The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  As for Ryder, he closed his eyes and sighed. “I like the feel of you against me. You’re warm and soft. I locked the door. I do hope you don’t snore too loudly.”

  “I do. I sound like a pig.”

  “How would you know? I know that I’m the first man ever to have you, the first man to hold you naked against him. If you are not delicate and soft in your sleep, I shan’t tell you. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  She snorted and he kissed her hair.

  He lay back and closed his eyes. Damnation. He hadn’t given her any pleasure, not a dollop, not a blessed whit. He hadn’t done anything particularly well with her, and that was unusual for him because he was well used to giving as much pleasure as he got. He hadn’t with her. He would have to teach her to forget all the ugliness of the past months, including his own part in it, which could prove a formidable task. But he had to. He had to teach her how to love and how to make love. He felt her breasts against his chest, very soft breasts. He saw also in his mind’s eye the look on Douglas’s face. He must have heard them arguing and he’d come to investigate. Still, he’d held his tongue. He’d been gentle with Sophie.

  Damnation.

  He slept.

  CHAPTER 15

  RYDER AWOKE IN the middle of the night. Sophie was warm and soft against him. He was hard. He hurt and he wanted her, then, at that very instant. It seemed he’d wanted her forever. He wasn’t completely full-witted and thus rolled her over onto her back, kissing her mouth even as he arranged her for himself, and came fully into her, hard and deep.

  She cried out.

  Ryder froze, but the madness prodded at him, and all his fine and honorable vows about her pleasure escaped his brain from one instant to the next. He was more awake than before but it made no difference. It was intense and powerful, this lust of his, and he thrust deeply into her, then pulled nearly out of her, heaving with the strain of it, the savage pleasure, again and again until suddenly he stilled. Then it dug at him again, this urgency for her, this frenzy to have her, to make her a part of him, to bind her to him. But he wanted to slow down, to make it last beyond the moment he knew was left to him. He held her tightly to him and rolled over, pulling her on top of him. He forced her upright and pulled her knees under her and against his flanks. She was riding him now, and she splayed her fingers over his chest to hold herself up. He thrust upward, holding her waist, then sliding his hands to her hips to lift her and bring her down on him, to show her what to do. All women enjoyed riding the man once in a while; they could set their own rhythm. They drove him mad with lust and they laughed as they did it, until like him, they moaned and flung their heads back. But Sophie wasn’t moving; nor was she moaning. She held him deep inside her and he was forcing her to hold him, more deeply than the first time. Her breasts were thrust forward, beautiful and white and he gasped and pressed her further down on him. He couldn’t see her face clearly in the dim light. And he wanted to. Then he heard her sob. He twisted about until he could see her face more clearly. Her eyes were closed and tears were rolling down her cheeks.

  Sweet Lord, was he hurting her? He hadn’t thought, hadn’t realized, that this way of making love was deep, very deep and she was unused to a man, not just a man, but to him, her husband. Quickly, he lifted her off him and onto her back once again. When he rolled over onto her, he came into her again, not so deeply this time.

  He wanted to pull out of her, to kiss her and soothe her, to tell her that he hadn’t meant to go so strongly into her before she was ready to take him, but suddenly she moved, twisting to the side, and it sent him right over the edge.

  It was a repetition of the first time, and he was furious with himself once he’d regained his wits. Again, he was balancing on his elbows over her and he felt the force of her sobs against his body, felt her heart against his, and he didn’t like what he’d done.

  “Go to sleep,” he said and rolled off her.

  She did eventually, but he listened to those soft, gasping cries of hers for more minutes than he could bear.

  He awoke the following morning at the streaming of sunlight through the front windows. He felt her weight against him and smiled until he remembered the fiasco of the previous night. He’d been a clod, not once but twice, a selfish clod, a fool, a half-wit. He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t like himself for it.

