The Hellion Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  No, she had to be wrong. Uncle Theo wouldn't do anything immediately. No, at the very least, she'd wounded him. He would be too weak to do anything yet. But he'd sworn to her that it wasn't over yet. He'd beaten her because he'd been so furious at Ryder Sherbrooke. No, he'd try to continue the fic­tion, he simply had to. Yes, she was wrong.

  She drew a deep breath, gripped the edge of the desk, and pulled herself to her feet. She felt dizzy and nauseous but finally she managed to control it. She had to get out of here until she could keep from crying out in pain. She would need all her cosmetics this time to hide what he'd done to her.

  She passed a mirror but didn't look at herself. She crept out the side door of the study, holding her sides. She walked the near mile to the cottage, bent over like a frail old woman, breathing in short, jerking gasps.

  It was too much. This time she had to do some­thing. It had to end. Either she did it or Ryder Sherbrooke would. But she didn't think she'd have time to take action. She hurt too badly. Time seemed to stop. She wondered if she would die. She thought of Ryder. He was furious and primed for revenge. What he'd done to her was just the beginning, and that gave her hope.

  When she finally reached the cottage, she began to cry. She couldn't stop crying nor did she try. The tears burned down her bruised cheeks.

  She staggered into the cottage and, very slowly, walked to the bed. She eased herself down on it and let the pain flood over her in relentless waves.

  Ryder wanted more answers. He was through with games. He rode to Camille Hall. Sophia wasn't there. The house slave didn't know where she was. The slaves he saw were acting strangely but they wouldn't tell him anything. Uncle Theo wasn't there either, not that Ryder was ready to face him down just yet.

  Ryder paused a moment at the end of the long drive, wondering where she could have gone after she'd ridden away from Kimberly Hall. Then he knew. Without hesitation, he directed his horse to the cottage. If she wasn't there, she'd probably ridden to Penelope Beach, her private place, she'd told him.

  At first he thought he'd been wrong. There didn't seem to be anyone about. He walked through the door and became very still.

  She was lying on her side on the bed, fully dressed, her legs drawn up. She appeared to be deeply asleep.

  Ryder walked very quietly to the bed and stared down at her. He took her arm and pulled her onto her back. He sucked in his breath in disbelief. All burgeoning ideas of further punishment fled his mind; incredulity took its place, then a rush of sheer rage. He stared down at her face; he couldn't believe it. Jesus, what had happened to her? But of course he knew. Uncle Theo had beaten her.

  Even her heaviest cosmetics wouldn't cover these bruises. He realized his hands were fisted. She moaned and he saw her hands flutter about her chest.

  As gently as he could Ryder undressed her. He guessed that she was as much unconscious as she was asleep. When he got her gown and slippers and stockings off her, he was still left with her chemise.

  Again he drew his knife and cut if off her. The sight that met his eyes made him go very still. From just beneath her breasts to her belly she was cov­ered with ugly bruises. Uncle Theo had hit her hard many times. He'd shown no mercy. It came to Ryder then that the night before when he'd stripped her, it was possible that there had been remnants of bruises over her ribs. But he couldn't be certain. The light had been dim. But now the evidence was there for all to see.

  Jesus, the man was an animal. Lightly, he touched his fingertips to the worst of the bruises, just below her left breast. She moaned softly, flinging her arm out, then letting it fall. She'd come here to the cottage to hide away as would a wounded animal.

  He straightened. The first thing he needed was laudanum, explanations could wait. When she awoke he could only imagine how bad her pain would be. He would have to leave her to fetch medicine. That, or he could simply wrap her up and take her back with him to Kimberly Hall.

  She began to cry, low deep sobs that tore at him. Tears seeped from beneath her lashes. She was unconscious and still she was aware of the pain to such an extent that she was crying. Was she crying about all the rest of it as well? The months upon months of deception?

  Ryder didn't hesitate. He wrapped her as gently as he could in a blanket and carried her out of the cottage. It was not easy to get her and himself onto his horse's back but he finally managed it. He prayed she would remain unconscious until he could get her back to Kimberly Hall.

  When he arrived at Kimberly Hall, Emile was standing on the front steps, pulling on gloves. He started forward, eyes widening in surprise. "What the hell is this, Ryder?"

  "Come with me and I'll explain what I can. First, Emile, get some laudanum, water, strips of cotton, cream, whatever. If I'm not mistaken, her dear uncle Theo beat the hell out of her."

  "Jesus," Emile said and hurried away.

