Patrica Rice by The English Heiress Page B

for it, my lady, ’tis blown to bits, it is. They’s some as gone to fetch the phaeton. ’Twill be but just a few minutes, my lady. I can’t say as I know what happened. I didn’t see nuthin’. It was there, and then it ’twasn’t. Never saw the like in all my born days.”
    He would no doubt have rambled on in this fashion, but Blanche had recovered enough to know what she must do. Setting aside the glass of wine, she thanked the proprietor, murmured a few reassuring words to her driver and told him to sit and have a glass of the excellent wine. Then she strode past all her protesting protectors to the street outside.
    As she expected, she found Michael crawling around the remains of the demolished vehicle. The horses calmly munched oats someone had provided. Kicking the sole of his boots, Blanche ignored his oath as Michael bumped his head on the underpinning. “What happened?” she demanded.
    He slid from beneath the charred wheels, dusted himself off, and stood before answering. Michael wasn’t a large man. He didn’t tower over her as so many men did, but his chest had been wide and solid when she’d rested against it. And she shouldn’t be thinking these things when she wanted to kick him.
    “Someone planted gunpowder under the carriage, ran a fuse into the vicar’s garden, and set fire to it,” he stated bluntly.
    The knowledge struck Blanche like a blow, even though she’d mentally prepared for it. “Why?” she asked.
    “Neville may wish to wring your neck, but I can’t think he would resort to blowing up your carriage,” Michael said dryly. “It’s not quite his style. Whoever blew it up knew you weren’t in it. They just wanted to terrify you. Or slow you down. I don’t like thinking I’ve led you into trouble by bringing Miss MacOwen to your home, but that’s the way it looks right now.”
    Blanche studied his troubled expression. Michael didn’t mind lying to suit his cause, but she didn’t think he was lying now. “Fiona’s in danger. I knew she was. We must find her, Michael.”
    “ I must find her. You are going home and locking all the doors and windows and setting guards around the clock.”
    Two years ago, there had been a time when everyone had feared for her life, rightfully so, since she had almost died. But the villain had been caught and the reason for his villainy no longer existed. She would not return to those horrible days of hiding.
    Blanche waved an impatient hand. “That’s ridiculous. They don’t want me. They want Fiona. If they think I have her, the first place they’ll look is Anglesey. I’m going with you.”
    “You’ll do no such thing. You can go to Dillian if you fear Anglesey.”
    Blanche couldn’t remember ever actually arguing with Michael before. He usually avoided arguments by disappearing into the woodwork anytime someone disagreed with him. She supposed he could find no woodwork to hide behind here. His light eyes burned with the fire of determination, but she had no intention of standing around listening to male ultimatums. She would go with Michael, just as Dillian had once gone with Gavin. The idea buoyed her immediately.
    “If you will not take me with you, Michael Lawrence O’Toole, I shall take myself. I know where Half Moon Street is as well as you. I’ll find Elton Alley easily enough. I can hire Runners and search every house if I wish. I can do anything I blamed well want to. Now what do you think of that?”
    “Faith, and I’m after thinking you’re needing that caning your faither never gave ye,” he mocked. “And I’m knowing just the man to do it.”
    “You wouldn’t lift a gun to a tiger,” Blanche answered scornfully. “I’ll ask the vicar’s wife for a habit and sidesaddle. It won’t take me ten minutes. And if you don’t wait for me, I’ll go on my own. I have no intention of sitting here surrounded by Anglesey crests, waiting for someone to take another shot at me. I can assume a new identity as easily as