The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (11 page)

Melissande slapped her palm over her husband’s mouth. He took her slender wrist between his long fingers and pulled it away. “Now, where was I?”

“Please, Tony.”

He looked at her closely. “Did I truly hear a ‘please’?”

She nodded.

He looked at her another long moment, then said calmly, “You have pleased me. Eat your stewed green beans, Mellie. They’re quite delicious.”

Alexandra, who’d been a fascinated observer, now looked toward her own husband. He was staring at Melissande and Tony and there was a deep frown on his forehead. As for Ryder, he was smiling at his turtle soup.

Two hours later, alone in her bedchamber, Alexandra stood irresolute, staring at the adjoining door. Ryder had said to seduce Douglas. Ryder said that all women were born knowing how. She wondered if Douglas would laugh at her if she tried. Ryder had said time was of the essence, that she must act quickly, that she mustn’t wait patiently, like the faithful Penelope did for Ulysses. Very well then.
She would do it and she would do it now. Before she lost her resolve.

Alex doused her candle and walked to the adjoining door. Slowly, she opened it.

A
LEX WALKED SLOWLY
into the large master bedroom. Her eyes went immediately to the bed and she stilled. It was empty, the covers unruffled. She saw him then and walked quietly toward him. A branch of candles burned on a table beside the wing chair in front of the fireplace. There were only embers still burning, dull orange, throwing off little light and warmth.

Douglas sat in the chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He was wearing a dark blue brocade dressing gown. It was parted over his legs. She stared at his legs, hairy, thick, strong. His feet were bare. They were long and narrow and quite beautiful to her. His chin was balanced on his fist.

She was scared silly; but she was determined, she had to be. It was very possible that her future with this man depended on what she did and how well she did it in the next few minutes. “My lord?”

“Yes,” Douglas said, not moving, not looking at her. “I heard you come into my room. I never thought I should lock my door against a woman. What do you want?”

“I wanted . . . you’re thinking about what to do with me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, that and other things. I am also worried about Ryder voyaging to the West Indies. It is never a safe sailing. But he insisted that he be the one to go.” Douglas turned then to look up at her. “Ryder said I should remain here and come to grips with myself and my marriage to you. He believes you a perfectly fine sort.”

She said nothing.

Douglas looked over at her then. He brooded, stroking his fingers over his chin now. “Your nightgown is a little girl’s, all white and long and high-necked.”

“I don’t have any others.”

“The brass I will have to spend on clothing you begins to boggle the mind.”

“There is nothing wrong with my nightgown. It keeps me warm and it is soft against the skin.”

“It is a virgin’s nightgown.”

“Well,” she said reasonably, “that is what I am.”

“No self-respecting woman would wear such a garment.”

Alex sighed.

“What do you want? Ah, I see. You wish to plead with me some more. You wish to further detail how indispensable you can be to me. You wish to bray on about your housewifely accomplishments. I beg you not to tell me you will also sing in the evenings to me and perhaps accompany yourself on the pianoforte. Why the devil do you have your hair braided? It looks absurd. I don’t like it.”

Alex never stopped looking at him. She hadn’t thought about her braid; she should have, for a braid couldn’t be considered remotely seductive. Melissande never braided her hair. Alex would learn. She set her single candle down on the
table by his chair. She raised her arms and slowly began to upbraid her hair. As the plaits came loose, she tugged her fingers through the deep ripples, smoothing them out. He merely sat there, watching her, saying nothing.

When she finished, her hair was loose to the middle of her back.

“Bring some hair over your shoulder.”

She did.

“There. Your hair is a nice color and it is of a nice thickness. At least the hair hides some of the hideous nightgown. Now, what do you want?”

There was really no hope for it. Either she opened her mouth and told him, or she left. He appeared impatient with her and saw her as naught but an unwelcome intrusion. It was daunting.

“Well? Get on with it. I can take anything except whining and wheedling.”

She said without preamble, chin up, back straight, “I’ve come to seduce you.”

“Ah, the female’s final weapon,” Douglas said. “I really shouldn’t be surprised, should I? If naught else, I put it in your mind this morning. I should have known, should have guessed. When all else fails, bring out the female body and parade it about in front of the randy man’s nose.”

“My only problem is that I’m not certain how to go about doing it.”

