by Claudy Conn
“We shall. If I have to marry that wretched creature Omsbury to get it…”
“I’d sell my soul before I’d let you marry that devil. What a rum touch that one is!” Jimmy shouted, his face taking on a reddish color.
She laughed and touched his hand. “I didn’t mean it, Jimmy…I don’t think I could, for it would mean I would have to…you know…go to bed with the bloke, and I think I would have to kill myself before I could do that.”
“Aye,” said Jimmy, nodding his head vigorously.
“Jimmy!” His sister laughed, then sighed. “However, he did tell me he would send you off to Cambridge and pay for the entire thing if I married him. He would restore Henshaw House, and that would make you independent again. It is tempting, you know…”
“You loathe the ground he walks upon…I loathe the ground he might ever walk upon…”
She giggled. “Oh Jimmy…it is the truth…” She sighed. “I’ll just have to find a way to get the entrance fee--there has to be a way…”
Sir James looked up at the sky and the sun’s position. They had already disregarded his aunt’s wishes. She had explicitly told him to bring his sister home in time to change before the Marquis of Lyndhurst’s arrival. He shot his sister a quizzical look. “Lord, girl, you look a sight. Aunt will go into convulsions if you should walk in on the marquis looking like that.”
“Oh pooh. Besides, he will probably be late. All high and mighty lords of London arrive late. What does he want with a poor country bumpkin lass like me?” She batted her eye lashes.
He laughed. “You know, even a brother can see that you are a beauty, Jewels…and the marquis’ mother was a sweet woman. We liked her, in fact, so maybe he isn’t so bad?”
“Yes, I suppose.” Jewelene sighed and then asked him sadly, “Do you miss them terribly, Jimmy? Mother and Father?”
“Yes,” he said, looking away and into the distance as though recalling them in a childhood event.
“Sometimes…it is unbearable…so hard…”
He nudged her shoulder. “Give over, girl. Won’t help. It has been two years since their accident. Come on then—we have to get back.”
~ Three ~
A DARK COACH BEARING the crest of Lyndhurst, together with its horses, luggage, and riding mounts, reposed aboard a schooner in the harbor of Portsmouth. The marquis and his companion, the Honorable Oscar Robendale, stood at the bow, leaning on their elbows and staring into the dark blue water in the harbor. Their capes were flapping in the wind as was their hair beneath their top hats.
“Don’t know how you convinced me to do this,” grumbled Robby, though he wore a smile as the sea wind caressed his face.
Ryker laughed. “Give over and admit it, you devil…you are having a splendid time. I let you beat me two rubbers at piquet, didn’t I? And you love the salt air!”
Robby cast him a sharp look and then said enthusiastically, “Here we go—Rye, we are off!”
“Aye,” Ryker said with a sigh. “Devil take it…so we are. Lord, I wish I could get out of this. The notion of having another cloying chit trying to interest me in her when all she wants is m’title and m’fortune…”
“Aye, but can’t get out of it now,” returned his cousin practically.
“It is just that I hate being fawned over.”
“I should think you would be used to it by now.” Robby shrugged, “Besides, she might take you in dislike and not dangle after you at all.”
“She wouldn’t care if I were the devil himself. She won’t take the time to know me. She will be interested only in what my fortune and position can do for her.”
“Cynical…”
“But true.”
“You can’t know that. I’d wager that she might like you even if you were in my position as a second son with only a respectable living…why, deuce take it, Rye…look at you! Damned good looking chap…”
The marquis’s eyes narrowed as his thoughts began to formulate. He put a gloved fist to his lips and said, “Robby…I have an idea…and a wager to offer.”
“Oh no…”
“Aye, now do but listen…”
“No, it will get me into trouble,” Robby said putting his gloved hands to his ears.
“We are going to play a game and have a wager.”
“Ah, a wager, eh? What kind of a wager?” he made the mistake of asking.
“I am going to masquerade as you, and you will be me—let’s see who the chit wants.”
“Don’t like it…we don’t even look like one another. For one thing…you have at least six inches on me.”
“No one there has ever seen us…so that doesn’t signify.”
“Yes, but…why? I tell you what--sit down, old boy…rest…all this has gone to your head…”
“No, no, Robby. This will liven up our stay. They want to marry off their country bumpkin to a rich marquis. We will trade places. I will put up my hunter as the wager. I say the Henshaw chit will try and marry you in spite of your inability to turn a flattering line and in spite of your disinterest. I will flirt outrageously with her…attempt to gain her attention, and she still will put out her hooks for you—simply for your name and your money…”
“You are daft, Ryker…daft!”
“Perhaps…is it a bet?”
“What if I slip up with the name?”
“I’ll just keep m’given name, and you will keep yours. I will continue to call you Robby…not Oscar…so no one will be the wiser.” The Marquis eyed him. “Is it a bet?”
Robby looked at him with a quizzical eye and shook his head, “I don’t like it, but aye, it is a wager.”
About Claudy Conn
Claudy Conn, a native New Yorker, now lives with her husband, Bob; their wolf, Cherokee; and Cherokee’s son, Rocky Man, who weighs in presently at 190 pounds.
She loves horses and riding and raised her ten-year-old gelding Southern Pride from the moment he was born. She also loves gardening, swimming, skiing, hiking, and travel—and of course, reading, writing, but no, she says, no arithmetic!
To get her monthly news, her reviews for all her new paranormal romances, and excerpts, come on and visit her at her website: http://www.claudyconn.com
To see pictures of Cherokee and her Shep./wolf son!, have a look at her facebook page:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Claudy-Conn-Paranormal-Romance-Author/135826686471445
