The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (22 page)

She did, a smile on her lips.

When Alexandra awoke the next morning, she was in her own bed but Douglas wasn’t. She sat up, missing him, for it was his habit to awaken her with kisses, with his hands between her thighs, touching her, making her ready for him even before she was fully awake. She was alone. She didn’t like it one bit.

I made you pregnant the first time I took you.

No, no, he couldn’t know that, could he? She’d had no monthly flow since Douglas had taken her, that
was true, but she was very unpredictable and thus she simply didn’t know.

She rose and quickly bathed and dressed. Tony and Melissande were leaving today as were both Uncle Albert and Aunt Mildred. And Lady Juliette, thank the good Lord.

It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon when the first of their guests, Lady Juliette, departed, berating her maid even as she said her good-byes to her host and hostess.

The dowager was frowning. “That girl was a severe disappointment, Mildred. I shouldn’t have liked it if Douglas had wedded her.”

“The girl is a shrew,” Aunt Mildred said.

“She is divine, nonetheless,” Uncle Albert said. “She is young and full of high spirits, that is all.”

“She is a spoiled bitch and will only get worse as she ages,” said his fond wife.

As for Tony, he had hugged Alexandra, whispering in her ear, “I am proud of you. Don’t change. Keep going as you are now doing. All will be well.”

As for Melissande, she gave her sister a long look and said, “I don’t mind that you’re a countess and I’m a viscountess. I do mind that you might want Tony. You will never have him, Alex, so you may forget it.”

Alexandra looked at her exquisitely beautiful sister and wanted to giggle at the absurdity of it. “I promise I won’t ever try to steal him from you again.”

“See that you don’t! You wanted Douglas Sherbrooke and you got him. If you have decided you don’t want him now, it is too bad. You will just have to make do with him because Tony is mine.”

“I shall try,” Alexandra said in a humble voice.

Douglas, who’d overheard most of this, had a difficult time keeping his aplomb. He managed to say in a somewhat mellow voice to Tony, “We will see you in London?”

“Perhaps. If you would, Douglas, try to prepare everyone for my wife. It might prevent duels and I would appreciate it.”

“She’s already been there for a Season. They’re all prepared.”

“No, there is a difference this time. She is more . . . sympathetic now, more sensitive, and thus more vulnerable. Prepare them, Douglas. She’s now a human goddess. You’ve seen her wrinkle her brow.”

“All right, I’ll tell everyone that you’ve trained her.”

“Don’t forget the discipline, my dear fellow.”

Douglas laughed and punched his cousin in his arm. There was humor toward his cousin now, not the outraged bitterness of even the previous week. Alexandra felt a flood of hope. She was also relieved that Melissande hadn’t heard this exchange. She would have broken Tony’s arm.

They stood on the wide front steps of Northcliffe Hall until the last of the carriages bowled down the drive.

“Well,” said the Dowager Countess of Northcliffe, “we are a small group again and will doubtless be downcast.”

“Not I,” said Douglas, looking down at his wife.

“Oh dear,” said Sinjun, “stop looking at her like that, Douglas. I had hoped you would like to go for a ride.”

“Not I,” said Douglas again. “At least for a while.”

“Well, I never!” said Douglas’s fond mama, as she watched him grab his wife’s hand and race into the hall.

Douglas heard Aunt Mildred say, “Now, Lydia, we all want an heir. Douglas is just doing his duty. He is a good boy.”

He pulled her up the stairs to his bedchamber. He made love to her twice, quick and hard both times, and not once did he think about an heir. He stared down at her when he’d finished, breathing hard, his heart still pounding fast, but said nothing. He shook his head, dressed, and then immediately left her to go riding.

Alexandra stared up at the ceiling, not moving for fifteen minutes before she finally rose to pull herself together. As she bathed and dressed, she thought of the stunned look on his face when she said into his mouth just at the moment of his release, “Ah, Douglas, I lust for you so very much.”

