The Sherbrooke Bride (22 page)

To Alexandra's surprise, she saw Melissande bite Tony's finger, then lightly rub her cheek against his palm. Then she looked at Douglas, who looked the perfect picture of a polite nobleman, standing with his shoulders against the mantel, his arms crossed over his chest. He was staring from Juliette to Melissande to Alexandra. There was no expression on his face, at least none that she could read. Comparisons in this instance brought on severe depression. It was time to do something, not just sit here like a stupid log.

She rose, smiled, and extended her hand to Juliette. “If you will forgive me I must see to our dinner. If there is anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. Welcome to Northcliffe.”

She left the room, aware that her mother-in-law's face was brick red with annoyance. She'd lied; she didn't try to find Mrs. Peacham. She knew well enough that the dinner cook would present would
make even a skinny ascetic eat until he groaned.

She went to the gardens where all the Greek statues were displayed. The grounds were in abysmal shape. She would have to speak to Douglas. She needed his permission to direct the Northcliffe gardeners, the lazy clods. There was a particularly beautiful rosebush that was being choked to death with weeds. Alexandra didn't hesitate, for her gown was old and quite unappetizing, as Douglas had told her. She dropped to her knees and began weeding. Soon, she was humming. Soon after that, she felt calm and even-keeled. She forgot Juliette; she even managed to forget her mother-in-law.

It began to drizzle lightly. The earth softened even more and she dug and plucked and smoothed down and lovingly tended. She was unaware of the trickle of water that fell off the end of her nose.

Finally, the rosebush was free. It seemed to glow in front of her eyes. The blooms were redder, larger, the leaves greener and more lush.

She sat back on her heels and smiled.

“My God.”

She turned, still smiling, to see Douglas standing over her, eyes narrowed, his hands on his hips.

“Hello. Isn't it beautiful? And so much happier now, so much more healthy.”

Douglas looked at the damned rosebush and saw that it was true. Then he looked at his filthy wife, her hair wilted with rain over her forehead, and forgot the rosebush. “Come along, it's time for you to dress for dinner.”

“How did you find me?” she asked as she got to her feet and swiped her dirt-blackened hands on her already ruined gown.

“Melissande. She said that while she painted you
made things grow. I have half a score of gardeners. There is no need for you to become quite so dirty.”

She gave him a severe look that made him smile. “These gardeners are taking advantage of you, my lord. These beautiful gardens haven't been touched in far too long a time. It is appalling.”

“I shall speak to Danvers about it.”

“He's the head gardener?”

“No, he's my steward. He isn't here at the moment. His father is ill and he is visiting his ailing father in Couthmouth.”

“It is the head gardener who is the one responsible, my lord.”

“Fine, you may speak with Strathe whenever it pleases you. Tell him you have my permission. Come along now, you must do something about yourself.”

“There is not much that can be done.”

Douglas frowned. “I have wondered every time I see your sister why it is that she is always so superbly garbed and you are not.”

“I would have had new gowns had I had a Season. Instead, Tony married me to you and thus there was no Season and no new gowns. Do not believe Melissande to be spoiled and pampered. Most of her gowns are from her last Season.”

“I see,” he said and Alexandra wondered just what it was that he saw.

Dinner that evening with two diamonds in the same room, eating at the same table, was a trial. Juliette spoke of Lord Melberry who was smitten with her and gave Melissande a superior smile. Melissande shrugged and said he'd bored her with his interminable talk of his succession houses. After all, commenting on the fatness of grapes paled after ten minutes.

Juliette told of turning down Lord Downley's proposal and how wounded he had been. Melissande laughed and said that Lord Downley had proposed to every woman who claimed to have more than a thousand pounds dowry. On and on it went.

At last Alexandra was able to rise and motion for the ladies to leave the dining room. She didn't notice that her mother-in-law gave her a very annoyed look. She immediately went to the pianoforte and sat down. She played some French ballads, trying to ignore the verbal flotsam around her.

“My parents are very fond of me,” Juliette announced. “They gave me a beautiful name. Lord Blaystock told me they must have known I would be so beautiful.” She turned very gray eyes toward Alexandra, who began to play a bit more vigorously. She raised her voice. “You parents must not have wished for what they got with you. Your name is manly, don't you agree, my lady?”

“Which lady?” Sinjun inquired. “There are so many here.”

“You are very young to still be allowed amongst the adults, are you not? I refer, of course, to Alex. Why it is a man's nickname, to be sure.”

“I have a good friend whose horse is named Juliette.”

“Joan! Hush and apologize to Lady Juliette!”

