The brigand tucked the spent pistol in his belt, aimed the other at Seelye’s chest and said, “Your gold and silver, gent. Be quick about it.”
Seelye twisted off his signet ring.
“It’s heavy. I might have a few coins, too,” he said, searching his coat pockets.
The thief strode up to him, took the ring, and pocketed it.
“I’ll have your watch, too.”
“Haven’t got one,” Seelye said and patted his empty waistcoat pocket to prove it.
“Like ‘ell you don’t.”
The gunman landed a rib-cracking blow.
“Ooof!” Seelye doubled over, wheezing for air. His beaver tumbled to the ground. To his relief, Jane had flung herself down on the seat to hide.
Still holding him at gunpoint, the robber moved to Seelye’s seat to rummage around for anything tucked out of sight. Jane sat up with a cry and slid as far as she could from the unwelcome hand.
“Touch her and I will take you apart,” Seelye warned low and clear.
The robber gave him a calculating look and withdrew his hand. “Where’s it at then?” he demanded.
“I told you I haven’t got a watch. I gave it away in Spain during the war.”
“I ain’t a patient man,” the thief said and raised his pistol.
“I am not a liar,” Seelye replied calmly.
He heard the carriage springs squeak. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Jane clambering down. Without thinking, he moved to intercept her.
The robber hit his face with the butt of his gun.
“Ooof!” Seelye’s head snapped back. He staggered and tasted copper from a split lip. His ribs hurt like the devil. He had to brace them with a hand to regain his footing.
Jane looked from him to the gunman, half-dazed with terror. She took a faltering step closer. In her distraction, she held a handful of her carriage dress high enough to reveal sleek, silk-clad ankles.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said in an absurdly theatrical quaver, “I beseech you, sir.”
Eyes wide, she tottered toward the robber, an imploring hand outstretched.
“Jane, no!”
When the gunman burst into raucous guffaws, she squeaked and crumpled in a dead faint at his feet. And there she lay in her pale blue pelisse and billowing heaps of muslin.
Gravel-voice straddled her and grinned, knowing he had the upper hand.
In that moment, Seelye’s instincts warred within his battered breast: the first, to protect Jane at all costs; the second, to elbow the gunman aside and wring her neck himself. The gentleman prevailed.
“Step away from her,” he said and tensed to spring.
“Steady on,” Gravel-voice mollified him, “Weren’t her fault, gent. Yer wife’s naught but a vaporish, little lay-dee.” Next, he made an odd, strangled sound, “Eck!” And his smirk became a rictus grin.
Jane had lifted Lady Abingdon’s pistol from the folds of her muslin gown and held it between the highwayman’s legs from where she lay.
“I am not his wife,” she said.
The dastard stared down in disbelief at what the ‘vaporish’ lady thrust and where she thrust it. Seelye gave a bark of laughter, in as much shock as the thief, who rose on tip-toes, gasping, “I’ll be damned—”
“Give him your pistol,” she told him. “Or would you rather I try blowing your head off to get it?”
The owner of her hostages stared down at the female who held them at gunpoint.
“Look ‘ere, ma’am, see?”
The thief thrust his firearm grip first at Seelye.
Holding his aching side, Seelye accepted it and tried not to laugh. “My ring, if you please.”
“And be quick,” she said. “I am not a patient lady.”
Gravel-voice fished in his greasy waistcoat pocket and grumbled, “No kinda lay-dee at all.”
Seelye took the ring back and punched him in the mouth. He put his weight behind it and the blow sent the man reeling away from Jane.
“Being bested is no excuse for bad manners,” he told the wheezing thief.
“Now, what should we do with him?” she asked and cocked the pistol.
The back of Seelye’s neck prickled.
“I fought in the war, ma’am, and got nothing but furloughed for years o’ service,” babbled the raspy-voiced thief. “I’ve a wife and young lad to feed.”
“You should’ve considered them before now,” she said.