  Well, it was done. He would make it up to her. He would exercise more patience than he ever had in his life. On the other hand, he hadn’t ever needed patience with a woman; a smile, a jest, a caress, and most had come to him. He knew the experiences in his life hadn’t demanded much of anything that he couldn’t readily and willingly give. Ah, his life had been filled with laughter and hour upon hour of pleasure and reckless freedom—the pounding strength of his stallion beneath him and the utter yielding of all the women he’d known and loved and held. His life had held no responsibilities he hadn’t asked for. And that included his children, all seven of them. No, they were a joy, not a responsibility. It was true. His life had been fashioned by a benign deity. Now everything had changed. The woman he’d brought into his life, the woman he’d chosen for himself, didn’t want him. There didn’t seem to be laughter in her, no spontaneous joy, no wildness that came from deep within, and burst forth freely and gladly.

  There was darkness in her. He understood at least some of this darkness for he’d seen it himself, he’d seen the results of it. Hell, he was the victim of it as well as she was. As for himself, the patches of pain and uncertainty that had come as they must to every man had been few. He’d been lucky and he knew it and he thought about it now, starkly. Everything was different and he perforce must also be different because of what he had done and of what she was and what he wanted her to become and be to him.

  She still slept. He eased up until he was on his elbow and could look down at her. Her hair was tangled about her head, wild on the pillow, her face blotchy from her crying and she looked beautiful to him. This girl who wasn’t really a beauty, not like some of the ladies he’d known so well, no she wasn’t a diamond like Alex’s incredibly lovely sister, Melissande, but she was impossibly beautiful to him, impossibly and inexplicably dear. He lightly ran a fingertip over her eyebrow. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, merely looked up at him. He felt the tension building in her but ignored it.

  “Good morning,” he said and kissed her mouth.

  She froze. He watched her eyes darken, then become carefully blank. He wouldn’t tolerate it, this withdrawal from him. “Stop that, damn you. I won’t hurt you again, I swear it.”

  “Men always hurt women.”

  “I admit that your experience hasn’t shown you much of the other side of things. Men included.”

  “You hurt me two times last night. And you will do it again and again because you are the man and stronger than I am and you have the control and power and you can force me to do anything you wish to do.”

  “All that? Perhaps I should consider announcing my godhood.” The studied lightness gave him a moment to think. The good Lord knew he needed many such moments now, with her, with this wife of his.

  She shoved at him but couldn’t budge him. She was panting now, and he could practically feel her urgency to get away from him. It was unnerving. It was frightening. “No, Ryder, I don’t believe you. You will force me whenever you want a woman. You are lying to me. All men lie to get what they want.”

  He let her go and rose to stand by the bed. “You will learn to believe me, to trust me.”

  She was now on the far side of the bed. She simply stared at him and he saw all her fear of him in her eyes, a damned irrational fear, and in that moment he wanted to throw her out of the window.

  The irony of it didn’t escape him. He wondered what the hell he was going to do now. He rang for bathwater. Once he’d dressed, he left the bedchamber, left her alone and silent, lying in bed, the covers drawn to her chin.

  Sinjun said to the breakfast table a
t large, “I saw the Virgin Bride last night. She probably came to visit Sophie and got the wrong bedchamber. Just think,” she added, turning toward her sister-in-law, “you just might get a visit from the family ghost too. She won’t hurt you. She just wants to welcome you to the Sherbrooke family. She’s been around for ever so long and all the past earls have written about her.”

  “Be quiet about that damned ghost,” this earl said. “There is no ghost, Sophie. The brat has a very active imagination. Ignore her.”

  “A real ghost? You’re not jesting?” Jeremy whispered so that just Sinjun heard him. He wasn’t about to disagree with the Earl of Northcliffe.

  “Yes, I’ll tell you all about her. Later, when we go riding.”

  “I’ve never seen her,” Ryder said, setting down his coffee cup. He took a bite of egg, looked at his wife, and winked at her. “Perhaps she’ll visit us. Would you like that?”

  “A ghost. Yes, I would. Who is she?”

  “A young lady whose husband was killed before they could consummate their marriage,” Ryder said. “Sixteenth century, I believe. She has long, very blond hair and all the filmy trappings, so Sinjun tells us. Evidently she appears only to the women of the family.”

