Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

“And some of the worst. Marriage of convenience—for me? Never, Mama … never.”

“No? Well, I am afraid you are out there, my love. His lordship will be by tomorrow morning to present himself to you, and, darling, mark me, you will marry him.”

“I won’t.” Cherry stomped her foot and felt a terror fill her mind. What was happening to her world? It was all falling around her ears. Could her stepmother force her to the altar? “This is monstrous of you!”

“I know you think that, but, darling, it is not what you imagine. He will treat you with respect. He is wise enough to handle you gently, tenderly. Why, you will hunt with him in the North, where he has a hunting box, and you will—”

“Mama!” Cheryl interrupted sharply. “I can’t believe you are doing this to me. You have always stood my friend. Now … before my eyes, you have turned into a stranger. Worse, you are nothing more than a … a stepmother from some horrid fairytale.” And so saying, Cherry fled the room.

Two

SKYLER WESTBROOKE STOOD at his bow window, the cozy warmth of his richly appointed study at this broad back. He turned and regarded himself in the mirror, staring into his own deep blue eyes. What was he doing?

He turned again and looked out onto the quiet London street. His right hand had formed a fist at his lips, for he was in deep concentration. His left hand unconsciously rubbed his muscular thigh where he had sustained a minor injury the day before.

He was consumed with agitation. The time had come to make his decision final. He had asked for the hand of Miss Cheryl Elton, and he would go through with it. He would wed the unknown chit and be done.

It was his only logical choice. At least one could not fault her heritage, her upbringing, her family connections. Hers was a fine, aristocratic line. Her father had been in politics; he had been a Whig like himself, and this was a plus. Miss Elton was reputed to be a lovely creature—in fact, his good friend had told him she was exquisite, though there was talk about her ‘too high spirits’, but he would curb that. Marriage would bring her in tow.

She was already one and twenty, so he wasn’t robbing the cradle. It was a good age, beyond schoolgirl notions, old enough to mother his young brothers and sisters. He had been told she had a good head on her shoulders, which was well, for she would need it when she found herself with such a large ready-made family. And Miss Elton would understand what it was to lose one’s parents, having lost both herself.

There it was; though he had never met her, he had thought it all out and chosen her to carry on his name and his household. As to the ‘love’ he had always looked for … it just wasn’t meant to be.

The one woman he had thought he loved had turned out to be a faithless, money-hungry, man-eating—never mind. He flicked it out of his head. The year had given him perspective. Love was not in the cards for him. He would be a good husband, and if a pretty ankle turned his head, he would be discreet …

He walked over to his Regency writing desk, where an impressive collection of miniatures reposed in ornate silver frames. One was a portrait of his mother. On either side was framed a portrait of a man, the one on the left his father and the one on the right his stepfather. Then in order of their ages were one of each of his siblings—two half-brothers and two-half sisters. First was Freddy, seventeen and away at Eton. Next was Mary, fourteen and also away at school. The twins, Felix and Francine, were eight and totally wild. They had managed between them to dispose of one governess after another, three in the last year. Damn, but they needed a woman’s hand. They needed someone who was young enough to take them in tow … and hopefully grow to love them as he did.

Marry he would, and his bride would be Cheryl Elton, for her spirit was just what he needed to run his wayward household.

It was logical …

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—”