The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (40 page)

“Damn you, what did you do to me!”

“I kissed your breasts and you moaned and arched your back. You thrust your breasts into my face so I was forced to slit your chemise open to help you get what you wanted. But you’re a greedy woman. You wanted more, so you came down upon your back and lifted your hips and I helped you by pulling up your skirt.”

“No, no, damn you, that’s a lie!”

Her face was red and she was actually sputtering. Ryder frowned. This was unexpected. Where were her teasing smiles, her outrageous, coy, very sexual remarks? He watched as she regained control, watched the blankness disappear from her eyes, watched the control and that damned cool smile set itself into place.

What Sophie was thinking was,
Did he see the bruises on my ribs? Dear God, please no.

She got herself in control. Slowly, giving him a very tempting sideways smile, she pulled the sides of her chemise over her breasts and began to work the buttons closed again, all the while keeping her legs exposed to him.

When she’d finished, she slowly rose and stared down at him. She smoothed her skirt, then put her hands on her hips.

“You damned bastard,” she said, surprised at the mildness of her voice. “Damn you, you came.”

“Yes, I decided my manhood couldn’t tolerate your obvious scorn.”

“Most manhoods couldn’t. You are no different.”

“No, probably not.”

“You had no right to do what you did to me.”

“I wanted to take you off guard. I find you excessively unpredictable whenever I manage to do it. You shrieked, just like a maiden aunt. Most delightful. It sweetens the pot, one could say, all these varied and unexpected sides of you. I wonder how many other sides you will show me if I’m quick enough to catch you showing them.”

“You have had your fun, Ryder.”

“Oh, I haven’t as yet begun, as you will see. But I do have a question for you, Sophia. Why did you dismiss Lord David Lochridge from your harem?”

“Harem? I think you’re confusing your genders.”

“It’s the same concept. Why, Sophia?”

She shrugged and turned away from him for a moment, looking out over the sea. She was silent for a very long time.

Finally, she turned back to him and that damned flirtatious mask was well in place. “He bored me. He was a boy in a man’s body. He cared only for his own pleasures, his own amusements. I grew tired of him, that’s all.”

“You’re lying.”

“Oh? Why would you say that?”

“You wish me to believe that you dismissed him because you wanted me and you remembered my demand that I be the only man in your bed and thus in your body?”

“Yes, I remember you saying that.”

“What about Oliver Susson? Will you dismiss him as well?”

She shrugged, saying nothing.

“I won’t become your lover until you do.”

“Surely you are a bit overenthusiastic in your demands, Ryder. Surely it isn’t up to the lady to make herself more appealing to the gentleman. I am already appealing; you should be slavering over me even as we speak. You should be begging me to allow you in my bed.”

He laughed, a rich, deep laugh. “Sophia, let me tell you something. You are pretty, yes, even with the absurd paint on your face, but understand me. I have bedded many women whose beauty reduces yours to mere commonplace, to nothing out of the ordinary. From what I have seen of your body, it is pleasing enough. But understand me, I won’t play your games. I won’t wait in the wings while you spread your legs for seemingly every gentleman in the vicinity. I am not an uncontrolled boy, anxious to plow every female belly he can manage. I am a man, Sophia, and I have developed standards over the years.”

“Years! What are you, twenty-five, twenty-six?”

“I had my first sexual encounter when I was thirteen. What about you?”

In that moment, he saw anger in her, at him, and it was barely leashed. He saw uncertainty then, as if she were arguing with herself whether or not to cosh him on the head if she could manage it. Then she smiled at him, that coy, teasing smile that made him hard as a rock.

“In short, Miss Stanton-Greville, get rid of the others—all the others—or I will never bed you. I find I am already losing interest quickly.”

“Very well,” she said. “I will dismiss Oliver. Will you come to the cottage tonight? At nine o’clock?”

“Are there any others?”

“No.”

“Ah, you already dismissed Charles Grammond, the poor fellow who lost all his money to Lord David?”

“That’s right.”

