The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  “Did I not tell you she was my wife?”

  Ryder said nothing more. He watched Sir Robert climb back onto his horse and kick the poor beast sharply in the sides. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that Ryder turned to Sophie. She was standing there silently, the wind whipping her hair across her face, just looking at him, saying nothing. He smiled at her, reached out his hand and lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. He wound a tress of hair between two fingers.

  “It’s been a very long time,” he said, not moving himself. “They told me at the stable that you liked to come here. Hello, Sophie.”

  “Hello.”

  “Is this the first time Bobbie has bothered you?”

  “Yes. I would have handled him, Ryder. There was no need for you to play knight to my damsel in distress.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I saw your knee ready to do him in. But I wanted to thrash him, Sophie. I am pleased you allowed me my fun. You understand that, don’t you? You know men so well, after all.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you letting him kiss you?”

  “He very nearly pulled my hair from my scalp.”

  Ryder shook himself. “This is bloody ridiculous. The last thing I want to talk about or think about is that damned lackwit Bobbie Bounder, as we called him when we were boys.” He smiled down at her. “Come here.”

  She didn’t move. She felt her heart begin to pound, slow, heavy beats. He came to her, pulled her into his arms and simply held her. “I missed you very much. And Jeremy. It’s been a long time, Sophie.” He lifted her face, his palm beneath her chin. He kissed her, his mouth warm and firm. She remained passive.

  “Kiss me the way I know you can,” he said against her lips.

  “I can’t,” she said and tried to press her face against his neck.

  “I am close to consummating our marriage right here, Sophie. It wouldn’t be all that comfortable. Come, kiss me, you really must, you know, to hold me over until I can take you in our own bed tonight.”

  And it would happen, she knew. There was nothing she could do about it. She kissed him, kissed him with all the expertise she had garnered over the past two years. It didn’t content him though. It aroused him until she thought he would fling up her skirts and press her against one of the boulders. He was breathing hard, his hands on her back, down to her hips, lifting her, and then she pushed at him. He stopped instantly.

  He slowly lifted his head. He looked down at her, no expression on his face. “You are a tease. You are behaving just as you did on Jamaica. You have just spent several minutes making me wild. You have held back from me, controlled me. I had forgotten during the past eight weeks how very good you were at manipulation. I suppose I had rearranged my memories, had come to believe that since you were my wife, you would welcome me, you would treat me with some honor, some sign that you had come to accept me, even perhaps like me. But nothing has changed, has it, Sophie?”

  “You took me by surprise.”

  He said something very crude and she flinched. “Don’t tell me that shocks you? Dear God, you could probably outcurse me—no, no, this is absurd. I have just come home. I saw my brother and he told me that you were here, in his thinking place, that you came here quite a lot. And I saw Sinjun with Jeremy and he seemed very glad to see me. I suppose I was a fool to think you would extend the same courtesy to me. Look, it doesn’t matter now. I won’t annul our marriage. I’m an honorable man. I consented to wed you despite the fact that in the end, there was no reason for me to have to. Do you understand, Sophie? Your precious uncle wasn’t shot or stabbed. Someone, Thomas probably, had garroted the bastard. I didn’t have to marry you to keep you from the gallows.”

  “Garroted? I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, he was. I made a grave mistake. If only I had paid more attention, but you see, his body wasn’t a pleasant sight. I just assumed that you had shot him, but you hadn’t. And I lied to save you, said that he’d been stabbed. The jest was on me, it certainly was. Garroted, the bastard was garroted.”

  “Is Thomas still free?”

  “No. No, he’s snug in that small dwelling Cole had planned on keeping you in. I didn’t leave Jamaica until he’d been captured.”

  She turned away from him then and stared out over the sea. It wasn’t the soft turquoise she was used to, it was savage and cold and very gray. “I thank you, Ryder. Your family has been quite nice to me and Jeremy. Now, though, since there is no reason for me not to return to Jamaica, I can. I will be responsible for Camille Hall and the plantation until Jeremy comes of age, I will—”

  “Shut up, damn you!”

