The Belligerent Miss Boynton

By Kasey Michaels

A Kasey Michaels Alphabet Regency Romance Classic.

Amanda Boynton is set on escaping her marriage-minded stepfather, refusing to be "sold" on the open market. She plans a grand exit from Society, first making a spectacle of herself at Almacks in order to humiliate the man, and then leaving London for — well, she hasn't quite figured out that part of her plan yet.

Jared Delaney, Lord Storm, is both intrigued and appalled when he hears of Amanda's plan (or should we say her lack of a plan), and decides she needs a companion, a protector, as she flees Mayfair in the dead of night.

But once on the road with the belligerent Miss Boynton, his plan begins to change. A small seduction is one thing, but Jared's thoughts quickly turn to a more permanent arrangement...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kasey Michaels
• Release date: Mar 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452435879

Kasey Michaels

USA TODAY bestselling author Kasey Michaels is the author of more than one hundred books. She has earned four starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, and has won an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award and several other commendations for her contemporary and historical novels. Kasey resides with her family in Pennsylvania. Readers may contact Kasey via her website at www.KaseyMichaels.com and find her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorKaseyMichaels.

Book preview

The Belligerent Miss Boynton

A Regency Novel

Kasey Michaels

Copyright 2011 Kathryn A. Seidick

Originally published 1982.

www.KaseyMichaels.com

Cover art by Tammy Seidick

www.TammySeidickDesign.com

Digital design by A Thirsty Mind Book Design

* * *

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Titles

Meet Kasey Michaels

Kasey’s Alphabet Regency Romance Classics

Now Available as Digital Editions:

The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane

The Playful Lady Penelope

The Haunted Miss Hampshire

The Belligerent Miss Boynton

The Lurid Lady Lockport

The Rambunctious Lady Royston

The Mischievous Miss Murphy

Moonlight Masquerade

A Difficult Disguise

The Savage Miss Saxon

Nine Brides and One Witch: A Regency Novella Duo

The Somerville Farce

The Wagered Miss Winslow

Review – The Belligerent Miss Boynton:

Surely one of the best regency romances of any year... a story one hopes will simply go on and on... the most enchanting characters to be encountered in years. — Affaire de Coeur

Prologue

As far as the Beau Monde was concerned, the center of the Civilized World in 1811—now that Paris was lamentably in the clutches of that upstart Corsican and no longer open to them—was their own fair metropolis of London. After all, the metropolis had everything. Fashion. Frivolity. Foibles.

And best of all—it could boast of the most delicious gossip.

The first few gray, damp months of the year had already produced many newsworthy bon mots, all debated and discussed and dissected within the drawing rooms of the mighty few who presided over Society with wills and rules of iron.

The Prince of Wales, charming Florizel himself, had at last wheedled Parliament into passing the Regency Bill, finally gaining for himself some little bit of power, and dazzling his long–suffering creditors with his new importance—all while tumbling ever more deeply into their debt. But none of that was more interesting than speculation over the identity of his newest mistress.

That pesky Little Corporal might now claim most of Europe as his own, but England still ruled the seas, and as long as French silks and brandy could be smuggled into the country, Society glibly ignored the hubbub across the Channel.

Oh, no. Of much more importance to those pampered pets of Mayfair were the current on-dits about the eccentricities of, among others, that odd but harmless peer, Sir Lumley Skeffington. Better known as Skiffy, the dear gentleman had taken to penning mediocre plays and—horror of horrors—painting and perfuming himself with a liberal hand before strolling about the town in satin suits of varied but equally ghastly hues.

The ton tittered behind their goose-skin fans as they made absurd conjectures as to the persons Lord Alvanley had in mind when he’d scribbled in his Club betting book: Lord Alvanley bets Sir Joseph Coply twenty guineas that a certain person outlives another certain person. Could it be Prinney and poor mad King George themselves his lordship had in mind? And who was to outlive whom? Ah, how delicious!

As the Spring Season neared, Society’s attention became more and more centered on opening night at Almacks. Only the most lofty of their number were allowed entrance, of course, to drink its insipid warm refreshments, play at tame card games for tamer stakes, and dance to tunes a clutch of weary musicians halfheartedly ground out hour after endless hour. Here the matrimonial hopes of the maiden and the aspirations of her mama could be piqued and satisfied or mercilessly dashed forever in the space of one country dance.

