Oh, Cherry Ripe

“You agree?” Lady Elton turned to James, who had resumed his seat and was plopping a custard tart into his mouth. “She agrees?”

“Told you,” he said with his mouth full. “Totally mad.”

“Cherry, I repeat, you must tell me everything.”

“Hmmm. My cue to take my leave,” James said brushing off the pastry crumbs from his waistcoat.

“You cannot go—of all the paltry things. You said that you would have dinner with us.”

“No, I didn’t. When I dropped you off last night, I said I would come round in the morning. Came … ate … saw you safely in the arms of your dear mama … and now leaving.”

“James, stay, do.”

“Can’t,” he said laconically.

“Why not?”

“Don’t want to,” he returned glibly and made for the door in time to duck the pillow being flung at his head.

“Cherry, dearest, you may not throw pillows at people,” Lady Elton objected.

“He isn’t people,” Cherry said, laughing.

“Besides, I have this queasy feeling that you are about to receive a guest. Don’t want to be here when you do …”

They watched him depart, and Cherry turned back to Lady Elton with a sigh. “Well then, Mama, you deserve the truth, and I shall sit with you and tell you all. Then we shall send for Mrs. Epson.”

“Mrs. Epson? Whatever for?”

“I find that I can solve an earlier dilemma with a new one. Put them together, and both shall end quite happily. Mrs. Epson will be perfect for the twins.” She patted the long-suffering Lady Elton’s hand and said soothingly, “There, sit back, and I shall confess things I know you don’t want to hear.”

* * *

Sky discovered that Dartford had lodgings in Kensington Square. He had been on the road for hours and was dusty, tired, hungry, and out of temper. But before he tended to bodily needs, he was going to confront James Dartford and find her …

As the door to James’ lodgings opened, Sky felt a certain fear grip his heart. What if she was already under Dartford’s protection as his mistress?

The notion made him feel sick to his stomach. Lost to him? No. That was unthinkable. Dartford’s man appeared at the door, and Westbrooke was advised that his lordship had set out for his club, White’s.

Sky could have killed the poor man staring worriedly up at him. He restrained himself, thanked the butler, and hurried down the steps to the urchin holding his horse. He flipped the child a coin, jumped easily into the saddle, and made his way to his own town house in Grovsnor. If James was at his club, then of course Cherry was not with him.

He went about the business of bathing, changed his clothes, and had a bite to eat. He would revisit Dartford at his lodgings later in the day, as he could not very well confront him at the gentlemen’s club.

That Dartford had taken Cherry to London, he was certain; however, he was also certain she was safely being housed and not yet touched. He knew her … and she didn’t give herself freely—he knew that much because he damn well loved her, with every fiber of his being!

He was going to find her … bloody hell, he was going to find her, and when he did, he would make her his own, because he knew he didn’t want to live without her.

* * *

James entered his lodgings and was given Westbrooke’s calling card. His brow went up. “Do you mean to tell me Lord Westbrooke was here … himself—and asking for me?”

His man nodded, but his words were never heard as the knocker sounded at the door behind him. James opened it himself to find Lord Sky Westbrooke.

Sky inclined his head. Not waiting for an invitation, he strode immediately inside and said, “Dartford—may I have a private conversation with you?”

“Zounds, man, you look the very devil! What is wrong?” James was mildly amusing himself—he knew very well what was wrong and why Westbrooke had come to see him.

However, he led the way to his small study, stood aside, and allowed Sky to enter, saying, “May I pour you some brandy?”