“That’s twaddle.”

“Perhaps if you could help me just a little bit, I could figure it out.”

“Let me make something clear to you, something it’s obvious you haven’t considered in this plan of yours. I can still have this farce of a marriage annulled even if I take your virginity. Do you
understand me? Who would know, after all? Would you or anyone in your family announce to the world that you were damaged goods?”

“You make me sound as if I would be a mangled parcel. Surely that is absurd.”

“Oh no, a virgin who has lost her maidenhead is much worse off than a mangled parcel. Imagine your father’s reaction. He would be appalled but would remain silent, for he would know that if he opened his mouth and announced what I had done, you would be utterly ruined and he would be a laughingstock. As for me, why, no one in our great land would regard me with one less whit of consideration.”

“But why? That seems absurd. It seems hardly fair.”

“Fair rarely has a meaningful place in anything. The fact is that men of our class aren’t anxious to afflict themselves with wives who don’t arrive in the marriage bed pure and untouched. Thus, if a female slips, it is kept quiet so the poor fool who does marry her is well and truly trapped. So, you see, no one would know what I did or didn’t do to you. If I chose, I imagine I can take you with impunity for as long as I wished to.”

“I cannot believe that gentlemen are so callous, so uncaring about the women they love.”

“Ah, yes, there is the question of love, isn’t there? But that doesn’t come into this marriage, does it? You are a stranger, nothing more, just a stranger and—”

“In addition to seducing you, I must keep it up until I am with child. Then you couldn’t annul me. But, you see, that is my problem.”

Douglas’s attention was fairly caught now. He’d
used up most of his words, and he’d spoken truthfully to her but with no visible effect. Still, he couldn’t believe the chit was standing beside him, dressed only in her virginal nightgown, her feet bare, her toes curled from cold, looking like some sort of pathetic sacrifice. But she was here and she appeared quite resolute. She wasn’t a coward, he’d give her that. The question was, what was she? Would she do anything for her father, then? “Who told you to keep it up?”

“Ryder.”

“Ah, my dear doting brother. Curse him to hell, but he must always meddle, it’s his nature.”

“But he didn’t have time to tell me how to go about it, this seduction business, I mean. I am your wife, my lord. I am willing to become your wife and sleep in that bed. I am willing to sleep in that bed until I am with child. Do you not want an heir? Isn’t that your primary reason for wishing to wed?”

“It was, but you are the wrong wife, as you well know, as I am tired of saying because repetition is beyond boring.”

“I will give you your heir. I am young and healthy and I will give you a half-dozen heirs.”

“I have never in my male adult life heard a woman offer to become a man’s brood mare. Why, Alexandra? Another agreement with your villain of a father? Hell and damnation, just go to bed. You’re a little girl, a virgin, and I haven’t the inclination to show you anything or take your virginity or hear you whimper. I am tired. Go away.”

Alex bent down, clutched the hem of her gown, and lifted it over her head. She tossed the gown to the floor. She stood there, arms at her sides, stark naked. She raised her head and looked directly at her husband.

Douglas froze. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He stared at his wife. He hadn’t had any idea that she was built so very nicely. Her breasts . . . good Lord, he hadn’t imagined, hadn’t realized that . . .

“You bind your breasts. Why?”

“My nanny said they were too big. She said that the boys were staring at me and saying things that weren’t nice. Because I had big breasts they assumed that I wasn’t a proper young lady. My nanny taught me how to bind them.”

“Your nanny was a stupid old prig. Your breasts are an asset, a fine one at that. Don’t bind them any more. Now that I know what you’ve got, I want to see them.”

“You are.”

“This morning, when we were riding, I couldn’t tell that you were so finely endowed.”

“No.”

Douglas fell silent. He was still staring at her breasts. They were high and very full, as white as her belly. They would fill his hands to overflowing. His fingers itched, his palms were hot.

She hadn’t known how Douglas would react, but this conversation about her breasts, as bland as discussions about the weather, was unnerving. She saw him raise his hand, then lower it. He was still looking at her, oh yes, he was looking and his gaze was intent and, of all things, his eyes looked even darker. She forced herself to keep perfectly still.

“Pink goes nicely with red. I can see a pink nipple showing through your red hair.”

