I’ve been kinda at loose ends the last few days. Irritated with the roller coaster ride of my blood sugar and irritated that I’ve not really put down anything of value story-wise.

About an hour ago, I was bit by a bunny from a future reincarnation of Guy… the muse insisted I write it. I know it won’t make much sense. Some background – this takes place sometime in the 1700’s – please meet Hugh Robert FitzGisborne. He is in his 50’s, widowed, no children. He has a nephew, who will inherit, if he doesn’t remarry and have any and he’s not really in the mood to do so. He likes his nephew and the young man is planning a rather advantageous marriage the next year to an heiress that Hugh likes.

Enter Hugh’s elderly friend Arthur, Lord Wutherford. He doesn’t like his grandson, who is his heir, or his granddaughter at all. (For good reason) He does like his ward – Regina, Baroness of Torksey. She has a nice little estate that his grandson is eye-balling and Arthur would rather see it – and her – in more mature hands.

Not to mention, he intends on leaving his grandson the drafty old castle with the run-down furniture and the title and nothing else, while leaving his ward with everything else, which adds up to a tidy sum. He’s asked Hugh’s mother to sponsor (who Hugh lovingly calls ‘The Dragon”) and guide the chit through a season in London.

Well, I think we kind of knows what happens…

Hugh was ignoring the familiar angel riding closer, the serene being dressed in a riding habit and her white horse, very well behaved. He turned his attention back to the woman in the carriage next to him.“What are you thinking of, m’lady?”

Regina slowed her open carriage to a stop. Both of her teamed horses snorted in the nippy air, smoke rising from their nostrils. “Why, I am trying to figure you out.”

Hugh tipped his head to one side. “Really.” He stopped alongside her buggy, much to the ire of his stallion. He took a moment to quietly admire her form, the way her gloved hand held the whip.

That ridiculous little hat with the feather…

The woman sat straight up, whether it was the stays in her corset forcing her to reach tall, or the fact she was uncomfortable at his height and was attempting to compensate for it. “They say you cavort with wolves, that you are a shadow in the night.” That caused an eyebrow to raise. “They say you are Midas and all you touch is gold.” That caused one side of his mouth to lift in sordid grin. “They say you have laid lesser men low, killed thugs with your bare hands, lived longer than a man should live, under different names and aliases. They say you are to be feared.”

It was all Hugh could do to keep from laughing out loud, but his mouth twitched anyway. “Who are ‘they’?” Val was coming closer, coming from the opposite direction. Regina leaned closer.

“I say ‘they’ are idiots!” she hissed. “I think you are a man, plain and simple.”

“Plain?” Hugh clutched at his heart. “My lady, you wound me to the core!”

“It is getting late.” She moved the reins to her right hand. “Will you be attending your mother’s ball this eve?”

‘Tis The Dragon’s ball! What choice do I have?

“I might make an appearance.”

She nodded her head. “Until then, Lord FitzGisborne.” And with a nod, she cracked the whip above the heads of her team, the set cantering off.

Hugh watched as the little feather in her hat bounced around as she moved away. “Angel?”

“Yes?” Val was moving slowly past him.

“Who is telling my secrets?”

“Not me.” And she continued on, leaving her charge sitting in the middle of the path. He stayed there, watching as Regina rode to the end of the track and exited the park.

It was silent, save a solitary bird, calling for his mate.

With a snort, Hugh turned his steed, great cloak flying, and rode hell-bent to Lord Wutherford’s townhouse. He didn’t wait to be announced, simply strode into the man’s parlor and slinging his cloak to the waiting maid, strode up to the elderly man, clutching some papers at his desk. “Arthur! Your ward, Regina?”

“Dear Gawd, what has the gel done now?” Arthur was smiling. He knew exactly what she had done.

“I wish her hand in marriage. Do we need to drag it out with solicitors or can we do this on our own?