Ryder found that he was brooding, picking, but knowing at the same time that she would elude him. She would show him glimpses of herself, but she wouldn’t drop her guard unless he pulled something totally unexpected, caught her completely off guard, like baring her breasts or pulling up her skirt.

He rose to stand beside her. He said nothing, merely stared down at her. He grasped her upper arms in his hands and pulled her up against him.

“Perhaps I don’t wish to fall into the same bed that has held so many other of your men. Perhaps I would like to sample what you have to offer me right here, right now.”

He kissed her, but she jerked her face away and his lips landed on her jaw.

He merely smiled down at her, clasped his arms beneath her hips and raised her, pressing her belly hard against his groin. He was hard and he knew she could feel him.

“Put me down, Ryder.”

Her voice was calm and controlled. He didn’t stop smiling. “On the other hand,” he said close to her mouth, “perhaps I don’t really wish to come into you right now. Perhaps what I really wish to do is pay you back. Give you a taste of retribution. Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do.”

He carried her to the water’s edge. She knew his intent and began to struggle. He laughed as he waded out into the water, ruining his soft leather boots and not caring. He waded until the water lapped around his thighs.

She was screaming at him, pounding her fists against his chest, his arms, his shoulders.

He lifted her high in his arms and hefted her a good four feet into deeper water. She landed on her back, arms flailing wildly, and sank like a stone.

“There, you hellion,” he shouted when her head cleared the water. Her chestnut hair was matted and tangled over her face and shoulders. She looked quite pathetic. “Don’t attack me again unless you want to pay more reparations.”

He laughed again and strode back to his horse. “I mean it, Sophia. I am a gentleman most of the time unless circumstances dictate another behavior. Understand me. I will never allow you to do your worst to me again without complete and utter retaliation.”

As she stumbled through the water, her skirts dragged her first to one side and then to another. Her boot went into a hole and she went down on her face. She managed to regain her balance and rose, shaking her fist at him. He was on his horse’s back, riding away down the beach. He was still laughing.

He stopped and she heard him shout over his shoulder, “Tonight. Nine o’clock. Don’t be late! Ah, and make certain the place is aired out.”

 

Sophie paced the cottage, aware that her uncle was watching her from the corner of his eye. She said finally, “I’m afraid of him.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Theo Burgess said. “He’s just a man, a young man, not all that experienced, surely.”

“You’re wrong. I get the impression he’s slept with more women than there are on Jamaica. Him and his damnable standards.”

Theo shrugged. “Get him drunk. You know how to do it. It’s nearly time for him to arrive. I’ll be close by. You know what to do.”

“Yes,” she said and wished, quite simply, that she could drop to the ground and die.

But that would leave Jeremy alone.

She stiffened her back, but the fear wouldn’t go away. She had to get control, she had to manipulate him. She was good at it, for she was bright, and the good Lord knew she’d had a lot of practice.

At exactly nine o’clock, there came a light tap on the front door of the cottage.

Sophie opened the door. He stood there, giving her a lazy smile.

As he stepped past her into the cottage, he said, “Your attempt at a seductive gown is more of a success than not, I should say. However, harlot-red really isn’t your color. I think a soft green would be more the thing. To avoid laughter, you should avoid any shade of white. Also, the whalebone pushing up your breasts is an artifice I deplore. A woman has breasts or she doesn’t. A man who knows women isn’t fooled. But you will learn. Come into the light so I can see your face.”

Sophie followed him dumbly. She was right to be afraid of him.

He clasped her chin in his long fingers and raised her face into the full candlelight. “Ah, no makeup, or hardly any. I am pleased that you wish to satisfy my demands. Now, should you like to strip for me now or should we talk for a while? Who are your favorite philosophers, for example? Ah, I can see by your expression that you have read the great minds throughout all the centuries. Yes, there are so many you are very likely completely conversant about. Let’s select only the second half of the last century. French.”

She drew back, moving away from him to stand behind a wicker chair. “I like Rousseau.”

“Do you now? Do you read him in French or do you read him in English?”