“Jane, soldiers were abandoned by the crown and left to steal or starve,” Seelye told her. “You mustn’t hurt him.”
“He struck you,” she said.
“And I hit him back. Let him go.”
A long moment passed in silence before she said, “I’ll give him to the count of ten to escape.” There was an unmistakable glint in her eyes when she started counting slowly, “Ten.”
The robber turned to Seelye in confusion.
“Nine.”
“You heard the lady, run!” Seelye said and shooed the man away with an encouraging wave.
“Eight.”
Gravel-voice leapt into motion, tripping and flinging himself as fast as he could run for the cover of trees.
“Seven.” Jane called out after him and held up a dirty hand.
Seelye helped her to her feet then put his dusty hat in the carriage.
“Six,” she called out and slapped at the dust on her carriage dress.
“Five.”
She squinted into the distance at the retreating man, and called a little louder, “Four.” She smiled at Seelye. “Three.” With a gesture, she reminded him there was a pistol dangling forgotten in his own hand. “Two.” She whispered, “Get ready, here we go.”
Shaking his head at her, he cocked the thief’s pistol and aimed it straight up in the air.
“One!” she screamed.
He squeezed the trigger with an explosive CRACK!
They both heard a screeched curse from somewhere in the woods and she burst into whoops of laughter.
“Good God, Jane,” Seelye exclaimed, aggravating his split lip. He leaned against the carriage now that they were out of danger. His ears rung. His ribs hurt. And there was an unwelcome stirring in his loins.
When she glanced at him, her reckless grin crushed his heart. Be damned if she wasn’t more beautiful dirty and tumbled, her eyes brimming with unholy mischief. Against his better judgment, his lower body ignored how willful and disobliging a female she could be and began to acknowledge the glorious woman she was.
“Must say, Lord Seelye, you played your part well,” she chortled and handed the little gun to him. “Your playact of alarm was the equal of Kean.” She removed her gloves to slap off the dust. “You knew I couldn’t hurt him with an empty gun.”
“Well, about that—”
She stopped what she was doing to stare aghast.
“I couldn’t very well leave a loaded firearm within your reach,” he said. “Not with what I had to say to you.”
This doused the beguiling light in her eyes, if not his response to it.
“Your sole purpose for this so-called pleasure trip to Richmond was to lecture me?” she asked. “Had I known, I would have refused your invitation, though it was lucky for you that I didn’t.”
While she was talking, he paced back and forth to walk off her untoward effect.
“Lucky?” He stopped in his tracks. “What you did was reckless. A gold ring is not worth getting shot over. Or killing for.”
“I bluffed and it worked,” she said. “You laughed at the time.”
“That was sympathetic hysteria, Jane. It’d be any man’s reaction to what you did.”
She would’ve turned away but Seelye took her by the shoulders, anxious to impress upon her the extent of her folly.
“Outside your rarified circle, the world is a dangerous place—more dangerous than you realize. Decent men have grown desperate. Your beauty and rank cannot protect you, nor can I, if you insist on taking chances like that.”
&nb
sp; He released her to resume his prowl back and forth.
“You could at least thank me.”
“For what? For putting yourself in harm’s way? For holding a man’s bollocks at gunpoint?” he asked. “Or should I thank you they weren’t mine? Fact is, your so-called heroics might have emasculated the other man, but not me. I am conceited enough to believe I had the situation under control before you pulled that stunt”
“I am relieved your conceit serves some purpose, my lord,” she said.
“Do you know what you are, Jane?”
She rolled her eyes and sighed, “Impossible?”
“You are a misfired cannon. Quiet, seemingly safe, no hint of a spark, until one comes close to look down the barrel then boom! Off you go without warning. Ow!” Despite his painful ribs, he strode up to her and grabbed her roughly. “What am I going to do with you?”
* * *
His gaze was greener than she remembered. Grass green, vivid and direct. His hands were strong. His ribs seemed to trouble him less and his grimace faded, though he still stared fixedly at her.
