by Claudy Conn
“You will have two problems if you keep trying to track her.”
Was he threatening her? It felt like he was threatening her, and yet, she didn’t really feel threatened. What then? Was he saying that he would be a problem for her if she didn’t stop tracking Deadly Moon? Why? And if that was so, well then, he seemed to think a great deal of himself, and something told Nikki that he probably had cause to do so.
He was not like any vamps she had ever encountered. She also wondered if Deadly Moon was his lover. She eyed him speculatively, but before she could retort he had her shoulders and brought her in close. A sizzling, spidery electricity tickled the air between them.
“I have never seen anything like you, Nikki Walker. From the top of your fiery head to your dainty and dangerous feet, you are unique. You look at me with eyes the deepest shade of blue I have ever encountered in all my four hundred years, and it would be a shame to see them permanently closed.”
“Are you threatening to do that—permanently close my eyes?” Nikki shook her head, “Then go ahead, have at me, because nothing is going to stop me. My brother’s eyes were even more blue than mine, and his were permanently closed before his time … I don’t mean to suffer the same fate … at least not until I get my ounce of justice for him.” She held herself stiffly aloof. “So that brings us to my rules … the first being, stay out of my way, Damon Drummond, and perhaps I will let you live.” It was bluster, she knew. This vamp could do her in with the blink of his eye.
He smirked at her and said, “You will get yourself killed if you throw words like that at some vamp you simply cannot take because he has age and experience, and there are some out there, slayer, that you cannot take.” He let her go and wagged a finger at her, “So you want to know if I am threatening you. Fine. Call it what you will, it is still a warning. If you pursue Deadly Moon, you will find yourself a target because your presence will become obvious in their world, and these are bad times in Dublin.”
“You don’t know me. You are not concerned for me, but for Deadly Moon, and so everything you say—jaded. I keep my own council.”
“Relieve yourself of the illusion that you are any threat to her. You are like a fly she can swat out of her way.”
“Then why are you here—warning me away?”
“I have my reasons.”
“You have wasted your time.”
“I see that …” He suddenly reached for her shoulders and pulled her into his arms. He bent to her face and whispered something that made her toes curl, not because she heard the words but because his low, husky, and sensuous voice rocked her hormones into place and made her body tingle.
She knew all at once that he was going to kiss her. He was actually going to kiss her, and she couldn’t stop herself from wanting that kiss. What the hell was wrong with her?
She should stomp on his foot—kick him in the groan, wallop him one across the face, and break the mood. She had the strength, the skill … and absolutely no inclination to do so.
His mouth was on hers, at first gently and deliciously. She had no will of her own as her lips betrayed her good sense and parted to invite his tongue to stay awhile. And that was exactly what she got—a kiss that drowned her in passion and filled her head with exploding rockets. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t pull away, and she didn’t want to.
Gone! Zap—he was gone faster than any vampire she had ever witnessed on the move.
She stood for a long moment, and the question reared its ugly head and demanded, Were you under a vampire trance? The answer was a big fat no. It would have been such an easy answer, and one that could have wiped the shame from her conscience, but it wouldn’t have been true.
Slayers couldn’t be mesmerized by vamps—slayers were immune to most vampire magic. The next question sent the blood to her cheeks. You wanted the vampire Damon Drummond to kiss you—didn’t you, Nikki Walker?
If you enjoyed the Regency setting of Prince Prelude—Legend,
try a taste of one of Claudy Conn’s Risqué Regency romances:
Oh, Cherry Ripe
~ One ~
CHERYL ELTON OPENED the door to her stepmother’s sitting room and peeped around the corner of the bright and handsomely furnished room before she smiled sheepishly and asked, “You wanted to see me, mama?”
Lady Elton’s expression was grave and her lips set as she said in a reproving tone, “Come sit, Cheryl.”
Cherry Elton did what she was told, not because she was an obedient miss, but because she wanted to stave off the trouble she saw ahead.