“Both.” She turned away from him and quickly poured him a glass of rum punch. She handed it to him. “It’s warm tonight. While we speak of Rousseau, why don’t you drink a bit.”

“I don’t like Rousseau. I find him nauseatingly imprecise in his thoughts and rather foolish, truth be told, in his aspirations of the earth’s possible perfection in his hands, using, naturally, his absurd methods.”

Ryder raised his glass and toasted her. He drank it. It was tart and cold and quite delicious. He hadn’t realized he was so thirsty. He didn’t particularly care for rum, but this didn’t taste all that much like rum. He took another drink. It was really very good.

“I think Rousseau is a gentle man, one who wishes what is best for both men and women. He believes that we should quit the infamy and decadence of the world and return to a simpler life, return to nature.”

“As I recall, this matter of nature was never defined.”

Ryder drank more punch. It slid down his throat, tasting better than anything he’d ever drunk in his life. He finished the glass and handed it back to her. She poured him another.

“As I said, the fellow is a fool. What he should have preached is that men must control women or they will lose all sense of what and who they are, for women can control men through sex. The more skilled the woman, the more dangerous she is to a man. You, for instance, Sophia. I wonder what you want from me. I wonder what I have that you could possibly lust after, other than my body, of course. It is true that I am a Sherbrooke and thus the plantation belongs to my family, however—” Ryder broke off. He felt suddenly quite warm; he felt, really, quite wonderful, relaxed, but yet the need for her was growing hot in his blood. She looked soft and sweet to him, so willing, so anxious to please him. Now she was holding out her arms to him and she was speaking to him, but he didn’t understand her words, which was odd, but he really didn’t care. He downed the rest of the rum punch, rose from his chair, and walked to her. He took her into his arms and began kissing her. Her breath was warm and sweet and she opened her mouth to him and he reveled in her. His hands swept down her back to cup her buttocks. As he had that afternoon, he lifted her against him and moaned at the delightful sensation.

He released her for a moment, then stepped back and began to pull her gown from her shoulders.

She laughed softly, so very sweetly, and slapped his hands away. “No, Ryder, you’ll rip the material and it was expensive. I had it made just for you. I am sorry that you dislike the color. I will have another made in the shade of green you deem proper for me. Now, let me remove it. Let me become naked just for you. Yes, sit down here and watch me. Tell me what you want me to do. Here’s another rum punch to cool you whilst you watch me.”

Ryder took one sip of the rum punch. He leaned his head back against the chair cushion. His eyes were slitted as he watched her, standing in front of him, her hands on the buttons at the front of the harlot-red gown.

It was the last thing he remembered.

“He’s unconscious.”

“Excellent,” Uncle Theo said, stepping into the cottage. He walked to Ryder and examined him closely. “Yes, this is excellent. No, Sophia, don’t leave. I would like you to see him. It is quite possible that being the sort of man he is, he will question you, and you must be prepared. If there is a mole or a birthmark on his thigh, why then, you must be able to remark upon it.”

She stood back as her uncle dragged Ryder Sherbrooke to the wide satin-sheeted bed. He undressed Ryder swiftly, for he’d had a lot of practice. When Ryder was sprawled on his back, quite naked, Theo laughed. “My God, he’s still aroused. Look at him, Sophia. Didn’t I tell you he was an excellent specimen?”

She didn’t want to, but she did look. She supposed he was beautiful, for he was lean and nicely muscled, light brown hair covering his chest and thinning out to his belly, but she found him terrifying, particularly his sex, which was thick and hard. Uncle Theo turned him over on his stomach. His flesh was smooth, his back long, the muscles deep and firm. There were no moles or birthmarks.

Uncle Theo turned him again onto his back. “Ah, he is ready because in his mind it’s you he will bed.” Theo turned and called out, “Dahlia! Come in now, girl.”

A very beautiful young girl, no more than sixteen, with light brown skin and brown eyes, stepped into the cottage. She sauntered over to the bed and stared down at the naked young man. She stared a good long time.

“He be a treat,” she said and gave Theo Burgess a big smile even as she lightly touched Ryder’s belly.