  Ryder carried her to his bedchamber. It simply didn't occur to him to take her anywhere else.

  He pulled back the mosquito netting and laid her as gently as he could upon her back. He covered her with the blanket. He didn't want Emile to see her naked.

  When Emile came back into the room, he said, "My father wants to know what's going on. I put him off. You should tell him what you think appro­priate."

  "Thank you, Emile. Just leave the things. I'll take care of her."

  Emile hesitated. "Would you like Mary or Coco to help you?"

  Ryder just shook his head. "No, I'll see to her. I don't suppose there's such a magical item as real ice here?"

  "Of course. Ah, you want it for her face, to reduce the swelling. I'll fetch some immediately." Emile quietly shut the door on his way out.

  Ryder peeled the; blanket off her and set to work. When he knotted the last of the strips of cotton over her ribs, having made certain they weren't broken, he rose slowly, studying his handiwork. She was still unconscious.

  He had a glass of water with laudanum ready the moment she woke up. He studied her face as he waited. Slowly he reached out and gently glided his fingertips over her brow, her nose, her jaw. He slipped his finger into her mouth and pressed against her teeth. Her teeth were still strong and nothing was broken, thank God. Ah, but the pain she would suffer.

  Sophie didn't want to wake up. She knew if she did, she wouldn't be pleased about it. And she wasn't. The pain hit her in vicious waves and she gasped with the force of it.

  His voice came from above her. He was saying over and over that she would be all right, that he would make certain Uncle Theo never hurt her again. She was to trust him. "Trust me," he said yet again.

  She opened her eyes then and stared up at Ryder Sherbrooke.

  "Trust you?" she said, shuddering with the pain those two simple words brought her.

  "Yes, please, Sophia. Trust me. I'll see that every­thing will be all right. Here, drink this."

  Ryder saw equal amounts of pain and wariness in her eyes. He understood, he couldn't blame her, but he was determined. He gently lifted her head and forced all the drugged water down her throat.

  He eased her back down. "Now, don't say any­thing. There will be time later to find out exactly what happened. No, don't try to talk. Just listen. Nothing seems to be broken. I've bound up your ribs. Your face is another matter. I'm going to wrap ice in a cloth and cover your eyes with it. Hopefully the cold will keep the swelling down, all right? If you feel something very cold, don't be alarmed. Now, just hold still."

  Her eyes were closed when a light knock came on the door. It was Emile and he was carrying cloths and a bucket of ice chips.

  "Thank you," Ryder said. "If Theo Burgess shows up here, come and get me."

  Once alone with her again, Ryder wrapped the ice in the cloths and laid them over her eyes and across her face. She flinched and he said quietly, "Just hold still, Sophia. It will numb your face and the pain will lessen. Also, I gave you laudanum. Don't worry, please."

  She tried to force the words from her mouth. "Jeremy," she said, but knew it was but a whisper of so
und in her mind. She felt the laudanum pulling at her and tried one more time. "Jeremy."

  Ryder's face was very close to hers. He made out her brother's name. He felt a frisson of alarm. If Uncle Theo had beaten her so badly, what would he do to the boy?

  "Uncle Theo, I stabbed him. He won't come here, at least not today."

  "You what?"

  "I. . ." Her head lolled to the side.

  Ryder didn't hesitate. He found Emile, who was pacing in the front entrance hall downstairs. "Have Coco stay close to her. The laudanum I gave her put her to sleep. Tell James not to allow anyone from Camille Hall in here. No one. As for your father, Jesus, tell him whatever you think best."

  Emile nodded and was gone in an instant. Ryder took his place pacing. When Emile returned, he said, "Now what?"

  "You, my friend, you and I are going to beard the lion in his den. Hopefully the damned lion isn't dead. I'll tell you all about it on the way."

  Sophie gritted her teeth. The pain kept coming, kept pounding through her, surging and swelling until she thought she couldn't bear it. Then it would lessen, retreating and flattening as a wave receding from the shore, but she knew it would return again and again and there was nothing she could do about it. It wouldn't ever stop, not ever. She was trapped in it, helpless, and completely alone. She'd failed and now she was paying with this ghastly pain. There was nothing she could do to help anyone.

  "Please don't cry, Sophie, please. Here, drink some water. Ryder said you'd probably be really thirsty."

  She sipped the water, nearly choking. Then she realized that it was Jeremy who was here with her. Jeremy, her little brother. She raised a hand and pulled away the cloth from over her eyes. She could open her eyes without too much effort. The swelling had gone down. She saw Jeremy was standing there beside her, worry and fear etched deeply into that beloved face.

