Ryder Sherbrooke had happened. Somehow he'd discovered what she and Uncle Theo had done to him. And he'd gotten revenge.
She wondered if he'd taken her as Dahlia had taken him two nights before. How did one tell? She rose slowly, dropping the sheet. The room was warm and she felt perspiration on her brow from the heat of the room, and from the heat of her fear.
What had he done to her?
She looked down at herself. She looked just the same. She remembered long ago that Uncle Theo had assured her that she'd remain a virgin. But how could one tell if a female was a virgin or not? She hadn't asked him. God, she didn't know.
What to do?
Sophie saw her clothing lying neatly over the back of a wicker chair. They were the same clothes she'd worn the night before. He'd brought her here to the cottage and stripped her to her skin. It was beyond embarrassing. She had to know what he'd done to her. She had to find out what he knew.
She thought of Uncle Theo and blanched. Then, of course, she realized what must have happened. Ryder had drugged her, then Uncle Theo. He'd done a fine job of it. He'd paid them back in kind.
She dressed quickly and combed her hair, tying it at her nape with the same ribbon she'd used the night before. She looked at herself in the mirror. Did she look different? Was that how one knew that one wasn't a virgin anymore?
She looked pale, nothing more that she could see. She had to know. She left the cottage and walked quickly back to Camille Hall.
Uncle Theo wasn't there. A slave told her that the massa hadn't come down yet.
She realized then that it was only seven o'clock in the morning. But she couldn't wait. She called for Opal to be saddled.
CHAPTER
6
RYDER WAS ALONE on the front veranda drinking a cup of coffee. It was still very early, but he knew, deep down, that she would come and very soon. She wouldn't be able not to. She would have to know what he'd done to her and he couldn't wait to tell her.
When he saw Opal cantering up the drive, he smiled in anticipation, both his body and his mind becoming instantly more alert. He didn't rise, merely sat back and watched her ride closer and closer.
Sophie dismounted and tethered Opal to one of the black-painted iron posts. She was shaking. That would never do. She wiped her hands on her skirt and forced her shoulders back.
She walked up onto the veranda and simply looked down at him. She hadn't expected him to rise as a gentleman should in the presence of a lady and, indeed, he didn't. After all, she was about the furthest thing from a lady that breathed.
Ryder smiled up at her, a predator's smile, a quite evil smile really. "Good morning, Sophia. You haven't changed your clothes, I see. You couldn't wait to see me again, then? Would you like some breakfast? Coffee, perhaps? You must keep your strength up, particularly after your exertions last night."
He was going to toy with her. Very well then, she wasn't an inexperienced twit when it came to men. She'd well learned most of their vagaries during the past year, their little conceits, their need to dominate and rule. She smiled back at him and tossed her head. "I should like some coffee, thank you."
"Do sit down."
She waited for him to return, her mind working feverishly, but blank of ideas. When he handed her the cup, she took it and sipped it slowly, all the while watching him take the wicker chair opposite her. He leaned back, as indolent as a lizard warming himself in the sun, and crossed his arms over his chest. He leaned the chair back on its hind legs. She wished it would tip over and he would cosh himself on his damned head.
"It's very early for a visit," he remarked to the wisteria that was spilling wildly over the railing of the veranda.
"Yes," she said, "very early indeed, yet you are up and dressed, almost as if you were waiting for someone to arrive. It will be hot today."
"It's hot every day. Did you wish to speak to me about something in particular? Or perhaps you wanted to see Samuel, who's so besotted with you he nauseates me with his endless effusions? Or perhaps Emile, your childhood friend whom you now ignore?"
"You."
He gave her a lazy nod, then fell silent. The silence stretched long between them.
"Well?" he asked at last. "It's not that I have something urgent to do, it's just that I do bore rather easily. You are pushing the limits, Sophia."
"What did you do to me?"
"I beg your pardon?" An eyebrow shot up a good inch. He was pleased with the utterly sincere puzzlement in his voice.
