The Sherbrooke Bride (23 page)

“You absurd clod!” Alexandra sent her fist hard into his jaw. He was balanced on his elbow and the surprise of her blow sent him over onto his back.

“You stupid boor! You mindless rutting stoat!”

“Well, the last of it is true, I already laid claim to that.”

“Go to the devil!”

She was up and jerking on her clothing, panting and heaving, so furious with him that she was trembling.

“Alexandra, be reasonable. Stop it.”

She didn't. If anything she jerked so hard a button went flying.

He came up on his elbows, lying stretched out, naked and sweating and feeling very relaxed. He was even grinning at her. “Alexandra, why become so distraught at the simple truth? Love is a poet's nonsensical plaything and if he can bend one silly word to rhyme with another, why all the better. It is as insubstantial as a dream, as meaningless as the rain that flows through your fingers. Don't use it as a crutch or as an excuse to enjoy me and yourself, you don't need it. You and I do well together in bed. You respond fully to me, even though I seem to have this rutting-stoat disease with you. Don't feel you have to cover it up with romantic nonsense.”

She was dressed now, though her stockings and boots were still on the ground. Her hands on her hips, she said very slowly, very calmly, “I knew I shouldn't have told you. I knew that you don't feel at all the same way about me and I was afraid it would give you power over me. I was quite wrong. You care so little for me that power doesn't even come into it. I didn't realize you would mock my words and my feelings, that you would make sport at what I feel. Your cynicism is pathetic, Douglas. If it makes you feel any better, if it makes you feel as if your beliefs are justified, well, I don't love you at this moment. I should like to cosh you with a hammer at this moment. I would like to kick you on your backside. Instead, I think I will punish you in another way.” She picked up his boots and his trousers and ran with them toward the stream. She stopped and threw them as hard and as far as she could.

Douglas bounded up to grab for his clothes, but he was too late. “Blessed hell!” He jumped into the stream to grab his boots and trousers and Alexandra untied the horse, bounded into the gig, and was off in the next moment. His shirt and jacket lay beside her on the plank seat.

She heard him yelling at her and just click-clicked the horse faster. He couldn't catch her, not in his bare feet, and he could whistle to the horses all he wanted, they wouldn't pay him any heed. Alexandra smiled. The cynical bounder. Retribution tasted very sweet.

Thirty minutes later, Douglas passed the yew bush that flew his shirt like a white flag of surrender. He'd wondered where his shirt had gone to. She'd taken it, damn her eyes. He was hot, sweating, and wished he had her neck between his hands, just for an instant, just long enough for him to squeeze and make her face turn blue.

Damned twit. Lust, good full-powered bone-deep lust, and like every other female in the history of the world, she had to make it into something more grand, more elevated than it really was. Doubtless if he encouraged her, she would begin to wax eloquent about a spiritual joining, a mating of their very souls. It wasn't to be borne.

His shirt stuck to his sweaty back. The afternoon sun was grueling. Another quarter of a mile and he spotted his coat flying from the lower branch of a maple tree.

When he finally stomped up the wide front steps of Northcliffe Hall, he was ready to kill.

Hollis greeted him, looking as bland as a bowl of broth. “Ah, Your Lordship is back from your nature walk. Her Ladyship told us how you lauded the
lovely tulip trees that were bowed so gracefully over the stream; she said you strained your neck to see to the top of the poplar trees alongside the trails. She said you were humming with the lovely song thrushes and smelling the lilac flowers. She said you then wished to commune with the fishes and thus swam in the stream. She said how very kind you were to allow her to continue back here since she had the headache. You look a bit hot, my lord. Should you like a lemonade, perhaps?”

Douglas knew that Hollis was lying and he knew that Hollis knew that he knew. Why did everyone insist upon protecting her? What about him? He'd been the one to have to leap into the stream and pull his boots from bottom silt. He'd been the one to trudge three miles back to the Hall. Lemonade?

“Where is Her Ladyship?”

“Why, she is communing with the nature that's confined here at Northcliffe, my lord. She is in the gardens.”

“I thought you said she had a bloody headache.”

“I fancy she cured that.”

“Just so,” Douglas said. The thought of her sitting at her ease on a chaise longue, cool and sweat-free, would have sent him into a rage. Douglas drew himself up. He shook his head at himself. All of this, it was ridiculous.

A month ago he'd been a free man.

Two weeks ago and he'd thought himself married to the most beautiful woman in England.