He’d snarled at her.

Douglas didn’t come to her that night. Alexandra suspected he was brooding about lust and such in the library, at least she hoped so. She fell asleep in her own bedchamber. It was in the middle of the night when the darkness was heavy and thick when she awoke completely and very suddenly. She didn’t move, not understanding. She simply knew she wasn’t alone.

Then she saw her. The young woman she’d seen before, all white and floaty, her hair lustrous down her back, so blond it was nearly white, framing an exquisite face. She looked so sad and her hands were held out toward Alexandra.

“Who are you?”

Goodness, was that her voice, all thin and wispy with fear?

The figure didn’t move, just stood there not three feet from the bed, her body shimmering as if she weren’t really standing on the floor but rather hovering over it, her arms held out to Alexandra.

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

Again, the figure remained just as it was.

“I know you’re called the Virgin Bride because your new husband was killed before you could become his wife. But I am not a virgin. My husband didn’t die. Why are you here?”

Then the figure made a soft deep sound and Alexandra nearly leapt off the bed in fright.

Suddenly, everything was as clear as if the figure had spoken. Alexandra knew why she was here. “You want to warn me, don’t you?”

The figure shifted subtly, deepening the lights and shadows.

“You’re worried that something will happen to me?”

The figure shimmered softly and Alexandra suddenly wasn’t certain whether or not it was her, no, not her . . . or was it? She was losing her mind, she was guessing a ghost’s intentions. It was madness.

“What the hell is going on here? Alexandra, who are you talking to?”

The figure shuddered, gave off a soft glittering light, then simply faded into the wainscoting.

Douglas came through the connecting door. He was quite naked.

“It’s all right. I was just entertaining my lover. But now you’ve chased him off.”

She didn’t realize her voice was shaking, that she sounded as if she were about to be shoved off a precipice, but Douglas did. He came across the room and looked down at her for just an instant before coming into bed with her. He drew her tightly against him, felt the shudders of her body, and simply held her. “It’s all right, it was just a nightmare, nothing more, just a nightmare.”

“Oh my,” she said finally, her face buried into his shoulder. “It wasn’t a dream or a nightmare, I swear it to you. Goodness, Douglas, I not only saw her but I also spoke to her. I started thinking I understood her.”

“It was a dream,” he said firmly. “That damned ghost is a collective figment. You dreamed her up because I wasn’t here to love you until you were exhausted.”

“You’ve seen her, haven’t you?”

“Naturally not. I am not a silly twit of an empty-headed female.”

“You have seen her, don’t lie to me, Douglas! When? What was the circumstance?”

He kissed her temple and hugged her more tightly to him, pressing her face into his shoulder. When she spoke again, her warm breath fanned his flesh. “I told her that I wasn’t a virgin and that you weren’t dead; I asked her why she was here. She was warning me but I’m not sure it’s me who’s in danger . . . maybe it isn’t, but then you came in and she left.”

“Yes, I can just imagine it. She floated away, her shroud wafting romantically around her.”

“I want to know when you saw her.”

Douglas kissed her temple again, but his thoughts were on that night when Alexandra had run away from him yet he’d heard her crying in here and
he’d come in and seen her . . . not Alexandra, but her, that damned ghost. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “No.”

He stiffened then. “My God, do you realize that I’m not attacking you? I haven’t got you on your back? We’ve actually spoken together for at least three minutes, and we’re here naked and—” She turned up her face then, and he felt her warm breath on his mouth and he kissed her.

“Well, damn,” he said, and swept his hands down her back until they were cupping her buttocks and he was turning to face her, his sex hard and thick against her belly. Her arms were tight around his neck and she was kissing him wildly. It was difficult but he managed to get off her nightgown.

He was breathing hard and fast and when he knew that it was going to be closer than he’d thought, he lifted her leg and came into her. She gasped with the surprise and pleasure of it, and then she did more than gasp because his hands and his fingers were caressing her woman’s flesh as his mouth was hot on her breast.