  “You don’t like me, Ryder. You can’t possibly want to be my husband. I know about you now. You see, no one believed me to be your wife because everyone swore you would never wed. There were too many women hereabouts you enjoyed. It is odd. For the first time since Jamaica, I have been cut, not because I’m a tart, but because you are. I have found it vastly amusing save when Sir Robert tried to coerce me. If I could merely borrow some money from you, Jeremy and I could be on our way. Your life could return to what it was, to what you obviously enjoyed.”

  “I told you to shut up. You will go nowhere with Jeremy, my dear.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I am his guardian. His legal guardian. You are nothing more than a female, his sister. I am responsible for the running of Camille Hall and the plantation. Emile is managing Camille Hall for me and Jeremy. Now, I should like to return to the hall and speak to my family. I wish to see if Douglas has accepted Alex as his wife.”

  “He has.”

  One of Ryder’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I understand that you were ever scarce there. You must be terribly observant to know my brother’s feelings and be absent at the same time.”

  There was a distance between them that was growing even though they stood not two feet from each other. She couldn’t blame him; but she couldn’t blame herself either.

  “Why?” she said at last. “Why, Ryder?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why don’t you just let me go? Let me return to my home, resume my life.”

  “Ah, and what a life it would be. Even though your pretty neck would stay intact on your shoulders, you don’t believe that all would be forgiven and forgotten, do you? You are the whore of Jamaica, my dear, and nothing will ever change that, even marriage to me. It’s true. Everyone feels very sorry for me. You took advantage of my honorable nature and manipulated me into giving you my name. No, there is no going back for you, Sophie. There is only the present and that becomes the future soon enough. Now, I wish to return to the hall. Are you coming?”

  He mounted his stallion, a magnificent barb she’d admired and fed whenever she’d been in the stables. His name was Genesis and she’d somehow known even before she’d been told that this was Ryder’s horse. He looked down at her, arrogant, cold, aloof, and she hated it and accepted it.

  “Tonight, as soon as it is politely possible to leave my family, you and I will adjourn to my bedchamber and I will take you and you will try your damnedest, Sophie, to act like a reasonable woman.”

  He said nothing more, merely gave her a small salute, wheeled Genesis around, and galloped away from her. She walked slowly to Lilah, climbed into the saddle, and rode after him.

  CHAPTER 14

  “MY MOTHER STILL resists believing me, but it is perversity on her part, no real conviction that you aren’t actually my legal wife,” Ryder said to Sophie as he tugged off his cravat. “She will get over it and treat you at least as nicely as she does Alex, which isn’t very nice at all, but it will do for the present. You appear to get along well with Douglas and Alex. Of course you would like Sinjun. She’s a nosy brat—Lord knows I’m the brunt of her nosiness—but all in all, she’s an incredible girl.”

  Ryder turned to face her as he unbuttoned his white shirt. “Jeremy appears pleased to be here. I will decide soon if he will have a tutor or go to Eto
n for the fall term. Incidentally, I’m delighted Alex put you in my bedchamber. I’ve never shared it before. It’s strange to see your gowns next to my shirts and britches in the armoire.”

  Sophie was standing by the front windows. She was doing her best to affect a casual pose. The evening hadn’t been all that long for Ryder wanted her very badly. She knew that. Even as she’d walked beside him up the wide staircase, she’d known that if she looked at him, she would have seen the desire in his eyes. She knew well what desire looked like, both on a man’s face and between his legs. What she didn’t know was what to do about it. She felt incredibly weary, incredibly experienced and jaded. She didn’t know what to do about that either.

  He said again, “Don’t misunderstand me, Sophie. It pleases me to see your gowns beside my clothes. Yes, Alex did well.”

  “Douglas put me in here. Alex was ill and in bed with a cold.”

  “Smart man, my brother. I also like the gowns Alex gave you. The pink is very pretty with your coloring. We’ll see to some more new gowns for you soon enough.”

  She wanted to yell at him that she didn’t want him to buy her gowns or anything else for that matter, but she remained still and silent.