Her stepmother affectionately brushed Cherry’s long, thick, black hair away from her face and clucked. “I suppose you should start to wear your hair up most of the time now … you certainly are of age.”
“Yes, Mama, but I like it loose.”
Lady Elton frowned and sighed, took a moment to smooth out the skirt of her gray satin day gown, and then looked into Cherry’s bright aqua-blue eyes. “I want you to listen to what I have to say before you get yourself in a state.”
“Mama, I know now that what I did was not quite the thing—” Cherry hurriedly began to explain. She knew this time she was in trouble.
“Not the thing!” spluttered Lady Elton, interrupting her. “Hopping on Lord Melville’s stallion in the middle of Hyde Park—in your walking clothes—and then riding the animal astride with your skirt hiked up as you raced Sir Peter for all the world to see … not the thing? Why, you miserable wretch of a girl! How can you sit there and look so innocent? If your father were alive …”
Cheryl leaned forward and hugged her stepmother. “I am sorry.” But even as her stepmother might have relaxed had she left it at that, Cherry added, “Had I been a man and done that, I would have been called top sawyer … but just because I am a female—”
“A man would not have had to hike up his skirts!” Lady Elton snapped. “Cherry love, what am I to do with you?” She put up her hand to stop her stepdaughter from answering. “Enough. You know the rules that govern society. You know that what you do affects not only your own standing but mine as well in that same society. How dare you, child.”
This tore at Cherry. She loved her stepmother and meant her no ill. As far back as she could remember her stepmother had always loved her and her father and had been very good to her. “Mama, I didn’t think past the moment … Peter was being the devil of a tease … and there was Melville’s black looking so very fine and inviting and Melville goading me by saying he was too much horse for me to handle … and …”
“Yes, impossible creature, I do see, but that is where a young woman of your breeding and standing demurs and shames a gentleman into behaving with more decorum towards her.” Lady Elton clucked her tongue, and Cherry could see her mama’s thoughts racing. “However, I have the solution, and amazingly enough, he still wants you.”
“What are you talking about? He—who still wants me?”
“I knew that he was more than mildly interested, but I never dreamed he would actually come up to scratch … and then, Lady Jersey said you would be refused vouchers to Almack’s because of your recent hoydenish behavior … That awful woman never liked me—I daresay she was looking for the chance to … but never mind, all will soon be well.”
“Jersey said she would refuse me entrée to Almack’s?” Cherry returned on a hushed note. She always thought the Haute Ton hostess liked her.
“No, no, not Sarah but the other one.”
“Princess Esterhazy? Stiff-rumped—”
“And that is another thing—your language. You spout terms like any man—stiff-rumped, indeed.”
“Well, I don’t care about Almack’s anyway,” Cherry answered.
“Then why are you pouting? This won’t do. You shan’t be admitted there this season, you dreadful girl. However, all is not lost. You will be married to the catch of the century, and they just might change their minds about you yet. No matter, you will be busy enough this season with your new life.”
“Married?” Ch
erry jumped to her dainty feet. “I won’t! No—what are you talking about?” Had she indicated any partiality for any of her suitors? No, she had not. How could her stepmother do this? It was absurd. She had refused no less than five offers in the past eight months. What then—this offer had to be from a virtual stranger. Who could have applied for her hand?
“Oh, but my girl, you will be married, and one day you will thank me for taking this high-handed method of settling you comfortably just when you were on the brink of scandal.”
“Mama, I don’t know what you are talking about. I must tell you that I have no intention whatsoever of marrying where my heart has not thrown in the towel, and I must advise you that my heart is very much my own.”
“And still you will be married, my darling, and he is just the man to set you to rights,” Lady Elton returned gently but firmly.
“The devil you say!” her wayward stepdaughter retorted in just the style her stepmama deplored.
“Now that is precisely what I mean.” Lady Elton sighed. “You cannot go about using expressions like that one. It is most unbecoming.”