And now he was shackled to a twit he'd never seen before and who tortured him. She also turned him into a wild man. She tortured him very well.

In the east gardens, Tony leaned negligently against the skinny trunk of a larch, his eyes on
his sister-in-law. She was filthy, sweat darkening her hair, her hands were black with dirt. She was murdering a weed, her movements jerky, and she was muttering to herself.

“I think things march along just fine,” he said.

Alexandra paused and raised her face to Tony's. “Nothing is marching anywhere, Tony. He doesn't like me, truly.”

“You mistake the matter, my dear. He's accepted you as his wife. Too, I've seen him look at you. I've seen him look violent with need and replete with pleasure.”

“He hates that. Until today, he blamed me for his loss of control whenever he touched me. Just two hours ago, he decided to blame the bedchambers and the beds. He planned to discuss philosophy or war or something whilst he loved me.” She sighed. “When that failed, he . . . well, now he is probably intent on finding me and wringing my neck.”

“What you did to him was splendid, Alex. I wish I could have seen him dash naked into the stream to save his pants and boots. As I recall there are many rocks to trip the naked foot.”

“I know it isn't proper to speak like this, Tony, but I have no one else. I was a fool. I told him that I loved him. I couldn't help it, it just came out of my mouth. He told me that all I feel, that all he feels is just lust. He said that love is nonsense and that the notion of a spiritual joining makes him physically ill.”

“He really said that?”

“Not exactly. I am simply making the words fit his feelings more precisely. Actually what he said was worse—more insulting, more cynical.”

“But now he is your husband and I swear to you,
Alex, where a man finds pleasure, other pleasures usually follow, if the man and woman are at all reasonable. You love Douglas. Half the battle is won. More than half, for he goes crazy whenever he touches you. You will see. The soirée is tomorrow night. Melissande and I will leave the next day. You won't have to worry about my lovely witch any longer. Besides, I do believe that Douglas is already beginning to wonder how he would have dealt with her.”

“I can't believe she allows you to call her Mellie.”

“I dislike the name immensely. Mellie, bah! It sounds like an overweight girl with spots on her face. However, it is important that she bend to me completely. If I wish to call her pug, why then, she must accept it since it comes from me, her husband, her master.”

Alexandra could but stare at him. “You are terrifying, Tony.”

He grinned down at her. “No, not really. As much as I love your sister, I will not allow her to have the upper hand. Ah, I believe I see your errant husband striding this way. Normally a man will pause—just a moment, you understand—to look at the Greek statues, but not Douglas. He looks fit to kill. This should be interesting. Should you like me to draw him off?”

“No, he would challenge you to a duel or assault you right here.” She shook her head. “Then I should have to attack you again, Tony.”

“Very true. Ah, we are saved. Here is Melissande, carrying her watercolors. Now she is pausing to look at the statues and not with an eye to painting them either, I vow. She and Douglas are now met up and speaking. He must control his bile. He must
be charming, no matter he wants to kill you. Yes, he appears to have stopped gnashing his teeth. You know, Alex, I have an idea, a thoroughly reprehensible idea.”

She looked at him and understood and quickly said, “Oh no, Tony. It wouldn't work, it wouldn't—”

Douglas and Melissande came around a thick yew bush to see Tony on his knees in front of Alexandra, his arms around her, kissing her hair.

Douglas froze.

Melissande jerked back as if she'd been struck. She threw her watercolors to the ground, and yelling like a banshee, ran to the couple, grabbed Tony's hair and yanked with all her might. He fell onto his back, grinned up at her, only Melissande wasn't looking at him, but at her sister.

“You miserable husband stealer!” she yelled and threw herself on Alexandra, knocking her over backward. “How dare you, Alex! You have a husband, and you have the nerve to try to take mine!” She yanked at Alexandra's hair.

“Stop it! For God's sake—”

Douglas grabbed Melissande and picked her up, shoving her toward Tony, who caught her and held her arms to her sides. “I'll make her bald, I'll make her two inches shorter!”

“Hush, Mellie, hush now.”

Melissande turned on her husband and yelled not an inch from his nose, “Don't call me that horrid name! What were you doing, kissing her hair? I have a beautiful hair, if you want to kiss hair, you will kiss mine! You faithless lout, I'll pull out all her hair and then you'll—Don't you dare try to kiss me now, you miserable clod!”

