Myriah Fire (33 page)

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.

An eligible bachelor pretends to be a rogue,

a young lady dons a seductive disguise,

and no one is who they seem in

Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

~ 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 dryly. He 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 agreed 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, so we shall. We’ll do the polite and get the 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.”

“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 and 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 eyelashes.

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 …”