“And it is not becoming to marry a man I have never seen!” Cherry was now desperately wringing her hands. Her mama was talking absurdities, and she found it all incredible.
“His lordship is an exceptional man. He is handsome. He is wealthy beyond imagination, with a family name that dates back to—”
“What do I care for that? Mama, you are asking me to marry a man I have never met!” Cherry, now pacing frantically, screeched.
“Yes, dear, but often those matches turn out very comfortably.”
“I don’t want comfort!” Cherry snapped. “I want love … passion …”
“That may come as well. When your dear father proposed to me, I scarcely knew him … but after we were married, all those things came—”
“No, Mama … I want those things first!”
“Cheryl, you know nothing—”
“I know I won’t do this,” she snorted.
“You will meet him, and this will be done. Darling, I rather think you will even like him immediately. He is most charming and has experience enough to—”
“Ah! No doubt he is ancient.”
“Not quite ancient.” Lady Elton’s tone was dry. “Eight and twenty, and you, my dear, are one and twenty … nearly past your prime. You are certainly past your first bloom and still on the town. It is, considering your exquisite looks and dowry, most odd.”
“Odd? It is what I want, and I am very willing to remain single forever. Mama, this is completely ridiculous.”
“No, darling, it is not ridiculous. I don’t know exactly what prompted him to offer for you, for quite honestly, he has never seen you either … but offer he has, and I have accepted.”
Cherry’s mouth dropped, and it took a moment for her to recoup for the attack. “Indeed!”
“Dearest daughter, don’t you know that I fell in love with you even before I did with your father? I want the best for you, and believe me, this is. Some of the best marriages are created in this fashion.”
“And some of the worst. Marriage of convenience—for me? Never, Mama … never.”
“No? Well, I am afraid you are out there, my love. His lordship will be by tomorrow morning to present himself to you, and, darling, mark me, you will marry him.”
“I won’t.” Cherry stomped her foot and felt a terror fill her mind. What was happening to her world? It was all falling around her ears. Could her stepmother force her to the altar? “This is monstrous of you!”
“I know you think that, but, darling, it is not what you imagine. He will treat you with respect. He is wise enough to handle you gently, tenderly. Why, you will hunt with him in the North, where he has a hunting box, and you will—”
“Mama!” Cheryl interrupted sharply. “I can’t believe you are doing this to me. You have always stood my friend. Now … before my eyes, you have turned into a stranger. Worse, you are nothing more than a … a stepmother from some horrid fairytale.” And so saying, Cherry fled the room.
~ Two ~
SKYLER WESTBROOKE STOOD at his bow window, the cozy warmth of his richly appointed study at this broad back. He turned and regarded himself in the mirror, staring into his own deep blue eyes. What was he doing?
He turned again and looked out onto the quiet London street. His right hand had formed a fist at his lips, for he was in deep concentration. His left hand unconsciously rubbed his muscular thigh where he had sustained a minor injury the day before.
He was consumed with agitation. The time had come to make his decision final. He had asked for the hand of Miss Cheryl Elton, and he would go through with it. He would wed the unknown chit and be done.
It was his only logical choice. At least one could not fault her heritage, her upbringing, her family connections. Hers was a fine, aristocratic line. Her father had been in politics; he had been a Whig like himself, and this was a plus. Miss Elton was reputed to be a lovely creature—in fact, his good friend had told him she was exquisite, though there was talk about her ‘too high spirits’, but he would curb that. Marriage would bring her in tow.
She was already one and twenty, so he wasn’t robbing the cradle. It was a good age, beyond schoolgirl notions, old enough to mother his young brothers and sisters. He had been told she had a good head on her shoulders, which was well, for she would need it when she found herself with such a large ready-made family. And Miss Elton would understand what it was to lose one’s parents, having lost both herself.
There it was; though he had never met her, he had thought it all out and chosen her to carry on his name and his household. As to the ‘love’ he had always looked for … it just wasn’t meant to be.