“Yes, Mother. Excuse me, Lady Juliette. But it is a very nice horse, a mare actually, and she has the softest nose and the roundest belly and her tail, it is lush and thick, and twitches whenever there are flies or stallions around.”

Douglas overheard the last and he laughed, he couldn't help it. His sister was the best weapon he'd ever had in his arsenal and he'd never before
realized her wondrous capabilities. He was pleased that he had allowed her to remain downstairs this evening.

“Joan! Douglas, speak to your sister.”

“Hello, Sinjun. Pour me a cup of tea, if you please. Alexandra, continue your playing. You are quite accomplished. It pleases me.”

Tony went to sit beside his wife.

The dowager, seeing the evening spiraling downward, announced that whist was to be enjoyed. Douglas, grinning, asked Alexandra to be his partner.

Their opponents were Tony and Juliette.

Douglas wondered if his wife played as skillfully as she'd hinted. He wasn't left long in doubt. She didn't count all that well, but she played with verve and imagination, with a strategy remarkably similar to his own. That annoyed him as well as pleased him and he wondered, but just for an instant, how well Melissande would play if she wore a bag over her head. He and Alexandra won most hands. Tony groaned good-naturedly even when Juliette trumped a good lead or whined about a valueless hand.

Douglas had to hold his cards in front of his mouth so that no one would remark the unholy grin that overtook him when Alex did Juliette in, and the twit didn't have the brains to keep quiet. Oh no, she squawked. She threw down her remaining cards, rose and actually stomped her foot.

“However could you have known that I held the king of spades? Why, it is impossible. Why would you lead the ace, a bad lead surely? It is luck, all of it. Or it is that mirror I have been remarking.”

That was quite beyond the line. Douglas rose himself and said in a very cold voice, “I believe you are
fatigued, Lady Juliette. Surely such unmeasured words could not come from a well-rested mouth.”

Juliette sucked in her breath and held her tongue, a difficult proposition in any circumstance, and allowed a very solicitous Uncle Albert to lead her out of the drawing room.

“She is beautiful,” Sinjun said dispassionately, “but she is so very stupid. A pity.”

“Why a pity, brat?” Tony asked, grinning over at her.

“Some poor gentleman will wed her, all enthralled with her beauty, and then wake up to find he's married to a stupid woman who hasn't any kindness.”

Melissande came to stand beside her husband. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder and his hand came up unconsciously to pat hers. “I pity you for playing against Alex. She is a killer. Papa taught her. Reginald tried to teach her to cheat, but she never did that particularly well. She always turned red whenever she tried.”

“She needs to learn to count better,” Douglas said.

“I venture to say that you will be responsible for teaching her many new things, cousin,” Tony said, and rose, bowing to Alexandra, then saying his good-nights to the remaining company.

Alexandra actually sighed once she and Douglas were mounting the stairs.

“It was a long evening, I'll grant you that.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice suddenly clipped. Oh dear, would he insist upon coming to her again? Her step lagged.

Douglas stopped in the middle of the long corridor, took her shoulders in his hands and said very clearly, “Let me make this perfectly clear to you so you don't have to sigh again. You only have one
choice. Do you wish to be in my bed or shall I be in yours?”

And even then, he took the choice from her. He lightly shoved her into his bedchamber, then closed and locked the door. He stood there watching her, his look brooding in the sluggish firelight.

“I will not frighten you tonight. I will be calm and subtle. I will control your pleasure just as I will control my own. I am an experienced man, a man of the world. I will be as tranquil and placid in my movements as that fire. Do you understand?”

She stared from him to the fire and back again.

“Say you understand, dammit.”

“I understand.” Then, she held out her arms to him, an unplanned gesture, and in the next instant, he'd lifted her and was carrying her to his bed. He came down over her and his hands were wild on her gown, pulling and jerking and ripping it to shreds. “It doesn't matter, dammit!” Then there were no words for he wouldn't stop kissing her. When he bared her breasts, his eyes blazed and he moaned even as he nuzzled her with his mouth, even as he suckled her. He was trembling, lurching over her, trying to cover her with his mouth and hands, all of her, even as he was jerking away her clothes and his.

And when she was naked beneath him, he had to rise to get off his trousers. He wasn't very graceful; he was frantic and ripped his britches. Then he was naked, splendidly naked. His body glowed in the firelight and she said, “You are so beautiful, Douglas.”

“Oh no, no,” he said, but he didn't fall on her this time. He pulled her legs apart and came down between them and lifted her to his mouth. “I won't
allow you to hold back from me this time. No, I won't allow it. Do you like that, Alexandra? Dear Lord, you're hot. Yes, you're trembling. Please, tell me what you're feeling.”