And it was on the opening night of Almacks in that first flush of the Regency that a most deliciously titillating charade was to be played out before the avid eyes of this same exalted, easily titillated Society that prized a scandale above all things...

Chapter One

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.

This was becoming almost embarrassingly easy. The chit was more than half won and Jared knew it. Not about to let his opportunity slip past him, he turned to Mrs. Halsey and requested her to allow him the pleasure of Miss Boynton’s hand in the next set.

His tone brooked no denial, and the flustered Mrs. Halsey quickly agreed—for even little gray mice knew better than to naysay the wealthy, powerful, dangerous Lord Storm. Besides, she needed a few moments alone to think up a suitable story to tell Amanda’s stepfather and her employer, Peregrine Denton, when the man asked for her report on the success or failure of the evening. Saying that the child had danced with Lord Storm might keep her from being turned off without so much as a recommendation. If Miss Amanda would only be cooperative, that is.

Unfortunately for the now hopeful companion, Miss Amanda immediately proved that being cooperative was the very last thing on her mind as, scenting a sensation in the making, Jared said, I beg your pardon, Miss Boynton, but you may not dance until you’ve been approved by the Patronesses. He looked at her levelly. Do you have you this permission?"

Of course, Amanda announced calmly, and without a blink to announce what could only be an out-and-out fib.

Oh, laws, laws. Mentally Mrs. Halsey shredded her letter of recommendation, packed her shabby portmanteau, and resigned herself to Lady Forsythe and her three pug dogs, two of which had the most unfortunate tendency to become nervous on the carpets. Added to these problems, she felt certain she was near to swooning again, for the room was definitely beginning to swim before her eyes. Miss Amanda, as we have only just arrived, you know you have no such permission. Why, you haven’t even been introduced. Think of your stepfather, how desperately frantic he was to secure you a voucher, how angry he will be!

That pleasant thought is uppermost in my mind, Mrs. Halsey, Amanda countered sweetly as she held her hand out to Jared. Are you game, my lord, or shall silly ton edicts force you to abandon the course at the first fence?

Jared didn’t know what audacious rig his companion was running, but he was not one to shy at any hazard. Why, he might even be barred from Almacks himself—which could only be seen in the way of a heavenly blessing. He offered her his arm, and she laid her small, gloved hand on his sleeve. Ah, another rule broken and added to the mound of sins piled high at my door. We shall both be served up for breakfast all over Mayfair tomorrow, you know, he pointed out, bending toward her to whisper the words into her small, shell-like ear. In other words, my dear Miss Boynton, I would not miss the next few minutes for the world.

As long as you’re aware of your own danger, my lord, Amanda whispered back at him.

Oh, I’m perfectly aware of my own danger, Miss Boynton, as you so artlessly put it, Jared replied smoothly. Although I seriously doubt you are.

At his words, and most probably in direct response to his tone, she hesitated—only for a second—then lifted her chin and moved forward with him once more.

Together they headed toward the dance floor. Jared shook his head in warning in the direction of the approaching, clearly irate Countess of Jersey—Almacks leading and most feared Patroness, and a woman whose aging but still lovely face had turned an unbecoming crimson at the sight of Amanda’s gown.

Both Amanda and Jared patently ignored the gasps and turned heads all around them as they joined the other dancers already moving through the first steps of a silly country dance. Jared could feel the tension in Amanda as their hands touched briefly—but her smile was brave as she drifted away into the first movement of the dance. The girl had spirit—pluck to the backbone, by God.

As the movements of the dance brought them together once more, Jared whispered, We’re causing quite a stir, Miss Boynton.

I am more than faintly cognizant of that fact, my lord.

Encouraged, he lingered, to tease her further. Your gown is as enchanting as it is inappropriate, Miss Boynton.

You flatter me, Lord Storm, she replied as he easily maneuvered her off into the line of dancers. Inappropriate was the most I aimed for.

Giving up any pretense of keeping to the steps, he placed himself directly in front of her. He tried again, for some reason unhappy with the notion that she could remain so cool, so composed. You’ll be denied access to these hallowed portals from this night forward, and be shunned by all but the most daring of the ton, Miss Boynton.

Really? Then to that happy news I say, huzzah, my lord.

Laughing out loud at this pithy answer, Jared cast an eye toward the rank of dowagers. I wouldn’t advise that you look in her direction just now, Miss Boynton, but your overburdened companion has swooned yet again.