  Alex opened her mouth then shut it.

  “The Earls of Northcliffe write about her, as I said,” Sinjun said. “It is too bad of Douglas—he refuses to hear about her, and more than that, he swears he won’t pen a word about her.”

  The earl harrumphed and gave a stern look to his wife, who was now studiously separating the kippers on her plate. He said to the table at large, “We must have a ball or something equally formal so that Sophie can be introduced to the neighborhood. In the meanwhile Alex will take you about, Sophie, to meet our more illustrious neighbors.”

  “Will Tony and Melissande come?”

  “Doubtless they will, Sinjun,” Alex said. She continued to Sophie, “Melissande is my sister. She’s incredibly beautiful and she married Tony Parrish, Viscount Rathmore. He is Douglas and Ryder’s first cousin. You will enjoy both of them. Perhaps Tysen can come from Oxford as well. He is the youngest of the brothers and plans to be a vicar.”

  The dowager countess said sharply, “She cannot go to a ball dressed in Alex’s castoffs, Douglas.”

  “No, I quite agree. We will have that seamstress in from Rye. You know, Alex, the one who fitted you up.”

  Lady Lydia said to no one in particular, “Ah, dear Melissande. How I wanted her for my daughter, but Douglas wouldn’t oblige me. I did have hope for you, Ryder, but Tony was impossible about the entire matter.”

  “Tony is married to her, ma’am,” Alexandra said easily. “Besides, Tony is always impossible. It’s part of his charm. You will like him immensely, Sophie, as he will you. As for Melissande, well, she is also many times vastly amusing.”

  Sophie stared down at the congealed eggs on her plate. All these people she didn’t know and didn’t care about, no more than they cared about her. Like all the men on Jamaica, Tony would probably look at her and decide she was a loose tart. She picked up a scone and nibbled on it. Conversation flowed around her. She vaguely heard more insults tossed in her general direction from her mother-in-law.

  She suddenly felt him looking at her. She raised her head to see Ryder simply staring at her, his fork halfway to his mouth. What was wrong? Was there butter on her chin?

  He grinned. “You look beautiful this morning, Sophie, but a bit pale. I want color in my wife’s cheeks. After breakfast, change into your riding habit and I will show you this favorite place of mine. Unlike Douglas, I don’t spend a lot of time striding over cliffs that could crumble beneath me. No, this is another sort of place. You will like it.”

  Sophie didn’t imagine that she would like it at all. He likely wanted to take her to a private place and come inside her again. She hurt inside. The muscles in her thighs pulled and ached. She didn’t want him near her. She said nothing.

  She wanted to spend some time with Jeremy, but before she could open her mouth, Sinjun and Jeremy had risen together from the table. Sophie watched her little brother place his hand in Sinjun’s and smile up at her. The two of them left the room together.

  Ryder said very gently, “Sinjun is a new treat. You, my dear, are an old tale. I am pleased they do well together. You and I will fascinate Jeremy later.”

  She disliked his knowing what was in her mind; she disliked his logic, his reasonableness. Few men she’d ever known had been very reasonable. Ryder hadn’t been reasonable either on Jamaica. He’d been cynical, utterly ruthless, and calculating as the devil. This was another side of him she didn’t like, didn’t want to see or to recognize.

  Ryder said to his brother, “While Sophie changes into her riding clothes, would you like to join me in the estate room? I need to speak with you.”

  Lady Lydia took only one parting shot. “I say, my dear boy, should you like to invite the Harvestons to your ball?”

  Since neither dear boy knew who it was their mother was addressing, both merely nodded, Douglas wincing and Ryder wanting to curse.

  “The Harvestons, of course, have three beautiful daughters,” Lady Lydia said. “They are just returned from a visit to American relatives in Boston.” She added, a sapient eye on Sophie, “I don’t like this at all.”

  “I don’t either, ma’am,” Sophie said, tossed her napkin on her plate, and pushed back her chair before Jamieson, a footman, could assist her. What her mother-in-law had meant, of course, was that she didn’t like Sophie, who was a nobody, in her mind.