She moaned and dug her fingers in his hair, pressing him closer and closer still and she felt his warm breath on her flesh and it was too much. She screamed, her back bowing off the bed.

Douglas felt her nails digging into his shoulder, felt the frantic clenching of her muscles, and he was drawn into her pleasure, deep and deeper still. He didn't wait for her to calm. He thrust into her, lifting her as he rose. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said once, then again, for she was oblivious, held in pleasure and surprise.

Her arms were around his neck and her mouth found his and as he came sharply up into her, his hands big and warm on her buttocks, she kissed him again and again, moaning softly, wringing all semblance of control from him.

He carried her to the large carpet in front of the hearth and just as he knew he would soon be lost, he also knew that he wouldn't be able to stand with the force of it, he lowered her to her back and came so deeply inside her he touched her womb.

When he came to his release, Alexandra was beyond anything in her experience. He heaved in her arms and she stroked him, feeling powerful and warm and she said without thinking, “I love you, Douglas. I've loved you forever.”

He groaned, then fell to the side, drawing her against him. She felt the heat of the dying fire against her back and legs. She felt the strength of his arms around her waist. She felt the warmth of his breath against her temple.

But she felt cold in the next moment, for she realized what she'd said to him. She realized that he had remained quiet. She realized the power she'd given him. She felt his seed, wet on her thighs, and tried to move.

“No,” he said, his voice low and slurred. “No.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bed. “No,” he said again as he pushed her between the covers. “I want my seed to stay inside you.” He came in with her then, and covered them, holding her close. In the next moment, he was sleeping, his breath deep and rhythmic.

There was nothing like a young fool, she thought, and gave it up, nestling her face against his chest, feeling the hair tickle her nose. At least he hadn't tried to run from the room. She kissed his collarbone, letting her tongue glide downward to the small male nipples. She licked him and he sighed, deeply asleep, his arms tightening around her back, and she watched her breasts pressing against his chest, and she knew there was no going back now. She slept.

“W
HAT ARE YOU
doing?”

Douglas turned to see Alexandra standing in the doorway. “I'm seeing exactly how bad this situation really is.”

“But you're going through my clothes!”

“How will I know what you need if I don't? Curse that meddling twit of a sister of mine, but she was saying that if she was to attend that damned soirée, she must have a new gown. Then the chit shook her head and said no, she couldn't. Mind you, she spoke in the most mournful sainted voice you can imagine. Yes, she milked it wonderfully, saying it wouldn't be right, not since you didn't have anything new to wear. Then she had the gall to look at me as though I were abusing you. I, who assured you that you could wheedle me!”

“Just stop it, Douglas! I don't need or want any new gowns, it's ridiculous, and Sinjun should be smacked.”

“The girl was right in this instance. Come on, Alexandra, be reasonable, if you please.”

“All right, perhaps I do need a new ball gown, but I have my own money, Douglas, I don't want you to—”

“What? That infamous thirty pounds again? My
dear girl, that wouldn't purchase the bodice for a flat-chested girl. Merciful heavens, the amount of groats alone to cover your upper works will empty my pockets. No, don't squawk. Be quiet. My mind is made up. I've arranged for a seamstress from Rye to arrive later this morning. She will take your measurements and then I will select a proper gown for you for the little soirée next Wednesday. From the looks of the remainder of these gowns, I will need to take you to Madame Jordan in London.” Douglas snapped the door to the armoire closed. He pulled it open again, and began pawing through her slippers. “Ah, as I thought. You need coverings from your toes to the top of your head.”

“Douglas,” she said, desperation in her voice, “I don't need for you to buy me things, truly. All that talk about wheedling, it was silly jesting, nothing more. Sinjun was just meddling, as you said. You're right about the ball gown and I thank you, but no more, please. I don't think—”

“Be quiet.”

“No, I won't be quiet! I am not one of your retainers you can order about. Listen to me, I don't wish to be beholden on you, I don't—”

“Ah, so you would rather shame me wearing your damned rags. Blessed hell, woman! I will not be called niggardly; I will not allow people to think I keep you on a skinny string. I imagine the gossip about us is confused enough without adding the fact that my wife looks like a dowd.”

“But you don't particularly care what people think,” she said slowly, eyeing him. “I'm not a dowd. I only resemble a dowd if I have the misfortune to stand beside Melissande. In truth, my gowns just aren't quite up to snuff.”