  Ryder sat down in what he had told her was his favorite wing chair. He tugged off his boots as he said, “My mother isn’t always amiable, as I’m sure you’ve learned since you’ve been here. I had hoped she might change her colors just a bit, and perhaps she will. I don’t want you to feel hurt. You should have seen what she did to Alex upon her arrival.”

  He flicked his wrists and both boots flew toward the huge bed in the center of the bedchamber, sliding smoothly underneath. Only one heel stuck out from beneath the duster cover. Sophie stared at that heel. He grinned at the boots. “I’m a bit off. I’ve been doing that since I was a boy. I always beat Douglas. It’s in the wrist, you know.”

  He stood, his hands going to the buttons of his britches. She watched his long brown fingers on the buttons as he said, “How does it feel to be back in England?”

  “It’s cold,” she said, still staring at his fingers. “I’d forgotten. Also, living in Jamaica for four years thinned my blood.”

  He smiled at her and pulled down his pants.

  She closed her eyes, which was absurd really because she’d seen him naked, seen his sex swelled, seen him sprawled on the cottage bed with Dahlia over him. She swallowed.

  “Sophie.”

  His voice was quiet, very warm and intimate. She opened her eyes. He was standing not three feet from her, quite naked and quite relaxed. He was smiling at her, his hand held to her. “You are my wife. Come here.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Should you like me to undress you? Is that why you’ve waited?”

  “I should like a bath.”

  He blinked at her. “Very well. Let me ring.”

  He strode away from her and pulled on the silver-tasseled bellcord. He turned, then said as he climbed into the huge bed, “It is just as well. I have much more to say to you and we can have a pleasant chat while you bathe. If I touched you right now, I suspect we wouldn’t say much until morning.”

  He wouldn’t leave. She hadn’t expected him to. He was behaving quite nicely, really, not lashing out at her, not condemning her, or calling her horrible names like her uncle had when she’d gone against his wishes.

  It was another thirty minutes before Sophie was seated in front of the fireplace in the deep copper bathtub. She’d undressed in the shadows by the window and slipped on a dressing gown. However, to step into the tub, she’d had to take the damned thing off and she knew he was watching her. And she thought, I must accustom myself. He will do whatever he wishes to do to me for as long as I live. Then she shook her head at her thoughts, for nothing was right, nothing was as she’d expected it to be. He was acting so normal, so relaxed, as if they’d been here, in this bedchamber, chatting about everything and nothing for the past ten years.

  He said nothing until she was soaping herself. “I like your hair wet around your shoulders and streaming over your breasts. I’m smiling, if you would but look at me once. I am happy to see you. I can’t wait to get my hands on you, but I’m sure you recognize all the male signs—the lust-glazed eyes, the erratic speech, nonsense, most of it. I even like the way your legs are sticking up. The flesh behind your knees is very tender, by the by, and I will show you how much you will enjoy me touching and kissing you there. I must remember to kiss that small birthmark of yours too.”

  She lathered her hair with a vengeance. It would take a good hour to dry it.

  “I can’t wait to kiss you silly. Perhaps I can convince you to return my kiss. I will try my best.” He sounded so sure of himself, so completely confident. She rubbed her scalp until it hurt. He also sounded amused.

  “Shall I come and rub your back for you?”

  “I wish you would go away,” Sophie said, opening her eyes through a haze of soap. It stung and she gasped, ducking her head under the water.

  “Very well,” he said agreeably. “I will doze here in bed and wait for you. I really forgot everything I wanted to say to you. Why, I won’t even think of you—my wife—all naked and wet and soft. You have five more minutes, Sophie, not a second more.” He consulted the clock on the mantel as he spoke. Then he leaned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. He crossed his arms over his bare chest.

  When he opened his eyes she was standing swathed in a voluminous white nightgown. Her hair was matted and tangled wet down her back. If she got any closer to the fireplace, she’d be standing atop the flames.

  She was trying to dry her hair.

  “Hold still,” he said and rose. Ryder wasn’t a randy boy. He was a man and he’d proved not only to himself but to her that he could be patient. He would continue to be patient. He took another towel from the chair beside the copper tub and pointed to his wing chair. “Sit down.”