"Damn you, don't play with me further. Please, did you take me to the cottage?"
"Yes."
"Did you take off my clothes?"
"Yes. I also folded them neatly for you. I am a man of orderly habits."
"Did you . . . that is to say, did you become intimate with me?"
"Do you mean did I become intimate with you before I folded your clothes neatly? Or after?"
She said nothing, merely stared at him. He shrugged, looked at her breasts, and smiled. "Become intimate, Miss Stanton-Greville? Why in heaven's name wouldn't I have taken you, or, as you so quaintly put it—become intimate with you? Isn't that the whole purpose of having a lover? Your body is mine, you told me that quite clearly. I don't particularly like females in my bed who are more unconscious than not, but parting your legs and coming into you did indeed serve my purpose . . . my purpose as your lover, naturally. You did arch your back just a little bit. No, unfortunately, I don't think you enjoyed it, even though you did moan once or twice." He struck a thoughtful pose. "But wait, I recall you moaned when I kissed your breasts, or perhaps it was when I was caressing your buttocks and I turned you on your stomach. You certainly didn't scream as you did the other night, though. Of course, you were in no shape to ride me, so it was I who did the mounting and the riding. You're quite soft, Sophia, and very giving. You gave me some measure of enjoyment. Last night, of course, I was full-witted and felt every shred of feeling to be felt from plowing your belly." He was just getting into the full swing of his splendid monologue when she jumped to her feet and yelled at him, "Damn you, stop it! Just stop it! You forced me, you raped me! You're an animal!"
"Forced you," Ryder said blankly. "An animal? Surely not, Sophia. I'm your lover."
"You drugged me! You took me when I was unconscious. You're no lover, you're a perfidious bastard! I hate you!"
He laughed then, a full, deep, rich laugh that
made her skin crawl. God, she wanted to hit him, to hurl something heavy at his head, to kick him. She wouldn't stop herself. She rushed from her chair and at him, her hands fisted. It took a lot of strength, but she managed to push his chair backward, sending him sprawling. Unfortunately she didn't move back quickly enough. Ryder caught her ankle and jerked her down over him. He held her wrists so she couldn't strike him.
He looked up at her face, flushed with fury, at her breasts, heaving up and down, and said, happy as a vicar at a wedding, "How passionate you are, Sophia. Perhaps next time you can be as full-witted as I was this time and we can speak together while we make love. It will enhance your enjoyment, and mine as well, I hope, not that I'm complaining all that much."
She struggled and he was well aware of her body pressing onto his. She was truly enraged, quite unaware that her belly was grinding against him. He was hard; surely she felt him. But he had her firmly held. He merely waited until she realized she couldn't hurt him. But she struggled a good three minutes more. Finally, her voice low and mean, she said, "Let me go, damn you to hell."
'You know, Sophia, no woman has ever attacked me before with evil intent. Attacked me with laughter and sexual intent, certainly, for I much enjoy playful women and many of them seem to know it. But this violence? I'm uncertain of the rules here. Should I hold you another five minutes to be certain you're well tamed?"
She felt rage and fear. Tears were burning her eyes. She had no more words. She simply shook her head.
Ryder saw the tears but he knew she wouldn't let them fa
ll. "If I release you, will you try to do me in again?"
She shook her head again, and he guessed she was now really beyond words. He had won. Quite simply he'd demolished her. She deserved it. He released her wrists. She rolled to her side and was on her feet in an instant, staring down at him.
Ryder rose slowly. He set his chair back in its place, then motioned for her to be seated again.
It was as if it had never happened, she thought numbly, for the first words out of his mouth after he'd sat down again were, "Drugged you? That is what you said, isn't it? What a novel idea. What a grotesque thought. Who ever would think of something so perfidious as drugging? Why, that lacks all honor, all honesty. The deceit of such an act boggles the mind. Goodness, it's very early in the morning for such jests, but since I have nothing urgent to do, as I told you, and you certainly aren't boring me now, why, do continue spinning your fairy tales."