“Well, the chances are you will be standing next to her, so we must do something. I have also decided that I will have your breasts kept well covered, no matter the cost. Not flattened down or bound or anything like that, but camouflaged just a bit, giving only a hint of your endowments. Perhaps even a hint is too much. I will have to give this more thought. There are too many gentlemen who would ogle you and make you uncomfortable. Further, I won't accept any argument from you. Don't you realize that if you allow your gowns to be at all low-cut, gentlemen will be able to see you all the way down to your toes?”

“That's absurd!”

“No. You're not all that tall, and the result is that most gentlemen would have the advantage of staring down at you. I will not have your breasts on display for all those bounders to salivate over, so you can just stop arguing with me.”

“But I'm not arguing with you!”

“Ah, what would you call it? You're shouting your head off, yelling like a bloody fishwife.”

“All right! Take me to London, take me to see this Madame Jordan, spend all your groats on my back!”

“Ha! Don't you mean your front?”

“Oh goodness. Douglas, please.”

He grinned then.

“Blessed hell, you're as evil as Sinjun, damn you!”

“Not entirely. I see you've appropriated one of the favored Sherbrooke curses. I've tried to curb my tongue around you but you've learned it nonetheless. From whom, I won't demand to know. We will leave for London after the soirée, all right? No, don't argue with me. You've already agreed and I hold you
to it. Also, by then, that traitorous sod will have left with Melissande.”

“And there's no reason for you to remain here if she isn't.”

“Your syntax is nothing short of spectacular and you don't know what you're talking about. Now, if you continue to stand there, thrusting your breasts toward me, I will rip off that gown and then you will be late to meet with the seamstress.”

He left her standing in the middle of her bedchamber, staring at nothing in particular, saying toward the armoire, “He is a strange man.”

If Alexandra fancied Douglas would relent and allow her to be alone with Mrs. Plack, the seamstress from Rye, she was soon to see her grievous error. Sinjun lounged on a chaise longue and Douglas very calmly sat in the wing chair, crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms over his chest and said, “Pray begin, Mrs. Plack.”

She wanted to order both of them out of her bedchamber but she knew from short but powerful experience that when Douglas had made up his mind, he couldn't be budged. She stood stiff as a stone while Mrs. Plack measured her. She raised her arms, stretched her full height; then she tried to slump just a bit so her breasts would not poke out so much, which made Douglas say sharply, “No, straighten your back!”

She did. Then she was allowed to remain while Douglas perused fashion plates until he found a gown that pleased him. “Except,” he said, stroking his jaw, “remove that flounce at the hemline. It's too much. Ah, yes, the smooth lines and the raised waist will make her appear taller. Oh, and hoist up the neckline at least an inch.”

“But, my lord, it will make Her Ladyship look provincial! This is the latest fashion from Paris!”

“An inch,” His Lordship said again. “Raise it an inch.”

“May I see?” Alexandra asked sweetly.

“Certainly,” Douglas said and took her arm, drawing her to his side. “Do you agree that this will become you vastly?”

She stared down at the gown and swallowed. It was exquisite. “What color did you have in mind?”

“A soft pomona green with a dark green overskirt.”

“I do not wish to look provincial.”

Mrs. Plack heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. I shall leave the neckline where it is then.”

“No,” said Douglas. “I want her to be admired but I don't want her to be stared at.”

Alexandra grinned up at him, saying nothing. She looked at his mouth and her eyes darkened. She loved his mouth, the feel of his mouth on her own; she saw his hands clench. She loved the strength of his hands, the frenzy of his mouth and his hands when he touched her, when he turned wild and savage and uncivilized, when she became the most important thing in the world to him.

“Stop it,” he said beneath his breath.

“Hi ho,” Sinjun said, yawning hugely. “I think you have chosen wisely, brother. Now, don't you think we can go buy Alexandra that mare?”

“You will remain and be measured for your own gown, Sinjun. I've selected it and Mother has given her approval. No, don't try to thank me—”

“I was going to take you to task for being so high-handed! I should like to choose my own gown.”

“No, you're too young, too green. Don't argue with
me. Alexandra and I will see you later. Thank you, Mrs. Plack. Don't forget, an inch.”

“You were high-handed, you know,” Alexandra said to her husband as they walked toward the stables.

He brushed a fly from his buckskin thigh. “You need it as does my impertinent sister.” He kept walking, speaking quietly now, not looking at her as he said, “On your return to the Hall, I will take you back to that charming stream. I have decided that it is bedchambers with those big beds that make me lose my rationality and my perspective. Yes, it is the place rather than you that is responsible for turning me into a man with absolutely no finesse or
savoir-faire.

