Myriah Fire (32 page)

~ 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 yer 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.”

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 look 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.