by Claudy Conn
She laughed, “Well, here is hoping that I shan’t land myself in the pudding this night.” She slipped the bridle in place and hooked the last of the leathers. She sighed heavily then as it flashed through her mind just what she was doing. “Never mind, John. You will tell my stepmother in the morning, for she shan’t notice I am gone until then, that I simply took my horse and left before you could do anything about it. You had no choice in the matter, so you can’t be blamed.”
“Oi can’t let it go loike that, miss Cheryl. Oi’ve got to go to the ’ouse now and tell her ladyship that you’ve taken off alone. ’Tis me duty.” He was shaking his head sadly, obviously hating the position he found himself in.
Cheryl reached out and touched his shoulder. “Of course, John. You do just what you think right.” So saying, she led her horse to the mounting block outdoors and hoisted herself into the saddle, situated her riding skirt in place, yanked down its matching blue jacket, and tugged her black velvet cloak overall. She situated her hood so that it hung low over her face, turned to John, and added, “I’m afraid you won’t find her at home, John. Her friends picked her up an hour ago, and they are all at the theater. Won’t be home for hours.” She smiled to herself, well pleased.
At his expression, she sighed. “Don’t worry, John. I have my pistol with me, plenty of the ready, and I shall do just fine. You may tell my stepmother that I shall write her after I am established and have forgiven her …” Her voice trailed off on this last. Forgiven her? Could she ever forgive her this awful betrayal? She had always believed her stepmother loved her, but if she did, how could she ship her off to a stranger—marry her to a stranger?
To Cherry Elton, this was an act that was beyond forgiveness or understanding.
* * *
Lord Sky Westbrooke gave his present situation a great deal of serious contemplation and concluded that he was a young man greatly to be pitied. Depression weighed him down until there was only one thing that he could do—drink himself into oblivion!
He reasoned with his better sense; he was sacrificing his life, wasn’t he? He was being totally unselfish and giving the remainder of his years over to a strange woman for the sake of his family. Egad! He would soon be a husband, perhaps a father. All joy would soon be out of his reach … gone forever …
Damnation. Life, in fact, as he had known and enjoyed it, was certainly quite at an end. There was nothing for it: he would go to his friends, and they would all become royally inebriated together. This decision was taken on with great zeal and enthusiasm as his intimates toasted him and the end of his bachelorhood at White’s Club.
Usually Sky found he was able to drink most men under the table before he began to show signs of being foxed. He was, however, certainly in his cups when he rose suddenly from the table, called for his coach to be sent for, and announced his intentions of departing the club for home.
“What’s that you say?” Sir William attempted to sit up, for he had been resting his head on his bent arm, which was laid on the card table. “You leaving, Sky …?”
“Must, Billy-boy. Have to present myself to my future bride in the morning. Don’t want to scare the chit with bloodshot eyes and a haggard face …”
Sir William grinned broadly. “Too late, lovey.” He slid back against his chair and surveyed his closest friend through half closed lids. “Don’t do this, Sky. You’re not ready, and you don’t even know her. You will be tied for life, and that is hard enough when two people like each other. What if you hate her?”
His lordship’s hand found Sir Williams’ gold, silky hair and ruffled it affectionately. “’Tis done … I have already offered. Can’t be undone. Never mind—you will be following my lead soon enough, and then we will muddle through marriage together.”
“Blister the words—damn if ever I will marry!” Billy retorted caustically.
His lordship laughed, bade everyone good night, and made his way outdoors. His driver and coach stood waiting, but Sky signaled his intention to walk, for he wanted the night air to clear his head.
While his conveyance followed at a discreet distance, he took a long drag of the strong, cool breeze, but it in no way cleared the fog through which he was unsteadily walking . This was ascribable in part to the very excellent brandy he had managed to imbibe and in part to the heavy, gray fog that had indeed descended upon London. He turned a corner, frowning over the fact that he could scarcely see more than ten feet in front of him, when something startled him into a sharp, uncharacteristically awkward movement.
* * *
Cheryl was not in the habit of riding her horse hard on pavement, let alone on a dimly lit street, and even though the circumstances warranted speed, she maintained a quiet pace. She had no doubts about her situation as she slowly trotted her mare toward freedom. She was sure she was doing the right thing. She would not be forced like some meek nothing of a girl into a loveless marriage. Her dear friend Lizzy had been forced into one just last year, and she was miserable while her awful husband chased everything in a skirt! That was not for her.
She had been so caught up in her defiant thoughts that she had not yet considered the dangers of her expedition. A fog had set in. She made an incorrect turn, backtracked, and found herself suddenly surrounded by a group of young, grimy street urchins. They blocked her path, and she put on a stern look as she commanded, “Do stand aside.” Her tone was firm and showed no signs of the sudden panic that she was beginning to feel.
“Whot’s this? Why—’tis a mort, God love ye! A blooming mort. Fancy, ain’t she?” one of them said as he moved closer.
Cheryl lifted her crop out of her boot and held it menacingly. “I wouldn’t come any nearer if I were you.” A threat hovered in her voice and in the style of her movement.
He looked at the four boys with him now spreading around Cheryl and her mare and snorted. “She do be warning us, lads … whot say ye to that?”
