A Lady of Persuasion (Page 47)

He could only try his best to put things right and hope her anger would fade with time. Perhaps he’d never earn her love, but Toby could live with being allowed to love her. He’d have to learn to live with that much, because he certainly couldn’t survive without her. The past two days had taught him that.

“Toby.”

He ceased pacing. His eyes snapped up, and he spied a familiar figure coming toward him. Make that two familiar figures.

“Gray. Jem.” Toby nodded at his brother-in-law, then his friend. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m financing your campaign,” Gray said, patting the pocket of his coat.

“What, with bribes?” Toby asked.

“If it comes to that. So far, pints of ale are doing well enough.”

Toby turned to Jeremy. “What are you doing here?”

“Honestly?” Jeremy shrugged. “I have no idea. Gray made me come.”

“I bring the gold,” Gray said, gesturing toward Jeremy, “and he brings the class. Figured it couldn’t hurt to have an earl backing you.”

Toby scratched the back of his neck. “Gray, you do realize that, of the two opposing candidates, one has died—”

Gray nodded.

“And the other is the local bedlamite.”

“Aye.”

“And nearly all the votes have been cast and tallied, and I have an insurmountable lead. Yet you still seem to think I need bribes and aristocratic backers to scrape out a victory?” Toby shook his head. “Your faith in me … What to say? It’s so inspiring.”

“I’m not here for you,” Gray said testily. “I’m here for Bel.”

“I’m here for Bel, too,” Toby said. “Jem, are you here for Bel?”

Jeremy heaved an exasperated sigh. “I have no idea why I’m here. I really wish I weren’t.”

“Good,” Toby said. “Then go home, the both of you.”

Gray narrowed his eyes. “Now see here. I’m not taking any chances with—”

“No, you see here.” Toby leveled his walking stick at his brother-in-law. “Isabel is my wife. She asked me to run for Parliament, not you.” He turned to Jeremy. “And she hasn’t asked you for anything.”

“I know,” Jeremy said, raising his hands in defense. “I told you, I don’t know why I’m here. He told me we were going to the club.”

Toby continued, “When I win this election, it may be no great victory—but it will be my victory. Mine alone to lay at Isabel’s feet. I refuse to share what ever thimbleful of glory I earn with either of you. So go home. You don’t get to be the heroes today.”

“Actually,” a gravelly voice announced from behind, “none of you do.”

The barrel of a musket forced its way into their triangle, sending Toby’s walking stick clattering to the ground. All three men took a quick step back—

Only to freeze in unison when they heard a chorus of ominous clicks—the unmistakable sound of several guns being cocked.

“Bloody hell,” Toby whispered, raising his hands. He swiveled his head to either side. Colonel Montague’s oafish nephews surrounded them, each training a gun on Toby’s person. “What the devil is going on?” he asked the nephew who’d spoken. The largest one, he noted with dismay.

“Now Sir Toby,” he said, “we don’t think you really want to be a candidate for MP.”

“Yes,” Toby said. “I assure you, I do.”

The oaf prodded Toby’s chest with his gun. “No, you don’t. A London toff like you? You never cared spit about this borough before. Going on thirty years, the colonel’s been standing up as a candidate. The old man’s getting weaker every winter. He won’t likely have another chance. And now that Yorke’s dead, he can finally win. So you’re going to let him.”

“Let him?” Toby echoed, incredulous. “Even if I wished to, I couldn’t. The polling is closed. Colin Brooks will be out here any moment to make the result official.”

“Colin Brooks is currently having a little chat with my cousin,” the oaf said. “I have it on good authority, he won’t make it out here until after you’ve withdrawn your candidacy.”

At that moment, Gray took a step to the left. The red-faced oaf swung around, training his gun on him. Gray froze.

“Don’t anyone try anything funny,” Montague’s nephew said.

Toby sighed. “For God’s sake, man. Do you honestly think you’re going to shoot us? I may be just a baronet, but Jem there is an earl. Murdering a peer of the realm is a certain ticket to the gallows. And you’re surrounded by witnesses.” He gestured broadly at the spectators pressing in around them, all of whom had gone stone quiet. “Not to mention, the Colonel’s election would never stick. Someone would have him declared incompetent and removed from office, and where would that leave the poor old fool?”

“Well, then he’d have been an MP, wouldn’t he? Even if only for a while. The poor old fool would die happy.”

“This is pointless,” Toby said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I won’t do it.”

The gun swung back to point at him. “You really think you’ve earned this seat in Parliament?

You think you want it as badly as the Colonel does?”

“No, and no,” Toby answered. “But my wife wants me to have it with a righteous passion. And I love my wife more than I love the Colonel.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, and Montague’s nephew’s face turned an impressive shade of purple.