  “Take your time changing, Sophie,” Alex called after her. “Douglas and Ryder probably have a lot to discuss. It’s been a long time and they’re very close, you know.”

  In the estate room, Douglas was sitting behind his desk, watching his brother pace the length of the room. They were silent for moments.

  “She’s a charming girl,” Douglas said.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “She doesn’t behave at all like a bride. She spent most of her time before you arrived alone. She is also unhappy.”

  Ryder paused in his pacing long enough to curse.

  “I had believed her homesick at first, but that isn’t it at all.”

  “No.”

  “Last night—it surprised me. Quite took me aback. I was on my way to the kitchen to fetch Alex some milk when I saw her flying down the corridor, her face pale as her skin. You don’t have to tell me anything, Ryder. But I would help if I could. Is it because of something you’ve done that she is unhappy? Did she find out about all of your women? Did you hurt her? Is she jealous?”

  “It is because of a lot of things. Thank you for taking such good care of her until I came home. I do wish Mother would control what comes out of her mouth, but I suppose it isn’t to be expected.”

  “No. She will come around eventually. If she becomes too outrageous I will simply threaten to move her to the dower house.”

  “An excellent threat.”

  “Exactly.”

  The brothers grinned at each other. Douglas said, “I was vastly surprised when your wife and her brother arrived on the doorstep. Hollis knew immediately, curse his damned hide, knew the very instant he saw her that she was quality and that she belonged here. There is another thing. At first she avoided me. I couldn’t figure out why. I was polite, I was solicitous, I tried to make her welcome. Then I realized she didn’t trust me. She didn’t trust me as a man. That I found very curious, inexplicable really. Why is she unhappy, Ryder?”

  “She’s afraid of me. She was probably afraid of you too.”

  There was utter silence. Douglas said, clearly disbelieving, “That’s utterly absurd. Why would your wife be afraid of me? I did nothing untoward. Nor have I ever known a woman to be remotely afraid of you. Why, they pursue you, they won’t let you alone. All of them want to get you out of your britches.”

  “Things change.”

  “Would you like to tell me what happened in Jamaica? No, no, not abou
t Uncle Brandon leaving you Kimberly Hall and the fiasco surrounding all that, but why exactly Sophie Stanton-Greville doesn’t want to be here with you as your wife, why she ran out of your bedchamber, seemingly terrified.”

  “It isn’t a very uplifting story, Douglas. There have been many men in her life and none of them were nice.” God, he thought, what an asinine thing to say. “That is,” he amended carefully, “the circumstances of Sophie and all these men weren’t very nice.”

  “I understand perfectly. No, no, you don’t have to strain yourself to be more equivocal. If you need me, Ryder, I’m here.”

  “Thank you, Douglas.”

  “The boy is delightful. Was he born with the clubfoot?”

  “Yes, he was. He rides very well. Do you think he would survive at Eton?”

  “Let’s give him a while longer to adjust, I think.”

  “She hates sex. She hates me touching her.”

  Douglas simply looked at his brother.

  “Damnation, but it’s very complicated,” Ryder said, and plowed his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. “I shouldn’t speak so personally about my wife. The thing is she doesn’t want me, never did want me. I manipulated her into marrying me. Can you imagine that? Me being the one to want to marry? Me, forcing a woman to marry me? But I did it and I’m not sorry for it. She didn’t want to marry any man.”

  Douglas waited, saying nothing, until finally, “This is passing strange. If you wish to speak more about it, I’m always here. Now, I must tell you—Emily had twins. Unfortunately neither of them survived. She is looking forward to seeing you. She said something Hollis didn’t completely understand, something about it being better this way because it wasn’t fair, that she hadn’t wanted to do this to you.”

  “I will see her as soon as I can.”

  “Do you understand what she meant?”

  Ryder simply shrugged and looked out the window.

  Douglas picked up a singularly beautiful black onyx paperweight and tossed it from one hand to the other. “I suppose you’ve decided what to do about all your women and your children.”