The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (64 page)

He turned back to Tess, who was gazing with incredulous astonishment upon the fleeing Sophie. He said, smiling like a besotted fool, “She’s my wife. Her name is Sophie Sherbrooke, and she’s very possessive of me. You must keep your distance from her.”

“Your
what?”

Ryder knew a moment of irritation. Was his marrying such a bloody shock? Such a cause for disbelief?

“My wife, dammit. Now, Tess, since I am a married man, I must tell you that I cannot see you again. However ...” He paused then smiled. “We have had much enjoyment together, you and I. But now it must stop. Do you think perhaps you would like to wed in the near future?”

She stared at him as if he had two heads. “But you love women, Bea says you need a variety, and—”

“What is Bea, your mother superior? Does she invite all of you over for tea parties to pour advice down your gullets? No, don’t answer that. Sophie is my wife. Now, my dear, if you should perhaps like to consider getting yourself leg-shackled soon, why then, let me tell you about this very nice man in Southampton. He is the first mate on a barkentine, a solid man, quite admirable, really. Quite a manly man I should say, arms thick as an oak trunk.”

Tess looked at him for a very long time. She said finally, “A girl should marry, I suppose. Sara says that husbands can belch and snore, but they’ll stay because they have to. What is his name?”

Ryder told her. She was interested.

He felt very good as he walked into the huge entrance hall. He would have given a great deal of guineas to have been present at one of his mistresses’ tea parties.

 

It was nearly midnight. Ryder rubbed the grit in his eyes with the heel of his hand and reviewed yet again the list he’d compiled during the voyage home. He was pleased. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

He pictured Sophie in their bed, probably still awake, probably afraid that he’d come to her and force her again and she’d be more vulnerable if she were asleep. But he hadn’t gone to her and he wouldn’t for a while yet. He’d keep her guessing. He had her there for he was as unpredictable as she was, his dear heart, and he knew it drove her quite mad. He’d said not a word about her behavior earlier in the afternoon. Not a single word. If there had been a knowing gleam in his eyes whenever he looked at her, well, that couldn’t be helped. He’d been exquisitely polite. She’d gotten herself all puffed up, he recognized the signs, and for once she was completely transparent to him, and he’d simply sidestepped her with the ease of long and successful practice. He was well versed in the ways of women. And even Sophie, hide it as best she could, was still a woman. The presence of his talkative family was an unquestioned aid. He’d sent her to bed with a nod and a pat on the cheek. She’d looked three parts furious with him and another three parts bewildered. It was promising.

He shook himself and penned down another name on the foolscap. Joseph Beefly. Miserable last name, but the man was nice and steady, and a girl could do much worse for a husband. He did have a bit of a paunch, but on the other hand he didn’t drink too much and he didn’t abuse women. His breath wasn’t offensive and he bathed often enough. He rather thought that Emily would do well with Joseph. As Sara had said, Tess her echo, a husband, after all, was a husband, and had to, perforce, stay put. Ryder paused for a moment to stare pensively into the wispy flame cast out by the single candle at his left elbow.

The list he’d compiled was impressive and he’d managed to add a couple more names. Alongside each woman’s name he listed at least four men’s names. It was a good thing he’d lived here all his life. He knew nearly everyone within a fifty-mile radius. So many men, thank the good Lord. Choice was important. The good Lord knew, too, that not all the women would want husbands. But he wanted to be certain each of them was well taken care of. He would naturally provide them all with dowries if they wished to wed. Those who didn’t—well, they would get dowries too. He wondered if he should also compile a list of possible protectors to be found in London. No, it was too crass, far too crude for a polished sort like him.

He thought of his children then and smiled. They were a constant in his life and would always remain so. He didn’t doubt for a moment that there would be more. Lord, he missed them. He anticipated the following day with pleasure.

Finally, having tired of his list and of making Sophie writhe in uncertainty, he rose and stretched. He blew out the candle. He knew every inch of Northcliffe and had no need to light his way.