Douglas heard the yelling behind him, but he didn't
move. He dropped to his haunches in front of his wife. She was shaking her head, as if to see if it were still on her shoulders. She was filthy, her face streaked with dirt, her eyes watering.

“Are you all right?”

“No, my scalp is on fire. I hadn't realized Melissande was so strong.”

“It serves you right.”

“Yes, quite probably, it does.”

“I fancy it didn't occur to Tony that she would attack you. It's obvious his plan wasn't at all well thought through.”

She looked up at him and saw that he knew exactly what had happened. “No, I imagine he was surprised. But pleased at the same time.”

“Yes. Come along now, you're a mess, a greater one than I am. I won't bathe with you or we'll remain messes.”

They rose and turned to see Tony kissing his wife very passionately.

Douglas said mildly, “Yes, Tony proved something, didn't he? Something he hadn't counted on. Now he is greatly pleased with himself.”

Tony made love to his wife there next to a Greek statue and it was as violent and urgent a performance as his cousin would have given. Melissande actually didn't give a single thought to her lovely gown or to grass stains or to possible interlopers coming along. She lost her reason, all of it, and it was quite delicious. When she told him she loved him and she would kill any woman who tried to take him away from her, he grinned like a blissful fool and said with a good deal of satisfaction in his voice, “I believe that I love you as well. Your fierceness pleases me, as does your jealousy. Yes,
you please me, very much.”

As for Douglas: He sat brooding in his copper bathtub, his valet standing over him, wringing his hands, bemoaning the ruined boots and trousers.

T
YSEN
S
HERBROOKE STOOD
tall and proud as a rooster, his eyes reverent as he said to Alexandra, “I would like to present Melinda Beatrice Hardesty. My sister-in-law, Lady Alexandra.”

So this was the flat-chested simpering pious young woman Sinjun detested. Alex smiled at her. “I am charmed, Miss Hardesty. Tysen has told us all so much about you. I hope you will enjoy yourself this evening.”

Melinda Beatrice, who knew her own worth, was nevertheless a bit shy with a countess, even though she appeared to be not a month older than Alex was. She gave her a graceful curtsy and said in her prim voice, “Thank you, ma'am.”

“I trust you and Tysen will enjoy the dancing.”

“Mr. Sherbrooke has asked my mama if I may dance with him. She has refused, naturally, for I'm not out yet.”

“A pity,” Alex said. “Perhaps you can play cards instead.”

“Oh no, ma'am. Why, that wouldn't be at all proper and my mama would be most upset. Mama says that only wastrels play cards.”

“Well,” Alexandra said, shooting the love-slain Tysen a harassed look, “perhaps you and Mr.
Sherbrooke can take a turn in the gardens. It's warm tonight so your dear mama surely can't object and there are so many adults just feet away to protect your reputation.”

“Yes, I should like that,” said Miss Hardesty. “If Mama won't object.”

“What a twit,” Douglas remarked as he watched his brother lead Miss Hardesty away. “I do hope Tysen will outgrow her. He goes back to Oxford soon, thank God.” He looked back to his wife, whose bodice had been raised only a half-inch and frowned. He'd overheard Sinjun laughing about it. He'd said nothing, however, for when Alexandra had come earlier into the drawing room, looking toward him like a hopeful puppy, he was too busy thinking how lovely she looked to say anything. The green made her skin as creamy and white as her belly, and her hair, thick and redder than sin, was piled artfully atop her head, with several glossy tendrils trailing over her shoulder. He looked down at the expanse of rich white flesh and felt himself begin to shake. “Let's dance, otherwise I might be tempted to thrust my hand down your bosom.”

“All right.”

“All right what?”

She gave him a siren's smile. “Whichever you choose, Douglas.”

He struggled with himself. As for Alexandra, she tried to keep down the bubble of laughter. As he continued to struggle, she stared with no little pride and relief over the ballroom that was gaily festooned with hanging blue, white, and gold crepe. Potted plants and thick bouquets were in every corner and on every tabletop, their scent fragrant
in the warm evening air. There were at least fifteen couples dancing and another thirty standing or seated about the perimeter of the dance floor. Every invitation had been accepted except for Sir James Evertson, who'd had the bad manners to die just that morning. Everything was perfect and she had helped organize all of it. There was plentiful food and the champagne punch had been pronounced fit even for the pickiest matrons by Aunt Mildred. For the first time, Alexandra truly felt like the mistress of Northcliffe Hall. It was a heady feeling and she loved it. Her mother-in-law had harumphed a bit at some of her orders, but hadn't gainsaid her, at least to her face. Yes, she'd proved she could deal with her mother-in-law, at least in this.