“Never do that again, Jane.”
“I didn’t mean to alarm you, Lord Seelye. I never imagined I could. You’re so blasé about everything.”
“I wasn’t alarmed for my sake, goose,” he told her, angrier still. He yanked her against his chest and sealed her mouth with his own.
It happened too quickly for her to prepare, much less decide whether or not to allow such a liberty. She focused instead on steadying her racing heart. Her knees gave way again from the manhandling. Or rather, that was how she silenced her nagging inner voice about clinging to him.
“How can a certifiable hellion,” he murmured into her nape, “smell so pretty?”
“Did you expect a whiff of brimstone, sir?”
He chuckled and his breath warmed her skin.
“I don’t know what to expect,” he said and held her face between his hands to kiss her again.
Sometime later, he stepped away and ran his hands through his tousled hair.
“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked, her mouth bruised from his kisses. “You dislike me.”
She waited for the insincere denial sure to come. He straightened his waistcoat with a tug and looked abashed.
“That was battlefield relief,” he said. “It’s common in war. When it’s life or death, emotions run high. One seeks an outlet after danger passes.” He flushed crimson, oddly discomposed. “But I shouldn’t have overreacted. I apologize, Jane. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” she said around the lump in her throat.
“I was trying to make a point before I became afflicted,” he said, staring at his boots. “Ah, yes. You could’ve been badly hurt doing what you did, that was my point.”
“Did you think I’d sit by while you were beaten or shot?”
“Yes,” he enunciated. “In any case, you shouldn’t’ve pointed a gun—”
“He stood over me. Where else could I aim?”
“Anywhere else.”
He still stared at her and raked his fingers through his hair.
“I wish you’d stop that.”
Her exclamation brought him up short.
“Stop what?”
She waved a hand at his head and said, “That preening you do.” She mimicked his gesture, saying, “You run your fingers through your manly mane just so. Why are you always having at your hair?”
He let his hand fall to his side, fingers twitching.
“It’s what I do,” he said, “before I tear it out by the roots in frustration.”
“I am frustrating—?”
“More than you know,” he replied and silenced her with another breathtaking kiss.
It was a shameless way to win the argument.
His face, with half a day’s beard, rasped lightly against her skin. Her indignation gave way to awareness that he smelled of fresh air, soap and mint. So very manly. She noted how big and warm he was, and how safe she felt when he held her close. (Not that she would ever admit how frightened she had been.) His big hand cradled the back of her head gently. And he took his time kissing her.
Her gloves fell from her hand, forgotten.
These kisses weren’t stolen but given one by one, like gifts. This confused her more than anything else he’d said or done.
What am I to do about him?
It ended as abruptly as it began.
Her heart pattered delightfully. She knew she ought to chastise him but longed to kiss him back with the same, melting generosity. She peeped at him to gauge the possibility.
But there he stood, looking thunderstruck as if he were the accosted party. She had a mind to put things in the proper perspective with a slap.
“Your mouth looks abused,” he said. “I cannot deliver you back in Grosvenor Square looking as though I dragged you behind the carriage after having my wicked way with you. What would George say?”
“Why don’t you explain battlefield relief to him?” she suggested and knelt for her gloves.
He lifted a hand to rake through his hair but caught her kindling eye and stopped.
“Shall we go?” she asked, still annoyed and embarrassed by what transpired between them.
He moved mechanically to hand her into the carriage.
“No need, Lord Seelye,” she said and climbed the step. “Your hair needs your hand more than I do.”
When Jane called on Lady Abingdon the next day, she was relieved to find her alone for there was much on Jane’s mind and they could talk unguardedly without Miss Banks.
During these private tête à têtes, she and her ladyship held bare hands and spoke freely as friends from different generations. Their conversations ranged from the amusing to the personal unselfconsciously. Jane took these opportunities to ask her ladyship about her childhood, her coming out, her favorite house among the many Abingdon estates, books she’d read, regrets she had.