"I was a vir—" Her voice fell like a stone off a cliff. Good God, telling him she was a virgin would make him howl with laughter. She shook her head, trying to get hold of herself. He knew about the drugging; she'd been almost certain. "You drugged me. You must have put something in my rum punch. And then you took advantage of me." The words weren't what she would have liked to have said but there was nothing else in her mind. They were the ineffectual words of an outraged maiden. She also realized that if more words were to come out of her mouth, they wouldn't be the right words either and he would only laugh all the more at her.
"Did I tell you that my very first afternoon in Montego Bay I heard you had three lovers? I heard descriptions of the three men in question. Why, Oliver Susson even came in and was needled mercilessly about you, all envy of course. Now, unless you took all these gentlemen in strange and exotic ways, then it's impossible that you've been a virgin for a very long time. Ah, yes, don't look so surprised, Sophia, and please don't protest. There are few words I know well that begin with 'vir.' I am relieved that you stopped yourself before you finished out that truly ludicrous lie. Virgin . . . another deceit that boggles the mind."
"No," she said, defeated. "I won't lie." But she was thinking, I didn't feel any different this morning. I even looked in the mirror. I looked just the same, yet he says he took me and knew I wasn't a virgin. She didn't understand this, but she remained silent. Evidently a man couldn't tell whether or not a woman had been touched. Evidently a man had to take a woman's word for her innocence. Given her reputation, her word was worthless and she knew it, so that was that. She was about as innocent as any harlot in Montego Bay. She saw he was grinning at her, and that grin was filled with triumph and satisfaction and more than a dollop of malice.
"Please, Ryder, please tell me the truth. What do you know? How did you find out? What do you want? I admit it's over now, I know that even if Uncle Theo doesn't yet, but, please, oh God, please—" She stopped. What was she prepared to ask him anyway? There was nothing she could do now to prevent him from doing precisely what he wanted to do. She could hear his laughter if she attempted to tell him about Jeremy. Slowly, feeling as numb as a slept-upon arm, she rose from the chair. She stared at him blindly, turned, grabbing up her skirts, and ran down the front steps of the veranda.
He called after her, his voice loud and carrying, "It was your breasts that did you in, Miss Stanton-Greville. From that I deduced you must have drugged me. You see, it wasn't all that remarkable of me to have figured it out. Yes, indeed, a woman's breasts are hers alone, not to be pawned off on another. The other breasts were nice really, but much too large. No, I prefer yours."
She didn't turn but he would have sworn that her entire body jerked at his words.
Ryder watched her run away. He let her go. He didn't say another word. So she'd wanted to protest that she was a virgin. He shook his head at that nonsense. Even though another woman had bedded him, he still doubted very strongly that Sophia was as innocent as she looked now, as she'd looked the previous night, in that mussed girlish muslin gown, her face washed clean of cosmetics. No, it was highly unlikely. She'd led him on, teased him expertly, enticed him, let him fondle her breasts as would an experienced courtesan, setting the pace unless he managed to knock her off guard.
He watched her gallop her mare full tilt down Kimberly Hall's drive. He watched her until she disappeared from his sight.
He rose and stretched. He really had to decide what he was going to do now. It was a pity he hadn't discovered the purpose of the game with him, but he would, he didn't doubt it for a single moment.
Uncle Theo was waiting for her in his study. His face was pale and his hands were shaking slightly. He wore no kindly gentle mask for her. She knew fear, and kept as much distance as she could between them. She shut the door behind her and watched him slowly rise.
"Where the devil have you been?"
She expected this, and recited in a low voice, "I awoke in the cottage, naked in the bed, quite alone. I had to know what happened so I rode to Kimberly Hall. Ryder said he'd taken me since he was my lover, and what was all the fuss about.
"I accused him of drugging me. I started to tell him I was a virgin but I didn't because I knew he wouldn't believe me."
"He drugged both of us, the damnable bastard!"
At that, Sophie felt a fierce joy, despite what Ryder had done to her. It was over now, finally over.