“I’m sorry,” Toby said, lifting his hands and flashing a disarming grin, “but it’s the truth. She’s prettier.” He slowly extended one hand toward the man. “Come on, now. Let’s not do things this way. I have great respect for your uncle, I do. So does everyone here. We can work out some other way to honor him—declare him the borough’s sergeant-at-arms, perhaps. Tell your cousins to lower their guns. Let’s all head into the tavern for a pint, and we’ll discuss this like civilized folk.”

And just when Toby was sure he had him—just when the man’s face faded to a pinkish hue, and the barrel of the musket lowered a fraction—it all went to hell. From the back of the crowd, a panicked cry went up. The sounds of hoofbeats on stone and horses whinnying quickly followed. Spectators began to scatter, though the armed men surrounding them held their ground. Madman Montague had trained them well.

“Oh, no,” Toby whispered. “No, no, no.” His heart plummeted to his boots. He couldn’t possibly be reliving this nightmare.

But evidently he was.

The crowd parted, just as it had that day. And here was the carriage bearing down on them, the horses driving at breakneck speed.

And there, perched on the tufted leather, clutching the irons for dear life, her face a pale mask of terror—was Isabel.

“You can stop now,” Bel called.

The driver hauled on the reins, drawing the horses to an abrupt halt in the center of the village square. Bel didn’t even wait for someone to help her down. She leapt from the open carriage as soon as its wheels slowed and raced toward her husband.

“Toby,” she said, gulping air. “Toby, I need to talk to you.”

He stared at her, keeping his hands raised near his shoulders, as if he was afraid to touch her. Well, and really—who wouldn’t be? Bel’s hands flew to her face. Heavens, she must look a sight. What bits of her that hadn’t already been covered in soot were now dusty from the road, and her hair was blown every which way. And of course, Toby was turned out in magnificent splendor, every inch the tall, dashing gentleman.

“You look marvelous,” she told him, just because she could.

“Thank you,” he said slowly, taking in her appearance. “You look … rather singed. But I’m very glad to see you, despite the fact that you nearly scared me into an early grave just now.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking out her skirts. “I told him to drive like the devil was on our heels. And I am a bit crisped at the edges, aren’t I?” She laughed. “It’s to be expected, I suppose. I spent my morning dueling a dragon. They haven’t called the election yet, have they?”

He shook his head no.

“Oh, good. Truly, I apologize for scaring you. I just had to speak with you right away.”

“Yes,” he said, still holding his hands up. “You, and several other people.”

He twisted his head from side to side, and for the first time since she’d driven into the square, Bel looked at something other than her husband.

Oh, my.

Here was her brother. And Lord Kendall. And a half-dozen men surrounding them all with guns. She took a startled step back, tripping over something that felt like a stick—not that she was going to look down to verify it.

“Toby?” she asked in a cautious voice. “What’s going on?”

“Well, you see—”

A big red-faced man poked Toby in the chest with the barrel of a musket. “What’s going on is that we have guns. And you’ll listen to us.”

“I don’t think so,” Bel said, turning to stare up at the man. “I’ve just traveled three hours by carriage at a thundering clip”—she turned to her husband—“and Toby, you know how I hate traveling by carriage.”

“Yes,” he said, flashing a gorgeous smile. “I know.”

She turned back to the man with a gun. “Anyhow, I’ve suffered through three hours of torment just to speak with my husband, and guns or no guns, he’s going to listen to me.”

“Bel,” Gray said in a low voice, “perhaps you should—”

“Dolly, please don’t take this the wrong way. But why are you even here?”

“I’ve been asking him the same thing,” Toby said.

“As have I,” Lord Kendall said dryly. “Perhaps we’d have received a more satisfactory answer if we called him Dolly.”

“Dolly?” A few of the men with guns began to snicker.

Bel clenched her hands into fists and dropped her gaze to the ground. Why was it that whenever she had something important to say, the people around her couldn’t stop laughing?

Her eyes caught on Toby’s walking stick, where it lay at her feet. That must have been what she’d tripped over earlier.

“Enough,” the red-faced man shouted.

The laughter ceased.

The man continued, “Beggin’ pardon, my lady, but Sir Toby doesn’t have time to listen to you just now. Sir Toby is going to make his way onto that hustings platform and make a little announcement. Or else.”

“Or else what?” Bel asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? Or else I’ll shoot him,” the man ground out, jabbing Toby again with the gun.

“Oh, please,” Bel said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not going to shoot anyone.”

“My lady,” he snarled, his face reddening further, “I suggest you go back to your—”

She never did hear that suggestion in its entirety. Bel crouched, grabbed Toby’s walking stick, and came up swinging. She smacked the oaf in the head with its blunt ivory knob, and he slumped to the ground with a thud, unconscious.

Bel yelled at him anyway. “I’m speaking to my husband, you … you … Oh, you’re not worth it.” She held the stick aloft and turned to Toby. “You were right. It does come in handy.”

“Yes.” A burst of laughter escaped him. “Yes, it does.”

She looked around at the other armed men, who had all lowered their weapons, seemingly bereft at the loss of their leader. Then she looked back down at the unconscious brute. “Did I truly just do that?”