She faltered, taking a single step in Mrs. Halsey direction, then shook her head and stood her ground. A pity, but unavoidable, my Lord Storm.

He cocked an eyebrow and looked down into her face as a few of the dancers began muttering that Storm and his horrible companion were making a mockery of a most civil dance. Taking her elbow, Jared deliberately leered at her, some devil inside him wishing to see just how far the little vixen was prepared to go to disgrace herself. You seem to have planned this evening’s exhibition with great care. Not that I am unwilling to help. A kiss between us now would send half the ladies in the room to swooning—if you’re willing?

Amanda pulled her elbow free and began walking from the floor, leaving Jared no choice but to follow along as she warned, Have a care, my lord, or I shall further embarrass myself by slapping that silly grin from your equally silly face. The dance was your idea.

Jared threw back his head and laughed again as he commandeered her elbow once more and directed her through the now staring throng and toward a secluded couch half-hidden by a hideous, towering plant. You delight me, Miss Boynton, and for that I’d gladly suffer your punishment. You’re definitely your father’s daughter, you know. I remember that he had the much same flair for the ridiculous, and an equally fiery temper.

Amanda sat down with a small thump, pulling out a fan she opened with a snap, to begin fanning herself furiously. I thank you for the compliment, my lord, for I can only consider it as such, she said, her voice losing much of its hard edge at this mention of her father. I really must apologize for involving a friend of my father’s in this scheme. I hadn’t planned on anyone being brave enough to partner me this evening. The gown, you understand, was to be sufficient outrage.

You can do nothing to my reputation that hasn’t already been done by myself, Amanda. Pardon me, but I feel I can call you Amanda because I must have seen you at your father’s home when you were a child. Do you mind?

She shrugged her delightful shoulders, dismissing this new informality as hardly worthy of notice. I can’t see why it should since, after tonight, you won’t see me at all. That said, I have absolutely no idea why I’m still sitting here with you. Really, I must be going.

Jared looked at her intently as they sat side-by-side on the uncomfortable couch. Going? Going where? And why have you done this to yourself? It wouldn’t take the most intelligent man in England to detect an anger beneath your show of bravado, an anger that tells me you’re in some distress.

Amanda scanned the room to see that all eyes were on them. She had not planned to remain past a few minutes and wished fervently that the man beside her would stop his infernal questions and conveniently disappear.

My distress is not your concern, Lord Storm, not that I believe you give a fig for anything save your own curiosity, she answered curtly, anxious to get on with the next step in her plan. Please escort me back to Mrs. Halsey so that I can remove her before she goes into another taking. My purpose for coming here—and it is mine and doesn’t belong to the world—has been served.

She made to rise, but Jared quickly grabbed her elbow and sharply pulled her back down beside him, nearly knocking her breath from her. Thinking she may have badly underestimated both the man and his mood, but not really caring all that much, she warned tightly, This grows tiresome. Unhand me now, my lord, before I do you a mischief. I wish to retire.

Don’t try to rattle me off in that high-nosed tone, young lady, Jared warned straight back at her, his anger not quite matching her own, but still flaring through him at the thought of watching this intriguing young woman walk out of his life. I demand an explanation of your actions, since it appears I’ve lent an at least minor part in standing the haut ton on its collective ear. Not that I mind, may I add, he finished with a wicked grin that set his sky–blue eyes twinkling.

Amanda reluctantly settled herself. If there was nothing else for it, she supposed she could humor the fellow for a moment, then be on her way. Oh, very well. I really don’t have time for this, you know. But since I don’t put it past you to restrain me physically, I suppose I have to tell you that I’ve appeared here tonight in this outrageous gown expressly in order to thwart my stepfather.

"Thwart your stepfather?

Reviews for The Belligerent Miss Boynton

[jean_sexton-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This lighthearted Regency was a good choice for just before Valentine's Day. It was more what I expect from Kasey Michaels -- a heroine I could like, a hero that is perfect for her, true love, and amusing dialogue. Add in a twist of danger and likable secondary characters and this was exactly what I wanted.If you like Regencies that are the more traditional style (a hint of sex with the screen fading to black as it were), you will probably enjoy this book. I am on to read The Lurid Lady Lockport as that features one of the sidekicks from this book.