Cheryl didn’t wait for their answer. She gave Bessy some leg, and they moved immediately into a canter and headed straight for him. He cursed out loud and jumped out of her way.
They rounded the bend in the street, and there Bessy found something that frightened her more than the boys she had just encountered. The poor mare spied something dark and weaving ominously towards her, and as she blew out a snort, she hopped and bucked. Cheryl released a surprised cry, for she hadn’t expected this, and grabbed at her horse’s neck as she attempted to regain her seat and control of her reins. Bessy shifted to the left, and the force of the movement sent Cheryl the remainder of the way to the ground!
She landed on her feet but lost her balance and reeled backward into a body that felt more like iron than man.
* * *
She didn’t see him until she was on him. She felt a hard body and then a pair of large hands take hold of her shoulders and steady her. Instinctively, she reacted to his tight grip by stepping on his foot. Instead of letting her go, his grip tightened on her. She didn’t have time for this—from the way Bessy whinnied and jostled about, it was clear the mare was getting ready to bolt. He still held her fast as she tried to yank out of his steel grip. “Let me go, do please, I have to reach Bess!”
He looked hard at her face, and she watched the flitting expressions cross his countenance, noting that he was, even in the dim light, quite handsome. However, he raised an eyebrow and said, “What the devil is a beauty like you doing out here alone at night?”
“My horse!” is what she answered as she tried reaching for Bess’s reins.
“Stay here!” the stranger said as he turned and moved gently towards the mare and managed to gather her reins. Bess snorted but made no attempt to run from him as he spoke soothingly to her and led her towards Cherry.
“Your horse,” he said softly.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to … if you had just let me go, I could have gotten her and been on my way,” Cheryl returned, feeling suddenly shy. Here was this fashionable, handsome rogue, and she felt she must lo
ok a fool.
“Ungrateful girl, and after you nearly knocked me down,” he teased. His speech was only slightly slurred but enough for Cherry to raise her brow and regard him with some amusement.
“But I did not knock you down, and you, sir, were the cause for all of it,” she answered, a smile curving her lips. “Whatever were you doing walking about in the middle of the road?” It was a counterattack to save face.
“I? Well, I was looking for an angel, and I found one …” So saying, he had her well into his embrace, heedless of the fact that the driver of his coach watched with some keen interest at his back.
She did not know why, but she was not frightened in the least, although as his tongue probed and found hers with an expertise that made her feel warm and willing, she was surprised at herself. She pulled away hard, although she didn’t have to and lost her balance as he released her immediately. He reached out to steady her, and she slapped his hands away, saying, “Well, you haven’t found one—an angel, that is, for no one has ever called me that!”
With one devilish movement he had her back in his arms, and his voice was husky with the intent of his measure. “Are you not?”
She didn’t have the opportunity to reply, for his lips were already on hers, already parting. His tongue found his way easily and teased with gentle expertise. His hand pressed her body against his own, and she felt a frightening surge of desire.
Cherry was astonished, as much at herself and her reaction as she was at his sudden move. She had certainly been kissed before, often in fact, but this was the first time she had been so totally aroused. He was a stranger—ah, perhaps the excitement of the adventure was at work here, she told herself.
She slapped at his shoulder, and when he released her she felt his eyes look into her hers. She made a face at him and announced in a whisper, “You, sir, are taking a liberty. I am at a loss, for you are taller, stronger, and perhaps wicked enough to pursue this further. If that is what you intend … proceed, for I have always wondered what it would be like to be ravished on a London street.” This was meant to make a mark and hit his sense of honor, and it did that very well.
He pulled himself up to his full six feet and stared hard at her. “My dearest child, I am not in the habit of ravishing young women on London streets.”
“Ah, are you not? Then I do apologize,” she said meekly. Again a flush hit.
He growled at her. “What the bloody hell are you doing out here alone anyway? ’Tis folly.”
He sounded to Cherry as though he were fast sobering up in spite of the drink she had tasted on his delicious tongue.
“I am running away from my … er step … father.” She tweaked the truth just a bit, as she didn’t need anyone putting two and two together.
“Why?”
“I cannot tell you that, but it would be very nice if you would let me go on my way before I am caught,” Cheryl returned, smiling charmingly at him, but she could see by the curious expression on his face that he wasn’t about to let this go so easily.
“Running away? Stepfather? This sounds like some blasted fairytale. You can’t go about London alone at night. Might be accosted by any number of scalawags.”
“So you have made me aware …” she started, but he took up her arm and led her towards his coach.
“I shall take you to where you wish to go.”
She could now see she had been wrong. He was not in the least bit sober.
“But I am going to the New Forest,” she answered doubtfully.
“Are you? Whatever the hell for?” he asked, his brows well up.
“My nanny lives there. She will know what to do.”
“For no good reason, that makes sense. Take you to your nanny,” he announced happily.
Want even more delicious Regency romance?
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Rogues, Rakes & Jewels
(unedited)
~ One ~
“SOMEONE TOLD ME once that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Fiend seize me if I am not just about to cut such a path!” grumbled the Marquis Ryker of Lyndhurst, kicking a well-appointed stool for emphasis.