She sought out Melissande, who looked like a princess, dancing with a young man who looked ready to collapse at her feet and pant.

Douglas, having finished his struggle, said finally, sounding just a bit shocked, “Are you trying to tease me, Alexandra?”

She smiled up at her husband. “What were we speaking about? You took so long to reply. Oh yes, it is your choice, Douglas. You insist that all I feel for you is lust. Well, then, since you're older than I, and far more experienced, I expect you're right. I accept that now. You're staring down at my bosom and it is only lust you feel. Now I am staring at your mouth and you must know that I want to kiss you, to feel you with my hands, all of you, especially over your belly and down to touch you, you're so hot and alive and smooth. All of it is lust. After all, you told me to be reasonable and that you are a man with vast experience in everything, so yes, lust it is.” She gave him a wicked smile and held out her hand. “Dance, my lord?”

He wanted to smack her.

He was breathing hard. He was seeing her white hands stroking down his chest, her fingers splayed on his belly, her fingers curling around him, caressing him, and his muscles spasmed. “I'm going to the cardroom,” he said and left her with a sharp nod.

Alexandra smiled. Let him taste his own turnips, she thought. Just let him believe that she felt nothing for him except his precious lust.

Lady Juliette seemed to enjoy herself, Alexandra saw. She'd established herself and her own court far away from Melissande. She laughed rather a lot and loudly, but Alexandra didn't care. The chit would leave on the morrow.

When Hollis whispered in Alexandra's ear that the dinner buffet was ready to be served, she was startled at how quickly the time had passed. It was Tony who led her into dinner and Douglas who escorted Melissande. Juliette was on the besotted arm of a local squire who had been complaining at great length about his gout until he had seen Juliette.

“Douglas is still in a snit,” Alexandra said to Tony as she forked down a bite of delicious salmon patty. “And all because I finally agreed with him about my feelings, rather my lack of them.”

“Just lust, hm?”

“Yes. He puffed up like a haughty cardinal and took himself off to the cardroom. His mother isn't pleased with him. She blames me for his defection, of course. I am tempted to tell her exactly why he defected. I vow it would make her look at Douglas in a different light.”

“And you as well, hussy.”

Alex laughed. “True, but the look on her face would be worth it, almost.”

“Are you pregnant yet?”

She dropped her fork. “Goodness. I have no idea. Oh dear, Tony, I hadn't thought about it.
Pregnant.
Why ever would you ask me that?”

“I heard the dowager speaking of it to Aunt Mildred. She just hopes you will do your duty before the year is out since that is the only reason Douglas was willing to marry in the first place. The precious heir, you know.”

She gave him a stark look. “I suppose if I do not produce the precious heir within a year, Douglas will toss me out on my ear and try to breed with another female?”

“You make it sound like livestock on a farm. And no, Douglas will keep on trying manfully, I doubt not.” Tony fiddled with a slice of bread, saying finally, “I know this is difficult for you to believe, but it's true. I've never in my adult life seen Douglas lose his control. In battle he was a cold-blooded bastard, never faltering, never losing sight of his goals, never forgetting a detail that would make a possible difference in an outcome. He was good, Alex, very good; he never lost his head. His men worshiped him because they knew they could trust him. He would never let them down.

“I have seen him so angry that another man would have exploded with the pressure, but not Douglas. Obviously I haven't observed him in bed with women in the past, but men being men, we do discuss things, and always, in the past, it's been something of a game to him. He enjoys having a woman lose her head over what he's doing to her; he enjoys controlling, setting the pace, deciding when and what will be done. You have shocked him to his Sherbrooke toes. He is reeling. I find it quite amusing. Also, Alex, I think
your approach this evening was a master stroke. Ah, I wish I could stay and witness his downfall.”

“Downfall. I don't like the sound of that.”

“His upfall, then, his acceptance that he is very fond of his wife both in and out of bed and that it isn't at all a bad thing to be utterly mad about your wife.”

