The Sherbrooke Bride (27 page)

“Oh yes, your superior Dr. Mortimer is a man, Douglas! He spouted all your precious male nonsense. He treated me as if I were a child, a stupid child at that. Besides, how can he possibly know what he's doing? He isn't a woman; he isn't built like a woman. How can he know how a woman works and when something isn't working right?”

“I won't argue with you about this, Alexandra. I will ask him to come back. If you wish it, I will
remain with you and keep an eye on him, if that is what concerns you. That is what I wished to do today. Now, enough. Would you like to go riding to Richmond? We could take a picnic. I wouldn't be able to attack you—to reward you, that is—there would be too many people about. What do you say?”

She could only stare at him. “Douglas, don't you realize what you did?”

“You are irritating me, Alexandra.”

“You went against my wishes. You didn't even consult me. I will not tolerate that sort of thing, Douglas.”

He turned red and actually yelled at her, “Damn you, you are my wife. Can't you understand that if I get you with child, you could die? I don't want to kill you!”

“Why?” Her voice was now soft as butter, and Douglas heard the change and wanted to kick himself.

“Don't try your bloody guile on me, madam. Go change into your riding habit. You have fifteen minutes. If you are late, I shall lose you in the maze.”

It was a start, Alexandra thought, as she climbed the stairs. It was a very promising start.

However, not half an hour later, she wanted to kick him. Her promising start had fallen into ashes.

“D
OUGLAS
,
WHO CALLED
you away so early this morning?” Her question was one of random curiosity. However, Douglas stiffened alarmingly in the saddle. The stallion he kept in London, Prince by name, a huge roan gelding, didn't like the stiffening and danced sideways. Alexandra's mare, a foul-tempered chestnut, decided it was her rider's fault that the stallion was upset, whipped her head around, and bit her boot. She yelped in surprise.

Douglas said sharply, “I told you she wasn't like your mare at home. Pay attention, Alexandra.”

She frowned at the back of his head. They were cantering sedately in Rotten Row. Douglas had decided they didn't have time to go to Richmond maze. It was too early by far for all the fashionable to be in attendance, which pleased Alexandra. It was a pleasant early afternoon, a light breeze ruffling the loose curls around her face. She said again, this time more than random interest in her voice, “Who wanted you so badly this morning? No one in your family is ill? Everyone is all right?”

“My family is now your family. Contrive to remember that, please. Also, it is none of your business
where I go or what I do. A wife shouldn't meddle in her husband's affairs. Pay attention to your mount and—”

“Douglas,” she said in what she believed a most reasonable tone of voice, “you are sulking because I didn't take that wretched doctor up to my bedchamber. I will continue not to take him anywhere, and unless you want to create a god-awful scene, you won't force me to. Now, what was all the urgency? I am your wife. Please tell me what is happening.”

He remained mulish and silent and her imagination flowed into dramatic channels. “It isn't anything to do with an invasion, is it? Oh dear, the ministry doesn't want you back in the army, do they? You won't go, will you? Please consider well, Douglas. There is so much at Northcliffe Hall that requires your constant attention. So I don't think—”

“Be quiet! It has nothing to do with that, dammit! It has to do with a brilliant madman named Georges Cadoudal.”

“Who is he?”

How had she managed to get him to spit out the name, he wondered, staring between his horse's ears. “It is none of your affair. Be quiet. Leave me alone. I won't tell you anything more.”

“All right,” she said. Georges Cadoudal. He was French and Douglas spoke French as if he'd been nursed on it at his mother's breast. She remembered the intensity of that French woman—that hussy he'd rescued, Janine—the previous night at the Ranleaghs' ball and said, “Is he involved somehow with that bawd who was trying to seduce you last night?”

Douglas simply stared at her. She couldn't know. It was just a guess and he was a fool. The last thing he wanted to do was worry her, to scare her. The absolute last thing he wanted was for her to pry into the absurd business. He dug his heels into Prince's sides and the stallion shot forward.

Alexandra wished she had a rock; she would surely throw it at the back of his head. But more than that, she was worried. How to find out who this Georges Cadoudal was and how it affected Douglas? She remembered the note brought to him by his valet, Finkle, who had come to London with them. Perhaps the note was still about somewhere. She resolved to find it. He'd said that his was now her family as well. Very well. She was his wife; it was time he realized that having a wife meant an end to his own counsels. She could be of help to him; he had to learn that.