On this day, Jane knew that Lady Abingdon was slipping from her grasp. The hand she held had lost its plumpness. Blue veins and white tendons stood out. Fingers, bent at the last joints by age, had thinned so rings slipped over her knuckles and fell to the floor. Jane plucked these from the Aubusson carpet, slipped them back on, and curled her godmother’s hand around them. All the while she kept up a lively chatter.
“Did you enjoy Richmond?” Lady Abingdon asked casually.
“Very little.” Jane refused to speak his name. “Lord Pygmalion had the gall to spend most of the time exhorting me to become someone else to attract a husband.”
“Well, finally.” Her ladyship caught herself and shifted to sympathetic clucking, “Or rather, I am shocked, my dear. Shocked and dismayed.”
“As was I,” Jane said. “Although his complaining proved most helpful to me.”
“In what way?” Lady Abingdon asked, now alert.
“He never misses an opportunity to point out my shortcomings, which I hate.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Not at all. His scolds make disliking him easier,” she joked, though her heart wasn’t in the jest. “Evidently, his lordship fails to realize that I needn’t change. So long as I’m rich, I shall be pursued.”
“Oh, my dear,” Lady Abingdon sighed. “He doesn’t understand, does he?”
“Not at all,” she said.
“You want to be loved for who you are, not who you ought to be,” her ladyship comforted her. “And I believe you shall be.”
“Not according to my carping brother-in-law. I hesitate to attend balls now for fear of being buttonholed for another of his improving chats. Why must he make my life miserable? I sent a footman to your door just now, in case he was already here with you.”
As if to underscore her point, Jane unconsciously nibbled at a fingernail.
“I’m sorry to hear that. He did stop by earlier,” Lady Abingdon said. “Mustn’t do that, my dear.”
Jane sat on her hand and said, “It took me year
s to overcome that habit, but his criticism upsets me.”
“All the more reason to find him a wife,” Lady Abingdon said. “Once he’s married, he’ll leave you alone.”
The prospect displeased Jane though she dared not admit it. Instead, she said, “One would hope so. But who could please him?”
“As far as I can tell, Jane, nothing and no one pleases his lordship these days. Perhaps being Society’s beau sabreur bores our redundant hero,” her ladyship said. “He’s used to much higher stakes.”
Jane considered the truth of this. It was remarkable how calm he’d been when held at gunpoint. Then again, he faced death more times than she would ever know, so he comprehended their danger better than she. Perhaps she did deserve his lecture on recklessness. But afterward, what was his point?
She felt her cheeks heat at the memory of his impetuous kisses.
“He told me I was a certifiable hellion,” she complained. “And as dangerous as a misfired cannon.”
“Did he indeed?” Lady Abingdon laughed hoarsely. “That doesn’t sound like criticism to me, my dearest.”
Chapter 13
In which all bets are off but two.
March 1817
Hyde Park
“Hail, Petrocchio, shrew taming a challenge?” Percy asked from the back of his handsome chestnut. “She’s split your lip, I see.”
Seelye bumped into his friends riding in Rotten Row the morning after his Richmond folly. Ainsworth and Clun nodded to him. But Percy kept at it.
“Drawn your cork, has she?” he taunted. “Spilled your claret?”
“Stubble it.”
Seelye licked his scabbed lower lip. He had hoped to lick his wounds literal and figurative on a solitary morning ride, but his friends dashed that hope.
“Oh, dear,” the gloating prat sighed, “heavy seas, my lord?”
Seelye directed a filthy look Percy’s way and said, “A would-be robber accosted us on the road from Richmond, if you must know.”
“Rescued her after subduing a highwayman,” Percy said merrily. “How romantic!”
“Not at all,” he said. “Don’t you have some secret task to perform by mysterious means?” Next, he turned on his married comrades, “And don’t lady wives lead besotted husbands around by their noses this time of day?”
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