Sophie wasn’t asleep. She was sitting up in bed, staring toward the far corner of the bedchamber. Ryder quickly lit a candle and quietly approached the bed. At first she didn’t pay him any heed. Then she turned and he saw that her face was pale, her eyes dilated, and she blinked into the candlelight.

He frowned down at her. “What’s the matter? Did you have a nightmare?”

She shook her head. He stared a moment at all that tousled thick hair that fell onto her face and over her shoulders. She ran her tongue over her lips. Her hands fisted at the covers at her waist. “I think I just met your Virgin Bride.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Virgin Bride—the Sherbrooke ghost. I guess Sinjun was right, she wanted to welcome me to your blasted family. Maybe.”

“Bosh. You had a strange dream, nothing more.”

Sophie just shook her head. She’d been afraid at first, very afraid, but then the young woman, a ghost presumably, had merely looked at her, and she would have sworn that she spoke, but she knew she hadn’t because she’d been looking at her face and her lips hadn’t moved. But she knew she heard her soft voice clearly saying softly, but with absolute conviction, “Don’t worry. Even when they come it will be all right.”

“Who?” Sophie had said aloud. “Please, what do you mean?” The young woman had shimmered in the dim light that hadn’t really been there, just shimmered and retreated, quickly, yet there hadn’t been any real movement, nothing jerky, just the quiet grace of the still air. She’d seen her clearly yet the bedchamber was dark, too dark to make out the details she knew she’d seen. Then she was simply gone, her hand stretched out toward Sophie, just as Ryder had come into the room.

“Sophie, there’s no such thing as the damned Virgin Bride. It’s a simple legend. Sinjun is a fanciful girl—it wouldn’t surprise me if she occasionally plays the blighted young lady just to tease us. No, you dreamed her up.”

“No I didn’t. She spoke to me, Ryder, only she didn’t, not really, but I heard her, and the words were very clear.”

He was caught, he couldn’t deny it. He set the candle on the tabletop beside the bed and sat down beside her, not touching her. “What were the words she didn’t really say?”

“She said that I wasn’t to worry, that even when they come it will be all right.”

He frowned at that. Such a message was unexpected. He’d rather thought the words would hark to some sort of secret treasure or some such. Perhaps that Sophie would bear twins and they would grow up to wed English royalty.

“What the hell does that mean? Who are ‘they,’ for God’s sake?”

“I asked her but she just disappeared. Then you came in. I think you chased her away.”

“Nonsense.”

Sophie turned to him, frowning, then realized that she was in her nightgown and he was sitting next to her, fully dressed, thank God, but still. He was here, sitting on the bed, and he was her husband. She forgot the ghost and the message. She forgot her lamentable behavior of the afternoon. She even forgot, for the moment, those two very lovely young women. She very slowly began to move away from him until she was on the edge of the other side of the bed.

Ryder pretended not to notice. He rose, stretched, and began to take off his clothes.

She wouldn’t watch him this time, she wouldn’t. She said, “What have you been doing? It’s quite late.”

“Ah, just a bit of this and that.”

“You were with one of your legion of women, weren’t you?”

“Legion? No more than a small battalion. I’m only one man, Sophie, no matter how much you stand in awe of my strength and vigor.”

“I don’t care. Your claims to such prowess is absurd. You are jesting with me, mocking me, and I don’t like it. Keep a hundred women, nay, five hundred. It matters not to me.”

“Are you certain about that, Sophie? You saw only two today and you went really quite charmingly mad.”

She looked at him. He was naked. He was just standing there on the other side of the bed, quite without a stitch of clothing on. He was tall and lean and very nicely formed, she would give him that. She looked furtively toward the bedchamber door.

“No, no more races down the corridor. I prefer to be the only man to see you wearing only your beautiful hide.”

“It was very embarrassing. It was difficult to face your brother today.”

“I imagine that it was. However, perhaps Douglas is excessively myopic. Now, just to clear the air between us, I know that you’ve wanted to box my ears all evening. Please feel free to box metaphorically, to express your heartfelt rage, to expound freely on your woman’s ire.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? You would enjoy me squawking like a fool so it would make you feel important. Men like to have women fighting over them, they like to be the center of everything. Well, I will tell you, Ryder Sherbrooke, I felt nothing! Absolutely nothing, less than nothing. It was merely that I felt angry for your brother. It must be beyond embarrassing for the earl to have all these women hanging about Northcliffe Hall, hanging on your arm and whispering nonsense into your ears and kissing you.”

