A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(102)

“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 “I have it on good authority, he won’t make it out here until after you’ve withdrawn your candidacy.”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.”