Oh, Cherry Ripe

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 ev

en 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 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 turned, 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, and rapped him across his shoulder. “How dare you!”

However, at this point he lost his balance and released her immediately. She slipped and nearly fell when he reached out to steady her. She slapped his hands away, and without thinking out her words, said, “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 and intent. “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 skill. His hand pressed her body against his own, and she felt a frightening surge of desire. What was wrong with her?

Cherry was astonished, as much at herself and her reaction as she was at his sudden move. She had certainly enjoyed her London season and though innocent was not naïve. 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.