Alex wanted to quite simply fold her body into a very small ball and roll away. But she didn’t move. Her entire future was in this room, contained in this very minute. This man was her husband; she
belonged to him more than she’d ever belonged to anyone else in her life.

Douglas tried to be blasé. He was an experienced man, a man who’d enjoyed many women, a man who was selective, a cold fish, Ryder had called him, because he could always control his passion. But, truth be told, he was stunned. Aside from the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen in his life, breasts nearly too big for her slender torso, her waist was narrow, her belly flat, the curls covering her woman’s mound, a soft dark red. Her legs were long and nicely curved. There was a mole on her belly, just below her navel. She looked very nice. She didn’t look at all like a little girl. She stood straight and tall even though she was small. That damned broom handle against her backbone. He wanted to tell her to turn around so he could see her back and her buttocks.

Good lord. What was he to do?

“Come here,” he said before his brain could countermand the order, and parted his legs.

She came to stand between his legs, still and silent, her arms still at her sides. Still he didn’t touch her, merely looked and looked some more, now at her belly, and she knew it. It was almost beyond what she could bear, this intense study of her body by this man. Even she herself had never looked at her body as he was looking now.

Finally, after an eternity of minutes, Douglas raised his head and looked her in the face. “You do not displease me. Your female endowments are adequate. Should you like to part your legs so I may see the rest of you? No? That isn’t part of your seduction plan? How far do you plan to go if I do nothing?” He looked away from her then, into
the fire. “You say nothing. I have already brought you to stand between my legs. Cannot you think of anything to do yourself?”

Alex brought her hand up to cover her breasts, the other hand to cover her woman’s mound. It was an absurd gesture, but she simply couldn’t bear standing there any longer, exposed and open to him. His disinterest was obvious and it was so painful she couldn’t bear it.

“You know, Alex,” he said, looking back at her now, “not only can I take you again and again, I can prevent you conceiving a child. I can easily withdraw my sex from you before spilling my seed inside your body. I am not a boy; I am a man with a man’s control. Don’t look so damnably blank! You cannot conceive a child if my seed doesn’t reach your womb. Thus I can freely take what is offered and still annul this farce of a marriage.” He waved a hand at her. “However, tonight, this very minute with you standing here before me with only your white hide covering you, I find I have no interest. You are not Melissande. You are not the wife I wanted. Go away.”

Alexandra felt beyond humiliation. She could scarce think for the pain roiling through her, the pain, the failure, the emptiness his words had carved out inside her. She stood there in front of him, not twelve inches away from him, because she was incapable of moving. She wasn’t as embarrassed as she was devastated. He had rejected her, completely. He’d not been particularly cruel about it, just utterly matter-of-fact. He had made his feelings quite plain. Even though he had seemed to find her acceptable, he still didn’t want her enough to take her and then discard her. He didn’t want her for anything. Ryder
hadn’t judged his brother’s feelings correctly this time. Ryder had been wrong. There was nothing more she could do.

She stepped away from him then, her blood pounding wildly through her, then ran from his bedchamber.

Douglas saw the flash of white skin. He heard the adjoining door close very quietly. He didn’t move for a very long time. Then he rose and picked up her discarded nightgown. He looked toward her chamber. Then, very deliberately, he tossed the nightgown into his chair.

He knew what he’d done. He knew he’d kicked her and then kicked her again. But, damn her, he refused to be cornered, to be bribed and blackmailed with sex. He would never allow a woman to dictate to him, to try to make him lose his logic and his brain by flaunting her body. But the look on her face as he’d spoken. He cursed as he flung off his dressing gown. It landed beside her nightgown on the chair. He cursed as he climbed into his big empty bed and burrowed under the blanket. He felt disgusted with himself, but he wouldn’t back down. He would do what he wished to do, and he wouldn’t be coerced, certainly not by an eighteen-year-old chit with the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen in his life.

In the dead of night Douglas awoke with sweat thick and clammy on his forehead. He held himself perfectly still. He’d heard a sound. He waited, completely awake and alert. He heard the strange noise again. It sounded like a woman. She was crying, low and soft, yet he heard her distinctly. No, it wasn’t crying, rather deep moaning, hurt and raw. He knew that she was moaning because of a great
pain. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he did. He frowned into the darkness toward the adjoining room. This was absurd.