“Do you know, if anyone overheard us, they would ship us off to that horrible Botany Bay. I have never even thought in terms of what we now speak about openly.” She grinned. “As for Douglas, he knows no reticence, no shame—”

Tony grabbed her hand and kissed it, laughing. He looked over at Douglas to see his cousin frowning at him, murder in his dark eyes. As for Melissande, there was not only murder in her beautiful eyes, there was also dismemberment, if Tony didn't miss his guess. He was excessively pleased. He would never in his life forget their lovemaking in the garden. He rather hoped Melissande was pregnant. She certainly deserved to be.

“Ah, it is a pity to miss any of the drama.”

Alexandra laughed. “You keep that up and you won't be alive for the rest of the drama.”

The evening ended at two o'clock in the morning. Alexandra was still too excited to be tired, but the lavender feather on her mother-in-law's turban was listing sharply to port; Aunt Mildred was no longer tapping her toes to the beat of the music; Uncle Albert was snoring softly against a potted palm. Douglas emerged from the cardroom, five hundred pounds richer, to take his place beside his wife as their guests departed.

“You were a success,” he said, “but I still don't like your breasts sticking out like that.”

“I think you were a success yourself, Douglas, particularly with those black knee britches of yours molding your thighs and well, the rest of you. I imagine all the ladies remarked on your male endowments.”

She turned immediately to speak to Sir Thomas Hardesty and his wife, complimenting them on their lovely daughter, Melinda Beatrice, winking at a hovering Tysen whilst she did so. To her surprise Sir Thomas held her hand overlong and there was a definite loose look about his mouth. Douglas was stiff as a poker until they took their leave. “That damned old lecher. How dare he ogle you like that!”

“It wasn't really ogling,” Tysen said. “He is short-sighted, that's all.”

“You are becoming more of a fool by the day and it is excessively irritating. I should have sent you with Ryder. He would have beat the naïveté out of you.”

“Well,” Alexandra said after Tysen had given his brother an uncertain look and taken himself off, “Lady Hardesty was, I believe, ogling you a bit too.”

“You will pay for your quite inappropriate observations, Alexandra.”

She gave him a sunny smile. “Why don't you call me Alex?”

Melissande and Tony came over and Douglas looked at the two sisters standing side by side. One was so achingly beautiful that it made a man's tongue stick to the roof of his mouth just to look at her; and the other . . . Good Lord, just hearing her laugh made him hard and sweaty, and made him think about her lying naked beneath him. She didn't look at all dowdy standing next to Melissande. He wanted to kiss the tip of her shiny nose.

Douglas couldn't wait to let his hands dive into her bodice and pull it away from her breasts. He followed her into her bedchamber, dismissed her maid, and did just that. When his hands were cupping her breasts, he sighed with pleasure, closing his eyes. Then, suddenly, he felt her hands on his legs, moving up and toward his groin. He froze. Then her hands were molding him and he wanted to yell with the pleasure of it.

“Ah,” she said into his mouth as he kissed her, “I love lust, don't you, Douglas?”

“Blessed hell,” he said and had her stripped within a minute. She gave no thought to the beautiful ball gown that had cost him at least one hundred pounds. She was too busy undressing him, stroking him, caressing him, staring at him as she touched him.

Again, there was no time, no overture, no prelude. He was on top of her, panting, his big body shaking, and she arched up against him and he came into her. She was ready for him, always ready, and the power of him made her cry out and lurch upward. She grabbed his head and brought his mouth down to hers and she kissed him, biting his lower lip, her hands wild on his shoulders and back even as she pushed upward against him, bringing him deeper.

For one single instant, Douglas managed to regain his sanity, and in that instant, she climaxed, and he watched her eyes go vague and soft and he kissed her mouth, taking the gasping cries into his. But it was just for an instant, one small instant, then he was raging over her again, beyond himself, surging into her, and it wouldn't stop. He felt her hands on his buttocks and that sent him over the edge. “Alexandra,” he said, then collapsed on top of her.

They were lying half off the bed. He was very heavy but she didn't care. She wondered if it would always be like this—this fierce wild lovemaking, always so fast, so hard and deep. She knew she wouldn't mind a bit; she was always with him, just as frenzied, just as urgent. Douglas would accept nothing else. She said, when she was able to draw a complete breath, “Am I pregnant, do you think?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I made you pregnant the first time I took you.”

“Well, then, if you are right, I will be proved worthy. That's what everyone wanted, isn't it? A Sherbrooke heir?”

“Yes. As I recall, you volunteered to produce the heir.”

“Yes,” she said readily, “I'll give you half a dozen heirs if you wish. I should like to have a little boy who looks just like you, Douglas.”