by Rye Hart
She shook her head. Lord Richard bent his head to hers. Her lips were generous and pliant beneath his lips, which delivered the kiss of a man who had experienced the charms of other women, but were seeking something new this time, a physical response which blended purity and passion.
She tried to gently disentangle herself from his embrace, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Miss Lockwood,” he chided. “If you do not hold me, I may fall. It would be on your conscience. You must stop crying or I will begin to believe that I have completely lost my knowledge of how to kiss. Have I?”
She shook her head.
“Just to be sure,” he said, his dark eyes caressing her face, “I must kiss you again. But you must not cry, my love.”
She let him kiss her. It was a way to say goodbye, a way to create a memory that could sustain her when she left him so that he could return to the life of an Earl’s son. When she was back at the hospital, working as a nurse, she would remember this moment when his arms were tight around her and his lips claimed her as a woman worthy of his love.
“Cressida,” he murmured, his lips buried in the wealth of her hair. “I never knew that there could be a woman like you. Why are you silent, my love?”
She laughed shakily. “You seem to be managing quite well without my uttering a word, Lord Richard.”
“Will you not call me by my name as I have used yours?”
She shook her head. To abandon his title, that barrier which reminded her that he was above her station and beyond her reach, would be to invite peril. To let herself believe for even a brief second that Lord Richard’s gratitude for her work meant that he loved her was folly.
“Perhaps not today,” he said firmly. “But you will find that I am not easily dissuaded from my goal. You will call me Richard one day. Don’t fear,” he said, holding up his hand as she began to protest. “It will not be today. I know how to plan my battle strategy.” Taking his handkerchief, he wiped each tear from her face until the trail was gone and her face was dry again. “You see, my love, I have never appeared before a lady in such humble dress,” he told her, looking down at his garb with an expression of disbelief. “You must never tell anyone, my love, that you saw me in my shirtsleeves.”
“It’s a secret that you will have to keep, Lord Richard, when you are once again in the company of your comrades at your club.”
‘My club,” he repeated. “Do you know, in all this time, I have not given a thought to my club? I have only—“ his voice broke off and he grasped the table. “I fear I am not quite ready to stand for long on my own.”
“I’ll get your chair—“
“No!” he said emphatically and sat down on the chair by the window. “I know that I am not ready to go without the chair yet, but just now, do not expect me to return to it. You cannot understand what it means to be dependent upon a chair with wheels because one’s legs have failed. These past months have been hell. I know that I was unreasonable and ungentlemanly to you; I beg your pardon. Without your help, I would still be that bitter and broken man. You have healed more than my limbs, my love. You have healed my heart.”
Cressida took a deep breath. “There is more healing to be done, Lord Richard. You must continue to walk so that your legs are strengthened, because at the end of the week, you must ride El Diablo. Your arms are strong enough to handle the reins. By continuing to work on your lower extremities, you will be able to reassure El Diablo that you are strong enough to master him.”
Lord Richard shook his head. “You are not a rider, my love. El Diablo has no master. He allowed me to ride him; I understand that now. He will again. But I was not, and never will be, his master. I learned something else, something that I tried to explain to my father when he said that a husband must master his household the way a rider rules his horse. But I have learned that it’s the fortunate husband who had a wife that is capable of throwing him should she need to assert her own position.” There was a gentle current of humor in his voice. “I once thought, as my father does, that the husband is by nature intended to be the lord over his family and his possessions. But to have a wife who will not be cowed by her husband is to be a man blessed with a strong woman at his side.”
“Lady Constance is a strong woman,” Cressida commented.
“My mother? She never challenges my father or upbraids him. She is a very docile wife.”
“She is a master strategist in the times when I have seen her, and so effective in her efforts that your father does not recognize how much she steers him.”
“Do you think so? I must pay closer attention. Tonight, perhaps, at supper. I think we shall surprise them; what do you think?”
“I think that surprising them at supper is an excellent idea.”
“I meant that you and I would surprise them together.”
“No,” she said. ‘That would not be fair to your parents. This is the time for you and your family. It was your father, remember, who hired me. And it was your father who purchased the wheelchair even though you originally refused to use it. Let them have this night.”
“Very well,” he said reluctantly. “They shall come to love you as I do for what you have accomplished.”
The Earl was prepared to render his gratitude to Cressida the next morning when he sent Louis to bring her to the morning room. Lady Constance and her embroidery were present as well, but her hands were empty, not busy as they had generally been. Both the Earl and his wife were smiling.
“Miss Lockwood,” the Earl began, “my son walked into the dining room last night without assistance. That is due to your work. You have been, I am sure, a virtual tyrant on his behalf, but I am no longer a doubter of your ability and I assure you that I shall gladly give a testimonial for you to use when you go to your next patient. I have never known a woman like you.”
“My husband and I will forever be in your debt, Miss Lockwood,” said Lady Constance.
“With all due respect, sir, I must share the credit. Without Rheims, last night would never have taken place. He has devotedly served your son’s needs. Your son also deserves accolades for his efforts. He did not, as you know, welcome my presence. But he met the challenge. He is a man of whom to be proud. By overcoming his physical disability, he has discovered resources of strength within himself that most people never have cause to unearth. I shall never forget him.”