  She sat like a prim schoolgirl on the edge of the chair, her hands in her lap. “Now, where are your comb and brush?”

  He spent another fifteen minutes brushing her thick hair. He set the brush aside. He smiled down at her. “You look like a Madonna. You are quite lovely, Sophie. You please me. Your hair has so many varied shades in it. Yes, you’re lovely. You would please me even more if you opened your eyes. I’m naked, ’tis true, but you’ve seen me on several occasions. Surely I don’t displease you?”

  She opened her eyes then and looked him straight in the face. “Please tell me the truth, Ryder. Did you truly believe I was pregnant?”

  Their wedding and the subsequent damnable night were stark in his mind, but he managed an indifferent shrug. “I had no idea. You refused to tell me the course of your monthly flow. It was possible you were pregnant, based upon my knowing nothing.” He wondered if and when he would tell her the truth. Ah, soon, he knew, for he hated lies. They were always lying in wait to trip a man up. And Sophie was fast-witted. If he didn’t tell her, she would catch him and he didn’t want the consequences of that. Actually, though, she would know it was a lie soon enough.

  Always his wit, she thought numbly. He drowned her in his damnable wit, in the easy flow of his speech. Had she used to be like that? Had she mocked him and teased him as he now did her? Memories flooded through her. Ah yes, she’d done it with great skill, even to touching him just so to make him mad with lust for her. But now she was a silent fool, dull-tongued and stupid. Why couldn’t she treat him as she had Sir Robert? She sometimes wished she had herself back again but then she’d realize she wasn’t exactly certain who that self really was.

  She felt his hands on her wrists. He pulled her upright and against him. He said, his breath warm against her damp hair, “Now let me tell you how we’re going to spend the greater part of this wonderful evening. I will not rush you. We must take time to learn each other. I will kiss you and—”

  He paused, kissed her lightly on her mouth, then said, “No, let me just show you. Do me a favor, Sophie. Forget a
ll those damned men. Just forget them. They have nothing to do with us, with this. This is private, this is us alone, a man and his wife together.”

  But she couldn’t. She also knew she couldn’t refuse him. He was her husband; he had full and complete control over her, more control, in fact, than her uncle had exercised, which had been unbearable. If he wanted to strip her naked and tie her to the bed, why he could do it. She tried to be calm. After all, she’d had weeks and weeks to come to grips with it. She’d learned that much, surely she had. She wouldn’t start screaming or become hysterical. She wasn’t that way, and even if she had ever been that way, her uncle Theo would have beaten it all out of her long ago.

  When Ryder pulled her nightgown over her head, leaving her as naked as he was, she drew back, hunching over, unable to stop herself. He lightly touched his fingertips to her ribs. “No more bruises. Have you had any more pain?”

  She shook her head. “Good,” he said and brought her against him again.

  For the first time he held her naked against him. His heart was pounding in deep, fast strokes. He wanted to come inside her this very instant and bury himself in her, his wife. He wanted to hold very still, to feel her around his sex, to feel the gentle tensing movements of her inner muscles. But he wasn’t stupid. She needed every bit of his expertise. Ah, that was the rub. She was making it a damned serious business. Ryder had always laughed before, for to him making love was a grand pastime filled with mirth and smacking kisses and shared moans and sighs. He wasn’t laughing now; he didn’t have a single jest in his head. It was going to be a grim business.

  It would be enough, this expertise of his. He’d never failed with a woman before, never. He caressed her mouth, nibbled on her ear, found that very sensitive place in the hollow of her throat that made every woman he’d ever known squirm and moan when he’d caressed there with his tongue.

  He told her how beautiful she was as he stroked his hands over her breasts, told her how much she pleased him, how much he wanted to touch her everywhere, with his hands and with his mouth. Her nipples were a dark pink and when he took one in his mouth he thought he’d spill his seed. The taste of her, her texture, were nothing he’d ever experienced before, which was surely false, but it seemed true to him now. He frowned even as he let the feelings settle deep within him.