“Douglas,” she said, and climaxed with a choking cry.

He pushed her onto her back to come more deeply into her and when she lifted her hips to draw him deeper, he cried out, tensing over her before pounding into her, his seed spewing inside her.

“Oh Douglas,” she whispered against his neck. “She did sort of float.”

“Blessed hell. She wasn’t here, it was a silly dream. You were susceptible because you hadn’t had me—like a tonic—before you fell asleep. You won’t see that damned ghost any more tonight. Now be quiet.” He pulled her on top of him, arranging the blankets
over them as he did so. “All you’ll think about is me. You understand?”

“Yes,” she said, kissing his throat, his ear, his shoulder. “Just you and the wonderful lust you give me. Isn’t it nice that we’re leaving for London in the morning? Perhaps that’s what she was trying to tell me. There were so many more men for me to lust upon.”

“You are as amusing as a boil on a backside.”

She laughed and kissed the spot behind his ear.

Douglas stared grim-faced into the darkness even as his hands stroked down her back and molded around her hips. He finally fell asleep with her breath against his neck, her breasts pressed against his chest, her heartbeat soft and steady against his.

The Sherbrooke town house was a three-story mansion on the corner of Putnam Place. It had been built sixty years before to grand expectations of an Earl of Northcliffe with more groats than good taste. Still, the Greek columns were inspiring to some—those in their cups, Douglas would say with a snort—and the interior with all its niches for statuary were filled now mostly with flowers and books, the abundant Greek statuary exiled to the attic. It was the same earl, Douglas told Alexandra, who had filled the Northcliffe gardens to overflowing with Greek statues. “So I have pleased myself,” Douglas said, as he pointed to exquisite crimson brocade drapes that were drawn in the large central drawing room. “I expect that my heirs just might think I’m short in the upper works and do something else.”

He frowned then, saying, “Perhaps you will wish to make alterations. I did nothing to the countess’s rooms.”

“All right,” Alexandra said, still so dazed and overwhelmed by their actually being in London, a city of grace and wealth and poverty and excitement—and the smells—that she would have agreed to anything he said. He had pointed out everything to her and she’d gawked through the carriage window. Douglas grinned down at her. “A bit overwhelming, isn’t it?”

She nodded, touching her fingertips lightly to a lovely Spanish table.

“You will grow accustomed soon enough. As for the house, Mrs. Goodgame will show you everything. Burgess, our plump London butler, is as efficient as Hollis. You can trust him. We will remain in London for two weeks, enough time for you to be fitted for new gowns and bonnets and the like and to meet society. Do you wish to rest now or can we visit Madame Jordan?”

Madame Jordan was genuinely French, born and raised in Rennes. She had six shop assistants, an impressive establishment in the heart of Piccadilly, and a doting eye for the Earl of Northcliffe. Alexandra stood there, an unimportant member of Douglas’s entourage, listening to Madame and her husband discussing what was to be done with her. She was measured and clucked over. When she was to the point of screaming at Douglas that she wasn’t invisible and she did have good taste, Madame suddenly splayed her fingers over Alexandra’s bosom and went off with a salvo of rapid, intense French. Ah, Alexandra thought, grinning at Douglas, whose face was closed and hard, she wants my bosom to be fashionable. “I agree with Madame,” she said loudly, and Douglas turned on her, a wonderful target for his ire. “Be quiet, Alexandra, or you will go sit in
the carriage! This has nothing to do with you!”

“Ha! You want me to look like a nun and Madame disagrees, as do I. Give in, Douglas, and stop being strange about it. I am a woman like every other woman on the face of this earth, and all women are built just like me. No one will care, no one. If you insist that I be covered to my chin, why everyone will wonder if I have some sort of horrible deformity!”

“I agree with the countess,” said Madame Jordan in perfect English. “Come, my lord, you are too possessive of your bride. It isn’t at all fashionable to wear your heart on your sleeve.”