“We will go to the stream and I will remain myself. I will take off your clothes, lay you down on your back and touch you and kiss your breasts and fondle you between your legs, and I will smile and talk to you while I caress you. Perhaps we will discuss the situation in Naples, from both Napoleon's and the Royalists' points of view. And I will wax brilliant because I am concentrating on my words and not on your body. My control will be uplifting, my experience will be at my brain's command. Then, when I decide that I wish to continue with you, why, I will do so, and I will go slowly and do all the things to you I haven't taken the time to do up to now. Well, more time, in any case, and you will scream and bellow until you are hoarse. And you will be very pleased that I am gentleman enough to have figured all this out.”

He turned then to look down at her. She looked both amazed and incredulous and her face was hectic with color. He laughed. “You will be able to scream as
loudly as you wish. There will be no one around save a few ducks and birds. Yes, I enjoy hearing you cry out in the middle of the day with the sun on your face and me pressing you into the warmth of the earth.”

She poked him in his belly and he just laughed some more. She wanted to tell him that he could be as savage as he wished, but she hesitated, and then he said, “You will enjoy me even more when I return to being an excellent lover.” She wondered how that could possibly be true.

At Branderleigh Farm they found a three-year-old mare of Barb descent whose sire was Pander of Foxhall Stud. She was spirited, soft-mouthed, long in the back, and black as midnight with a white star on her nose. She tried to bite Alexandra on her shoulder, Alexandra jerked away in time, and the mare then butted her chin with her nose. It was love at first sight.

“That's what I will call her,” Alexandra said, skipping in delight next to Douglas after he had finalized the sale with a Mr. Crimpton. The new mare was tied to the back of the gig.

“Midnight? Blackie?”

“Oh no, that would be trite, and you know how much we must avoid that accusation!”

He handed her up into the gig then walked around to climb up into his seat. He click-clicked the horse forward. “Well?” he asked again some moments later.

“Her name is Colleen.”

“There is no Irish blood in her.”

“I know. She is an original.”

He grinned. He realized he felt marvelous. He clicked the horse faster. He wanted to get to the
stream and prove that he was the most controlled of lovers. He marshaled quite logical arguments for Napoleon's invasion of Naples while he drove. He was scarce aware that she was seated next to him. It was splendid. He was himself again.

He helped her down from the gig, and just that—the mere closing his hands around her waist to lift her down—sent his hands to her breasts and his mouth to hers and he kissed her and touched her, and was gone. He ripped her chemise to shreds. It was hard and fast and when he finally managed to raise himself off Alexandra, his heart still pounding so hard he could hear it, he said numbly, “I truly can't stand this, truly I can't. Blessed hell, it is too much for a man to suffer. There, you have even wrung the Sherbrooke curse out of me and I have tried hard not to use profanity in front of you. I've failed. Jesus, I'm nothing but a rutting stoat, a stupid man with no sense and fewer brains.”

As for Alexandra, she doubted she would be able to move. He'd taken her quickly, as usual, and he'd been so deep inside her after he'd brought her to pleasure, making her scream as she lurched up, shafts of sunlight splashing through the oak branches onto her face. Her new mare had whinnied in response. Douglas had panted and heaved and said things to her that she guessed were very sexual, but she hadn't understood all of them. It was odd of her, but she rather wanted to ask him to translate so she could say them to him and understand what she was saying.

“Yes,” he said, “far too much for me to bear.” Then he leaned down and kissed her. She parted her lips for him and it began again. “Damnation!” he howled to the pure sweet air, then kissed her again and he
was hard inside her and pushing more and more deeply only to withdraw, to find her with his fingers and his mouth and it went on and on as she spun out of control and yet turned inward, to him, to burrow inside his passion. She didn't want him to be civilized; she didn't want him to do anything differently. She wanted him to be a pig.

She told him again that she loved him between kisses on his jaw, his shoulder, his throat, her hands feverish on his chest and downward on his belly. Her fingertips touched his sex and he shuddered.

“No, not again.” He gently pushed her down onto her back. He stared down at her, his eyes hard. “No you don't,” he said. “Heed me well, Alexandra. A woman says she loves a man because she has to justify her own passion to herself. If she is abandoned, if she finds great pleasure, why then, it must be love, not lust. You, particularly, are young and romantic; it is very important that you try to wrap your bodily pleasures in more inspiring packaging. It is the way your female brain functions, bolstered by all those trashy novels you have doubtless swooned over, but you will get over it if you will just be reasonable.”