The one woman he had thought he loved had turned out to be a faithless, money-hungry, man-eating—never mind. He flicked it out of his head. The year had given him perspective. Love was not in the cards for him. He would be a good husband, and if a pretty ankle turned his head, he would be discreet …
He walked over to his Regency writing desk, where an impressive collection of miniatures reposed in ornate silver frames. One was a portrait of his mother. On either side was framed a portrait of a man, the one on the left his father and the one on the right his stepfather. Then in order of their ages were one of each of his siblings—two half-brothers and two-half sisters. First was Freddy, seventeen and away at Eton. Next was Mary, fourteen and also away at school. The twins, Felix and Francine, were eight and totally wild. They had managed between them to dispose of one governess after another, three in the last year. Damn, but they needed a woman’s hand. They needed someone who was young enough to take them in tow … and hopefully grow to love them as he did.
Marry he would, and his bride would be Cheryl Elton, for her spirit was just what he needed to run his wayward household.
It was logical …
~ Three ~
GETTING OUT OF London was not as easy as Cherry had anticipated. She’d encountered several setbacks, though none had taken place as she stole out of the house. That, at least, had gone smoothly—too smoothly, for she had breathed a sigh of relief after exiting through the rear door and immediately assumed a far too cocky frame of mind.
She had reached the stables where her stepmother kept their horses housed and was met by a sleepy groom who eyed her with a touch of disapproval.
“Lookee … why … it’s Miss Cheryl,” he exclaimed in some surprise. His gray-brown eyebrows moved with great expression as he pulled at his lower lip. “Whot is it, miss … trouble?”
“In a manner of speaking. I need my horse as quickly as you can … no need for any real brushing or grooming, John … please,” she whispered, hoping he would not create any more of a stir than he had already done. She could see another stable-hand moving out of the recesses of the barn and curiously looking their way.
“Now, whot can ye be at, miss?” John shook his head. “Her ladyship wouldn’t loike ye rambling about on y
er horse at night, miss … no she would not. She would ’ave me ’ead, she would, if oi was to saddle yer Bessy and let ye go.”
“Right then. Never mind. I’ll saddle Bessy up myself,” Cheryl said, quite willing to be reasonable. She didn’t want anyone to incur her stepmother’s wrath on her account.
John shook his head, for this did not make any sense to him. Thing was, he could see trouble ahead. “She’ll ’ave me run through, she will, and nobbut could blame ’er. Oi jest can’t let ye go off at this time of night. Miss Cheryl, forgive ol’ John, but, jest can’t.” He was pleading with her now.
“Can’t you?” Cheryl’s brow was up. “How do you mean to stop me?” She was already moving toward the tack room. He followed her hurriedly, and his voice had changed to a whine.
“Aw now, ’ave pity, do. Whot is it? Do ye want me turned off?”
Cheryl turned around with her saddle in her arms as she faced him. “John, you have been with us such a very long time and must know that my stepmother would never turn you off. And besides, she knows me—she will understand that you are not to blame in this.”
By now she had put the blanket on her mare’s back, hoisted the saddle on and was cinching it in place. Bessy snorted, and Cheryl released a short laugh. “Yes, girl … I know, but you didn’t have any work today, so you shouldn’t mind a nice easy night’s walk.”
She turned her attention back to John, who was gawking at her and pointing at her saddle. She realized she had not tacked up Bessy with the accepted ladies’ sidesaddle and laughed softly. “No, I know, John, but who is to see at such an hour? And I do love riding astride so much better.”
“Aye, but not in London, miss. Maybe in the country … but—”
“Who is to see me? I will have my hood slung low over my head, no one will know me, and then I shall be much more comfortable when I get out of the city,” she said, smiling brightly. “Don’t fret it, John. I know what I am doing.”
“Do ye indeed!” he snapped. “Oi’ve ’eard ye say that to me countless times and land yerself in the pudding.”