His cousin, the Honorable Oscar Robendale, gave him a rather blank stare and reached for his glass of sherry. He dared not question the volatile marquis when he was in such a mood.
“She has tricked me again—bless her, Robby. She is the best of good mothers, but damn if I can take much more of this. I’d swear there is none sweeter or finer in all Albion, but…but…” he seethed, searching for a proper description of his present opinion of his only surviving parent.
“Wants you neatly married—wants grandchildren, only natural you know,” offered his cousin unwisely.
“Married—aye, she wants that!” said his lordship drily. Hee moved to the great marble fireplace and placed his elbow on the mantle, touched his thumb and knuckle to his mouth, and lost himself in thought. His mother had presented him with yet another challenge—one that he had taken up only to find it irritating beyond endurance.
The Honorable Oscar Robendale fell into studied quiet as he stared at the back of the marquis’ ginger-colored locks, but then he ventured a question. “Why so hot about it? After all, it isn’t the first time.”
“Because I have had it, old boy—I have just had it. This time, she wants me to travel to the Isle of Wight of all places. Can you believe it?”
Robby shook his head. “No…damn silly place to go.”
“Aye…but that is where we are going.”
“We? I’m not courting anyone. I don’t have to go—not going.” He shook his head emphatically. “Isle of Wight? Cuz, love you and all…but…there is just so much a man must do in the name of friendship and family.”
The marquis ignored this and said, “She thinks that because I am about to turn thirty I am in my dotage and plagues me more than ever. What? Does she think I am about to dive into senility?”
“No, no, dear boy. Don’t think m’aunt had senility in mind—really, old fellow,” his cousin stuck in hastily. “Told you, wants grandchildren…you being the heir…stands to reason, don’t it?”
“Yes, and she shall get them when I am ready!” the marquis snapped.
“The thing is, you will be thirty inside of three months…”
“And what does that signify?”
“Might not be so easy, as you get older. Look at Foster—he got married at forty and couldn’t have a one…not one brat did he have. And then there was Merriweather--although you are the very broth of a man, fitter than most…”
“Thank you, Robby…” The Marquis sighed. “But as it happens, I have agreed to her scheme, because I have a scheme of my own that will see us through a day or two and then we will be able to make our way back to London.”
“Really?” Robby’s hazel eyes widened. “How will you explain that to your mother?”
“Won’t have to—we will do as she asked, get through a few days and be off.”
Robby sighed. “Time you should tie the knot though…owe it to the name.”
“The devil you say. Tie the knot, indeed. Noddy! How you came to be in the family is beyond me…”
“Shouldn’t be--thought you understood. Your mother and mine are first cousins--that makes us…”
The marquis eyed him for a long moment before he burst out laughing and patted his shoulder affectionately. “Never mind, cuz…we’ll do, you and I.”
“Will we?”
“Yes, for, as I said, I have a plan.”
“Do you? Well, you were ever a knowing one, Ryker ol’ man.”
“Here is the thing—Mama expects me to travel to the Isle of Wight to introduce myself to this little country child, and I have accepted to do so.”
“Upon my soul—seems an odd thing to do, go to the Isle of Wight. I mean, plenty of chits to meet right here in London.”
“To appease the old dear, I have accepted to go, so we shall. We’ll do the polite and get th
e devil out of there as soon as we may.”
“We’ll go? What do you mean, we’ll go?”
“You will enjoy yourself immensely.”
“No, I won’t.” Robby was frowning darkly.
“There is I think, a gaming house…”
Robby brightened. “Never say so…well, upon my word—perhaps it won’t be too bad then. At least I don’t have to court any young thing…”
~ Two ~
HENSHAW HOUSE WAS situated at the top of a clear knoll. Only scattered elms and pines broke the starkness of the landscape surrounding its Tudor lines. What had once been a magnificently maintained park was now being allowed to run to weeds, for its present inhabitants had not a penny to their name.
However, young Sir James and his sister, Jewelene Henshaw, were optimists at heart. They never allowed the shabbiness of the home they loved to weigh them down for more than a moment or two, and both worked toward reviving its previous glory.
Sir James, who was eighteen months younger than his twenty-one-year-old sister, had some time back hatched up a scheme, a scheme the orphans thought would serve to save their home.
They sat dressed in shabby buckskin jackets and breeches upon the fence line and watched as their old groom, Jonas, led a magnificent black Arabian stallion toward them.
“I say, Jewel … he’ll do!” exclaimed Sir James, thwacking his knee for emphasis.
Jewelene brushed her long, honey-gold hair away from her eyes and cooed to the horse. The stallion flicked his ears and nodded his head, which made her brother laugh, “Look at that…he knows us!”
“He should—after all the training we’ve given him,” she replied with a smile.
“Aye, that’s the truth,” he agreed.
She glanced wistfully above his curly. light brown hair. “If only we can get a win at Derby…oh imagine, Jimmy, just imagine how much we could make with Lightning as a breeder…”
“Aye, trouble is, he is ready, but we ain’t. Face it, Jewel…we still don’t have the blunt it takes to meet the entrance fee.”