Chapter Ten
As the staff prepared to array the manor in holiday adornment, Cressida was packing in her room. Lady Constance had prevailed upon her husband to alter his plans for a Christmas sojourn from Lady Lenore, and he had agreed that they would open the December festivities with a supper, to which other guests, in addition to the Crittendons, would be invited. If matters went well, as he was confident that they would, the Crittendons would be invited to spend the holidays at Pennington Manor. Lord Richard knew of the supper, although not the guest list, and supported the notion now that he was himself again. He and Rheims were in London, visiting his tailor, but were expected to be back before tomorrow evening, when the supper was scheduled.
Cressida intended to be gone tomorrow morning. She had already made arrangements to be taken to the inn where she would board the coach for a return to St. Anselm’s and, in time, her next patient. She had sent word to her father that she would be coming back home, having successfully accomplished her work at Pennington Manor. She packed neatly and efficiently, as she did everything. She did not allow herself to cry, or to think back on the tender moments of her time with Lord Richard. She would amputate this episode of her life as if it had never happened. She would be gone before Lord Richard returned so that there would be no goodbyes. She had explained her plan to the Earl, who agreed that her presence was no longer required and one did not expect an employee to linger over farewells. Her work was done, payment had been made, her duty was discharged. Lady Constance said nothing, but her eyes paid close attention as Cressida spoke.
“My dear Miss Lockwood,” she said when Cressida had finished.
“You have given us something which no amount of money could adequately recompense. ‘Unto us a child is born; unto us a son is given’,” she quoted. “This season, those words from Scripture mean more than they ever have before.”
Cressida’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Lady Constance,” she whispered before retreating from the room.
She was inside the coach the next morning, crammed in her seat by the window when she saw the powerful body of a chestnut horse with a black mane and tail pass by, followed by a more sedate mount. She saw Lord Richard turn in his seat to jest at Rheims for his laggard pace. Cressida pressed herself compactly against her seat so that she would not be visible from outside, but she needn’t have worried. Lord Richard had no interest in the stage on its way to London. Restored to his former life, the world he knew could once again resume its familiar schedule.
At Pennington Manor, Richard strode into the breakfast room, stripping off his gloves to fill a plate from the sideboard. “Good morning, Mama, Papa. We left London early this morning and I’m a starving man.”
“I thought to see you later today,” the Earl said. “You were never an early riser.”
“There’s much to do. I had a successful day yesterday with my tailor and I shall probably have to hock the ancestral jewels to pay for it,” Lord Richard said genially.
The Earl smiled. “I fancy the family vault will sustain the damage.”
“It’s quite amazing, really. It was good to see London again, of course, but all the same, I was in haste to return home.”
“Perhaps you are eager to resume your social life among the others of our standing, and you are looking forward to our guests tonight.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Lord Richard said, spearing a strip of bacon. “Miss Lockwood is quite correct; Mrs. Mays truly does prepare the best bacon I’ve ever eaten. I must go to her after I’m finished and commend her on her gastronomic insights.”
“Miss Lockwood is gone. She is on her way back to London.”
Lord Richard stared at his father, his bacon forgotten upon the fork in his hand. “Gone? What do you mean? Why would she depart so precipitously?”
“Her work is done. Why should she linger? Besides, she recognizes her station. She understands, as she should, that we are having guests tonight and she would be in the way.”
Lord Richard put down his fork. “On her way back to London, you say? I must have passed the coach.” He rose from his chair. “I must catch up to her.”
“Richard! What on earth are you saying? We are having guests tonight. Lady Lenore will be among them. You cannot abandon your duties as a host to run after a nursemaid who neglected to bid you farewell.”
“Father, Mother, Cressida Lockwood is much more than a nursemaid. She is the woman I love. I realized how shallow my feelings for Lady Lenore were. And how shallow were her feelings for me. I did not know the Crittendons were on the guest list for tonight, or I would have spoken sooner. I have never told anyone before what it felt like to be helpless. That day, when El Diablo threw me and I lay on the ground, unable to get up, I was ashamed. My fiancée was standing above me, telling me to get up and I could not. She could not understand why I did not simply rise to my feet and I could not explain to her I was unable to do so. I sent her away to tell my parents that I had been injured and that was genuine. But I wanted her to get away from me. I didn’t want to see myself as helpless and weak in her eyes. I do not expect you to understand, but in Cressida’s eyes, I am the stronger because I overcame my weakness. I must bring her back. She will be my wife, Father. Can you accept that?”
Before his father spoke, Lady Constance said, “We will accept your choice of bride, Richard. How could we not? Miss Lockwood is a phenomenal woman and I applaud your decision.”
The Earl was thunderstruck. “She is a nursemaid!”
Lady Constance got up from the table. “She will be our daughter-in-law, dearest. But Richard, you must take Rheims with you, and you must speak to her father. I will make your excuses for tonight.”