She found the note. Finkle had deposited it carefully with His Lordship's other missives on his massive desk in the library. Alexandra frowned as she read it. It was from a Lord Avery. The scrawl, which was large and black, simply informed Douglas that this Georges Cadoudal was, it appeared, not in Paris where he was supposed to be, but rather back in England. Lord Avery was worried; he needed to speak with Douglas immediately.

Alexandra scrupulously refolded the letter, placing it back into the pile, giving no visual hint it had been moved. Douglas came unexpectedly into the room just as she finished. She flushed to the top of her forehead and quickly pushed away from the desk.

“Good day, my lord,” she said and gave him an airy wave.

He was frowning; he blocked her escape. “What are you doing in here, Alexandra?”

She sent her chin upward. “Isn't this my house as well? Are there some rooms that I'm not allowed to visit? If that is so, it is only fair that you tell me where I am not to go and I will, naturally, obey you.”

Douglas looked toward his desk, his frown still in place. “Your efforts to distract me have never worked. And, you have never obeyed me. Now, what is on my desk that was of such interest to you?”

As he took a step forward, she tried to duck around him. He caught her wrist in his hand. She felt his thumb gently caress the soft flesh and knew that if he continued, she would be on her back on the floor, or perhaps the sofa, and she would enjoy herself most thoroughly.

It was as if Douglas realized the same thing. He dropped her wrist. “Don't move,” he said, “or I will see to it that you pay for your interest in my affairs.” She wondered if he knew what he would do were she to duck out of the room. She decided the threat wasn't specific enough and was out of the room in an instant.

Douglas let her go. He'd find her quickly enough; he went to his desk and thumbed through the papers. When he found the note from Lord Avery, he cursed. Damn Finkle, why did he have to be so fastidious? Well, she knew very little more now than she had before. Still, he was worried. Georges Cadoudal wasn't predictable. From experience, Douglas knew that once Georges got a particular idea in his brain, he couldn't be budged from it. It was both an asset and a terrible drawback. Like now.

Douglas cursed. What to do?

His course of action was decided that very evening. He took Alexandra to a small soirée at the home of Lord and Lady Marchpane, a delightful older couple who were very fond of Douglas for he'd looked after their grandson in the army. They greeted him and Alexandra warmly.

As for Alexandra, she was wary, though Douglas had said naught to her of retribution or punishment. He'd appeared rather preoccupied, even when she'd presented herself in a new gown whose neckline wasn't all that high. He'd merely nodded at her and that had been that. She watched him from the corner of her eye. She would have preferred to have remained at the town house, with him. Perhaps she should apologize for her nosiness. She touched her fingertips to his sleeve. He looked down at her, saying nothing, his face expressionless.

“I'm sorry, Douglas.”

“For what specifically?”

“For prying, but you made me so angry, not telling me what is happening. I am your wife, you know. I can be of assistance to you if you would but allow me.”

His look was, if nothing, more remote. “I accept your apology though it is sparse as a gorse heath. As for the other, I cannot help but be aware that you are my wife. You are with me every blessed moment. I doubt I could relieve myself without you demanding where it is I went to and what it is I did. Ah, here is Teddy Summerton. He dances well. I will give you over to him. No, don't argue with me. You will do as I bid you. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” she said.

And she dutifully danced the next country dance with Teddy Summerton, a very nice young gentleman with a pallid complexion and large ears who appeared to worship her husband. When the dance was over, Douglas was nowhere to be seen.

Alexandra wondered if he were once again with that French hussy. She wandered slowly around the perimeter of the ballroom; some of the people recognized her and nodded. She nodded back, smiling. Where was Douglas?

It was a warm evening, the air heavy with impending rain. Alexandra went onto the balcony and leaned over the stone balustrade to peer down into the gardens below. There were lanterns hung at romantic intervals, but still there were many shadows, many dark places, and she felt a gnawing of fear.

She called out softly, “Douglas?”