"Damnation! How did he know? None of the others ever wondered about a thing."
"I don't know." But he saw she was lying, and knowing there was no hope for it, she said quietly, "Very well. He said he knew that the breasts of the woman of that night weren't mine. He had fondled me before, twice, seen me, felt me. That was how he knew. He said all women were different from each other."
"That's absurd! He knew Dahlia's breasts weren't yours!" he cried, his words slightly slurred because his tongue was thick with rage. "Ridiculous. You're lying, damn you, Sophia!"
Theo Burgess stopped cold, whirled about and stared at his niece. "By God," he said very quietly, "you told him, didn't you? You went to him and you told him. You fell for his charm and his man's body and you told him!"
"No! I despise all men! He is no different."
"You hate me so you used him to get back at me. Well, it won't work. I'll figure something out and you'll do as you're told. Oh no, it's not over, Sophia.
It won't be over until I say it will."
"It is over. He knows. Not all of it, but he knows enough. He will do something and you can't stop him."
"He knows because you told him. Don't lie to me further, you damned little bitch!"
She saw the darkening of his eyes and knew what was coming. He was on her in an instant. He struck her hard and she slammed against the doorframe. She grabbed the knob to keep herself upright, then wished she hadn't, for he struck her again. Rage flowed through her, rage and strength she didn't know she possessed. The pain disappeared, leaving only the rage. She whirled away from him, regaining her balance. She picked up a lamp from a table and hurled it at him. It struck his arm.
He was screaming at her, cursing her, and she knew that if he got to her again, he wouldn't stop until she was dead.
A slave's face appeared at the veranda window, then quickly disappeared. She ran behind his large desk, grabbing books and throwing them at him, but he kept coming, closer and closer, and his fists were large, his knuckles white with the strain, his face brutal.
She saw the letter opener. She didn't think, she was beyond thought. She grabbed it and ran straight at him.
"I won't let you hit me again! Never again! I hate you!" She struck as hard as she could. She felt the end of the blade slide into his shoulder with sickening ease.
She was crying, her vision blurred. She looked at the letter opener, the mother-of-pearl handle sticking obscenely out of his flesh. She watched him look from her to the letter opener. His expression was bewildered.
"You stabbed me," he said slowly. He looked up at her again and he screamed, "I'll take care of you now, you damned lit
tle bitch! I've given you everything, you and that miserable little cripple. Stab me, will you."
He caught her arm, bent it until she knew it would snap, then released her, shoving her hard against the wall. She was trapped now in the corner of the room, and he was on her, hitting her again and again . . . her ribs, her face, again and again.
Until she slumped unconscious onto her side.
When she came to, she was still lying on the floor where she'd fallen, sprawled on her side. The pain drove all efforts at coherent thought from her head. Her body clenched and twisted in on itself; she moaned softly, unable to keep the sounds to herself. At least he hadn't killed her. Nor was her arm broken. That was something.
She lay there for several more minutes, not moving, scarcely breathing. She had learned to deal with pain but it was more difficult this time. He'd showed no restraint at all. He'd beaten her here in his study, a room that the slaves could enter at any time. Usually he was so careful, waiting until she was in her bed and coming into her room and beating her there with little to no chance of discovery.
Had he beaten her so badly because he had no intention of continuing his gentle, kindly fiction to anyone, the slaves included? Did he finally accept that it was over and he simply no longer cared? Even had she not stabbed him, she knew he still would have beaten her badly.
Perhaps he was dead. If so, she was a murderess.
Sophie tried to sit up. The pain was bad but she managed it. She couldn't remain here. If a slave came in and saw her, the truth would be out all that much sooner, and then Jeremy would find out as well and her mind balked at that. He wouldn't keep still. He would try to protect her. He would attack Uncle Theo. She saw both of them in a heap with their few possessions in a pile of refuse in the middle of Montego Bay. Oh, Jeremy, oh no, not her little brother. She'd been responsible for him for four years. She would be until she died.
The Hellion Bride Page 9