“Really? That sounds very rehearsed to me. Not bad, don’t misunderstand me. Just practiced, perhaps a dozen times.” He scratched his belly and her eyes followed every movement of his long fingers. He wasn’t all that hairy, but the thick light brown hair at his groin ... she managed to look back to his face. He knew she’d been looking at him, he knew, but he said only, “Goodness, so you wish me to believe that all your curses at me were in defense of my poor beleaguered brother’s sensibilities?”

Sophie knew she was digging a hole that would eventually reach to China if she didn’t stop now. She tightened her lips until it hurt. She just shook her head.

“It pleases me that you’ve found a bit of control. But, my dear wife, if you wish to continue to rant, please do, I don’t mind.”

“Go to the devil,” she said, then concentrated on keeping her mouth shut.

Ryder raised his arms and stretched. She was looking at him again and he knew it, and his sex swelled quite predictably, there was nothing he could do about it. She stared at him for a very long time, then jerked, as if finally realizing what she was doing. She looked away, toward the windows.

“You quite terrified both Sara and Tess,” he said, dumping a bit of oil into the fire. “They couldn’t accept at first that I would enjoy a possessive, quite jealous wife.”

She managed not to take the bait.

He smiled at the back of her head as he stepped to the bed. He pulled back the covers and climbed in.

She felt the bed give and knew if she were going to run it had to be now.

“Don’t, Sophie.”

“Don’t what, you wretched bounder?”

“Try to run again. I locked the bedchamber door.”

This was ridiculous. She knew it and so did he. She closed her eyes a moment, then slowly she turned to face him. “Ryder,” she said, “I don’t want you to force me again. Please don’t shame me or make me beg you.”

“Lie down, Sophie. On your back.”

She shook her head.

“Now, if you please. If you’re good to me, I will tell you a story. Would you like that?”

“No,” she said, but she lay down.

“Good.” He leaned over her, looking down, studying her face. A beautiful face to him. He touched his fingertip to the tip of her nose. “I’m very glad you’re here,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re you and I managed quite by a wonderful stroke of luck to find you and I even had the good sense to marry you.”

“That’s absurd. I’m nothing, when will you admit it? You were simply caught up in a series of very strange happenings. You felt sorry for me, finally, nothing more. Your mother despises me. I don’t belong here. Please, Ryder—”

“I was thinking about that,” he said slowly, and his fingers continued to lightly touch her jaw, her nose, her mouth. “About not belonging here. You’re right.”

She froze, a blaze of unexpected pain going through her.

“No, no, you misunderstand. This isn’t your home. Alex is the mistress here, though I imagine she must fight my mother to gain what she wishes, the poor girl. No, this isn’t your home. I have a home, Sophie, in the Cotswolds, not far from Strawberry Hill. That’s where my cousin, Tony Parrish, and his wife, Melissande, live.”

“You have a home?”

“I’ve never lived there. It’s called Chadwyck House. I visit it three or four times a year. There is a good deal of farm acreage and there are some twenty tenant families living there. I have a steward—a fellow named Allen Dubust—who deals with the daily affairs.” He paused, frowning a moment. “I’m beginning to believe that a man should deal with his own affairs. What do you say, Sophie? Shall we go to Chadwyck House? Would you like to be the mistress of your own home?”

Her eyes had lightened. He wasn’t mistaken about that. There was pleasure there that temporarily had tamped down her fear of him.

“Yes,” she said only. She opened her mouth but he lightly touched his fingers over her lips.

“No, my dear, I know you would like to ask me all sorts of questions to keep me from making love to you. We will speak more of Chadwyck House afterward.”

“I want you to stop reading my mind before I have a chance to do it properly for myself.”

“I have this affinity for you. I can’t seem to help myself. Now, Sophie, I want you to do me a favor.”