Richard was already on his way, calling for Rheims, donning his multi-caped cloak and heading out the door on his way to the stables. Rheims, alerted to the errand, chose a swifter mount this time.
The coach moved slowly, making it no effort for them to overtake it on horseback. The driver, convinced that he was being attacked by highwaymen, pulled the horses to a stop and begged them not to shoot.
“We are not armed, my good man. I merely need to speak to one of your passengers.” In a loud, ringing voice, Lord Richard called out Cressida’s name.
The other passengers gazed at her with a mixture of alarm and interest. Embarrassed, Cressida tried in vain to shrink back against her seat, but then the stagecoach door opened and Richard stood before her.
“Miss Lockwood,” he said formally, although his eyes were merry. “I have something for you.”
He took from his pocket a white feather and handed it to her. “You gave me this when we first met and you thought me too cowardly to undertake what you had planned for me. If you do not have the courage to continue on the path that we have begun, I shall be forced to call you craven.”
Now the guests were watching in rapt fascination as if they were attending the theatre. Cressida, her face burning, looked at Lord Richard helplessly. “My lord,” she began. “I am on my way back to London, to my father, and to my work. That is my place.”
“Cressida, I really do not wish to propose to you on the highway with an audience. I would much rather do so in private, with your father’s blessing. Now I demand that you get out of this coach or I shall brand you a coward. We must hurry to London so that I may meet with your father and ask for his permission to marry you. Will you leave the coach now, or must I carry you out?”
“You are making a spectacle of me,” she said, aware that all eyes were on her.
“So I am. But there will be more eyes gazing upon you when we exchange our wedding vows, so I suppose you had best accustom yourself to it.”
He held out his hand. Hesitantly, she took it and accepted his help in descending from the coach.
Lord Richard’s gaze consumed her with an expression of delight, pride, and the ownership of a man who prized what he had attained. “Up on El Diablo now,” he commanded. “He will carry us both to London. Rheims is our chaperone.”
“I do not ride, my lord,” she said.
“In this,” he replied, taking her into his arms, “I am the tutor. But if you persist in calling me by my title and not by my name, I shall make you walk to London.”
“I cannot sit astride a horse, not in these skirts!” she said, aghast.
“My love, we shall be riding so quickly that no one will have time to gaze upon what are undoubtedly most alluring ankles.” He held out his hand. “El Diablo is fond of you. He and I have reached an understanding. He knows that he threw me once. He knows that I will not let him do so again. We are in accord. I have chosen for my wife a woman who can, should she choose, throw me. But I will give her no reason to do so. Are we in accord?”
She raised her head to find that lips were waiting. “Rheims, oblige me by fastening your gaze upon that tree yonder for a short time.”
“Yes, my lord,” Rheims said, grinning. “It’s a fine tree.”
“Now, Cressida, we have time for a kiss before we make our way to London. Pray do not waste any time in protesting or we shall be delayed.”
She let him embrace her, his arms strong around her, his kiss a pledge of strength and love. She kissed him in return, marveling at what was transpiring. He broke off the kiss with an expression of triumph.
Helping her onto El Diablo, Lord Richard instructed her. “Sit like so, and I will ensure that you do not fall.” He got up on El Diablo, taking the reins and keeping her solidly between his arms. “To London and to love!”
Lord Richard requested Cressida’s hand in marriage just as he intended and the two were married in three months’ time. They had a momentous ceremony
which ended with the beautiful couple being whisked away into the sunset, on a carriage led by El Diablo.
The End
Second Chances
Chapter One
Biker gangs. What comes to your mind when you hear ‘biker gangs’? I bet I can guess: Wild sex, drugs, guns, and violence, right? Well, maybe that’s how most people see it, but it’s a little different when you grow up around them.
My name is Kisha Monroe and I am a child of one of America’s largest biker gangs. Most people assume that biker gangs are out for trouble. Movie scenes of kidnappings and dangerous drug transactions flash before their eyes.
Now, don’t get me wrong, a lot of them are filled with sick, demented bastards ready to screw, shot and pound on anything moving, but some of us consist of a descent group of human beings, made to be tough by our environment.
My father was an amazing man. His name was Brian and he raised my brother and me to be strong leaders because he knew that one day we would take over the gang. Damien is my older brother, and since he was the oldest he took over leadership of the gang, but that didn’t mean I was sidelined and left to do nothing.
Ever since I was a little girl I’d been fascinated with the weapons my dad kept around the house. I started going to the shooting range when I was ten and had my first knife collection by the time I was thirteen. My dad never stopped me either. He thought my interest in the weapons was a useful skill to have and so he let me go about my business with little to no interruption.
Just because we were trying to do good for our community, didn’t mean we had no business being violent. Weapons and fighting were a necessity. Whoever said ‘violence is never the answer’ has obviously never dealt with a guy whose been beating his wife and kids every day for the past ten years, or a rival gang trying to take over their territory.
The world isn’t sunshine and butterflies and the sooner people figure that out, the better off they’re going to be. The thing people often ask us is “why didn’t you call the cops?” Well because sometimes the cops can’t do anything.
