter.

As the young woman proved his assumption correct by lifting her chin in an unspoken challenge, Jared's grossly magnified eye raked over a gown of dark golden silk—a color no debutante would dare wear, let alone to Almacks—its simple lines accenting a small but perfect body. Tiny puff sleeves capped creamy shoulders, and then the material plunged to a deeply squared neckline that did no credit to the girl's modiste, as it was sadly puckered in places, and a few rather large stitches were obvious to even the undiscerning eye.

Black velvet ribbons encircling her neck and accenting the high waistline, as well as the tiny matching bows marching along the hemline, did nothing to soften the gown's flamboyancy. She wore no jewelry over elbow length kid gloves other than two thin hammered–gold bracelets studded with topaz.

Innocence and decadence combined to shake Jared loose from his practiced ennui, as he was more than agreeable to being amazed by the sight of this perfect form clothed by this most impossible gown.

After slicing a quick, concerned look to her whimpering chaperone, the girl returned an assessing gaze to Jared's face, obviously searching out his reaction to her appearance. Her eyes lit with undisguised pleasure and she favored him with a dazzling smile—disclosing small white teeth and turning her pretty face into a thing of perfect beauty.

The quizzing glass fell unheeded to Jared's waistcoat as he made haste to cross to her side, all his boredom forgotten. Bless Aggie for insisting he attend Almacks first session. This little hellion, he felt sure, promised to be much more amusing than Faro till dawn at White's.

The small, silent byplay between Jared and the unknown girl took but a few moments, just long enough, in fact, for the little gray mouse to build herself into a high flight of hysteria. Her whimpers not fading a whit, she finally found her tongue to exclaim, "Oh, Miss Amanda!" at which point the poor lady's knees promptly buckled under the weight of her distress. She would have toppled headlong to the floor except for Jared's intervention, as he quickly stepped forward, deftly intercepted her downward spiral, then easily supported the swooning female with one arm until a footman could secure a chair for her in a nearby alcove.

With a contriteness belied by her amused expression, the young woman recently identified as Amanda searched in her reticule for a restorative as she knelt beside her victim's chair and ministered to the stricken woman. "Dear, dear Mrs. Halsey, forgive me for shocking you like this. I see now that I should have let you in on my little secret before we left the townhouse."

Jared laughed at this bit of ridiculous feminine logic. "I see the wisdom of your thinking, Miss—Amanda, is it?" he broke in cheerily. "If the secret you're referring to is your ensemble, informing poor Mrs. Halsey of it prior to your arrival would have most certainly saved her this embarrassment, for she would have swooned at once, and you wouldn't be here at all."

The lovely Amanda stood up once more, which put her at a none-too-threatening cravat level with her antagonist. "We have not been introduced, sir, and I do not recall granting you permission to address me," she intoned with all the audacity of a cheeky chimney sweep caught out pilfering oranges from a fruit bowl in a nobleman's drawing room when, by all rights, he and his brushes should be halfway up the flue.

"Really?" Jared intoned, feigning shock at his own forwardness, even while he longed to box the young minx's ears—or kiss her pert little nose. "How could I have been so crass?"

The girl now identified as Amanda shrugged rather eloquently, then quickly tugged her slipping gown back onto her shoulders. "Oh, I forgive you, I suppose. At least, I will if you'll have the decency to remove yourself while I attend to my companion. And if you're in further need of entertainment, sir, may I suggest that I'm quite convinced there are ample spectacles to poke fun at scattered thick on the ground all through this ridiculous Assembly."

She turned back to Mrs. Halsey and then, as if belatedly locating the remainder of her misplaced manners, turned once more to face Jared. "I suppose must thank you for your assistance, sir," she said grudgingly, then made a quick, shooing motion with her hands. "Now go away. You have my permission to retire."

Her soft voice was rather husky even in her obvious anger, more than vaguely intriguing, and to Jared's mind, fitted her perfectly. It also had given him yet another reason—he already possessed several, much to his delight—to disobey her demand and linger.

His mind quite made up to be as annoying as he could be for as long as possible—as the sight of the lovely Amanda in a temper was decidedly delicious—Jared executed a deep bow, raised himself to his full height, and winked at her.

"A thousand pardons, Miss," he pleaded facetiously, "but perhaps you might save your childish bout of righteous indignation for a more suitable time." He pointedly looked beyond her to the hapless Mrs. Halsey. "You see, at the moment it appears as if your companion has further need of me, as she appears to be listing heavily to starboard."

Amanda whirled around in time to catch the toppling Mrs. Halsey, the unlikely oath of "Damn and blast!" escaping her lips as she did so—and Jared's cup of amusement, already full, most happily runneth over.

He stood by silently as Mrs. Halsey slowly recovered once more, and then stepped forward to bow over the elder lady's hand, the very picture of solicitude and gentlemanly concern. "You have my sympathies for your obvious embarrassment, madam, as well as my fervent hopes for your full recovery. Allow me to present myself: I, for my sins or in spite of them, am Jared Delaney." He raised the woman's trembling hand to his lips. "How can I be of service to you, Mrs. Halsey?"

"Oh, laws!" Nothing in her hitherto uneventful life had served to educate Mrs. Elvira Halsey in the handling of such a disaster as she faced at that moment. And to think she could have stayed in the country as companion to eighty-year-old Lady Forsythe! Oh, but no,
no
—she'd wanted the flash and excitement of a London Season. Well,
next
time she'd stick to leading nursery brats, or pressing flowers in books for octogenarians. For now, however, Elvira did the only thing she could do: she threw herself on his lordship's kind mercies—whether he be saint or devil—looking up at the notorious peer with a fearful plea for help in her eyes. "Delaney? You'd be Lord....Lord Storm then, wouldn't you?
Oh, laws!
" she moaned, fairly certain that her offer of assistance had come from one fairly well acquainted with the Prince of Darkness.

"One and the same, dear lady, and I sense that once more my reputation precedes me. But do promise not to let that weigh with you one way or the other, and grant the favor of making me known to your charming charge here. It seems she will not speak to me until we are properly introduced—and rightly so, I might add."

"Of—yes, of course, yes, to be sure…" Mrs. Halsey blustered and, with much stammering and hesitation, the introductions were made.

"Boynton?" Jared repeated, mildly surprised upon hearing the name. "Are you by chance any relation to Sir Roger Boynton, a man best known for his success in breeding fine horses?"

"He was my father, yes," Amanda shot at him, with a look that told him to speak well of Sir Roger or not at all.

So much for Jared's hopeful assumption that the girl was an actress foisted on the Patronesses by some young bucks as a wager. She seemed, if outrageous, at least to be legitimate. He warned himself to tread more cautiously as he pursued his interest in the girl. And he
was
interested.

"I greatly admired your father's horseflesh, actually, and have several of his best bloodlines in my stables at Storm Haven," he informed her solemnly, quickly noticing that he had struck a chord with the chit. Oh, yes, this was promising. The girl was decidedly softening toward him.

"You knew my father?" she asked, her gold-coin eyes becoming disturbingly moist, leaving her looking uncomfortably vulnerable.

But not so vulnerable that Jared refused to press this first advantage. "Most assuredly, Miss Boynton, though I was no more than twenty when he died. England lost a fine man in your father. He was a good soldier in his prime, and a gifted horse breeder."