There was no response. She thought she heard a rustle in the bushes to her left but couldn't be certain. She called his name again, then quickly skipped down the deep-set stone steps to the garden. Again she called his name. Then she fell silent. She quickly walked along one of the narrow stone paths, her ears on full alert. Nothing. Then, suddenly, she heard a man's deep voice that sounded like a low hissing, but she didn't understand what he was saying. Damnation, it was French he was speaking. She wanted to scream with vexation until she heard Douglas reply, in French, and he sounded both cold and remarkably angry.

Suddenly there came the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle. She didn't wait but ran full-tilt toward the fray. She ran into the bushes to see two men attacking Douglas. She watched with astonishment when he whirled about on the balls of his feet and
struck one of the men hard in his belly with his fist, then as he turned, faster than the wind, his elbow struck the other man in his throat. It was all done so quickly she just stood there, frozen like a rabbit. The one man, rubbing his throat, yelled something in French at Douglas; in the next instant, both he and his henchman had melted into the shadows.

Douglas stood there motionless, rubbing the knuckles of his left hand, staring off into the darkness. She ran to him then, her hand on his arms, his shoulders, finally to cup his face. “Are you all right? You were so fine, Douglas. You moved so quickly. I couldn't believe it. You didn't need my help at all. Are you all right? Can you not speak? Please, Douglas, speak to me.” As she spoke, her hands continued to caress him, to feel him, and still he stood motionless, his breathing deep and steady.

Finally, he raised his arms, grasped her hands in his, and lowered his face to within an inch of hers. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

Her hands stilled, but she didn't flinch away from him. “I was worried about you. I couldn't find you. I thought perhaps you would need me.”

“Need you? Good Lord, madam, spare me your assistance! Now, we're leaving.”

“But who were those men? Why did they attack you? I heard all of you arguing but I couldn't understand. It was in French, blast it. Why—”

He shook her, saying nothing, and dragged her back along the path to the town house. He was terrified for her, for the last thing Georges Cadoudal had shouted at him was a threat against her. Just as he'd destroyed Janine, he, Georges, would destroy Douglas's new wife.

He said nothing in the carriage, until she asked, “I've never seen anyone hit another like that. You didn't fight Tony like that.”

“I wanted to thrash Tony, not kill him.”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

He turned to look at her in the dim light of the carriage. He smiled just a bit, remembering. “I was in Portugal and I got to know some members in this gang of bandits in Oporto who were the foulest, meanest, dirtiest fighters I've ever seen in my life. They taught me and I managed to live through it.”

“Oh. Who were those men who tried to hurt you?”

He took her left hand in his and held it firm. “Listen to me, Alexandra. You are to go nowhere without me, do you understand? Don't look at me like that, just trust me. Tell me you understand.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Of course you don't, but it doesn't matter. The day after tomorrow, we are returning to Northcliffe.”

“Why?”

“You will do as I tell you and ask no more questions.”

She decided to let the matter rest. She knew him well enough to recognize that once he'd shut off the valve to his meager supply of information, it wouldn't again be opened. He was the most stubborn man she'd ever known. She leaned back her head against the soft leather squabs, closed her eyes, and began to snore.

She thought he chuckled, but she couldn't be certain. She now had a plan; not much of one, but at least it was a start; it was something.

 

The following day at just after eleven o'clock in the morning, Douglas returned to the town house.
His meeting with Lord Avery had been short and to the point. Yes, Georges Cadoudal was here in London, not in Paris, where he should be with all the English government's groats and apparently he was out for blood, Douglas's blood.

Douglas sighed, handed Burgess his cane, and asked, “Where is Her Ladyship?”

Burgess looked pained but brave. “She is with a person, my lord.”

“A person, you say? Is this person male?”

“Yes, my lord. It is a French male person.”

He immediately thought of Georges Cadoudal and paled. But no, Georges wouldn't come here. Damn her eyes. Was she trying to spy on him by bribing some Frenchman she'd picked up off the street? “I see. And just where is she with this French male person?”

“In the morning room, my lord.”

“Why did you not inquire the mission of this French male person, Burgess?”

“Her Ladyship said it was none of my affair. Her tone and words were very much in your fashion, my lord.”

“It has never made you shut your mouth before!”