  "I'm all right, Jeremy," she whispered. "Don't wor­ry. I probably look much worse than I really am."

  "Shush," Jeremy said. "Ryder said you'd try to talk to me, and he said I was to tell you to be quiet. He said I could tell you what was happening. All right?"

  "Yes."

  "You are to lie very still. Ryder said that you'll be just fine. He said nothing was broken, but your ribs and your face are badly bruised. He said to be very still, Sophie."

  "Yes."

  "Uncle Theo changed," Jeremy said slowly, and he was frowning as he said it. He didn't understand, that was clear to her, but she didn't say anything, merely waited for him to continue. "He saw me come into the house with Thomas and he started yelling. He was holding his shoulder and I saw blood seeping through his fingers. He screamed at me that he was through with the two of us."

  "He didn't hit you, did he?"

  "Oh no. He just told Thomas to lock me in my bedchamber. He said he'd take care of me later. He didn't hurt me like he did you. But he was very angry and he was calling you a liar and a slut and a whore and other words I didn't understand. He said I was nothing but a crippled little bastard and he'd see to it that I never, ever inherited Camille Hall or got control of our home in Fowey. He said he'd see you in hell where you belonged."

  Oh God, Sophie thought, wishing she could reach out and fold Jeremy in her arms. Yet he sounded very calm, detached, as he spoke, and that fright­ened her even more.

  "I was going to climb down the trellis off my balco­ny when the door burst open and Ryder came in. He said we were leaving. He said you were here and he was bringing me to you. He said everything would be all right."

  "Uncle Theo?"

  "He wasn't there. I guess he went off with Thomas to see to his shoulder. Did you hit him, Sophie?"

  "Yes, I stabbed him with a letter opener."

  He seemed to take her bald words quite in stride. "I was afraid, Sophie," Jeremy said after a moment. "I was afraid that he would send in Thomas with his whip and he would whip me like he does the slaves. And I didn't know where you were or what he'd done to you."

  She felt such relief that for an instant, the pain faded into near insignificance. She didn't hear the door open, but suddenly Jeremy turned and his face lit up.

  "Is she all right?" It was Ryder's voice, low and deep.

  "Yes, sir. I told her to be quiet, just as you told me to, and just let me talk. She's been pretty good. She tried, sir. She did stab him."

  "Yes, I know. Now, my boy, would you like some pineapple betty? Cook said every young man she knows loves her pineapple betty."

  Jeremy shot a look back at his sister.

  "No, it's all right. I'll be here. Go ahead, Jeremy."

  Ryder didn't say anything until Jeremy had left the room.

  "Are you ready for some more laudanum?"

  "No, please, it makes my mind fuzzy."

  "It's better than the pain. Jeremy is safe and I swear to you he will remain under my protection. There is no reason for you to be a martyr. No, keep quiet, Sophia. Here, drink this."

  She did and within minutes her eyes were closed and her breathing had deepened.

  Then she said in a soft, slurred voice, "My name is Sophie. I've always hated Sophia."

  "I prefer Sophie as well," Ryder said, but she was asleep.

  He placed fresh ice packs over her face then set­tled back in a chair. He stretched out his legs, cross­ing them at the ankles. He steepled his fingers and lightly tapped his fingertips to his chin. His eyes never left her. What the hell was he to do now?

  He thought fondly of home, of his brothers and Sinjun, his sister. He thought of his brother's new wife, Alex, and wondered how she was faring with the earl, a very stubborn man.

  If Samuel Grayson hadn't written all in a dither about strange happenings here, why then he would still be in England, enjoying his children, enjoying his mistresses, riding the southern cliffs, the wind whipping his hair in his eyes, without a worry in the world.

  Now he had two big human worries. He realized that his life to this point had been exactly as he'd ordered it up. He'd done precisely what he'd pleased because providence had made him the second son, and thus his brother was the Earl of Northcliffe. An equal share of good fortune was the immense wealth left to him by his uncle Brandon. He realized with a start of self-contempt that he'd played with his life, taking what he wanted, never really thinking about consequences because he'd even managed to control those quite well. Most who knew him liked him, he knew that. He was charming, he brought laughter into a room with him, he was honorable in his deal­ings. He shook his head, seeing himself clearly. He was honorable for the simple reason that there was never any reason for him not to be honorable, no challenges to his honor, to his integrity; he'd never really had to prove himself. One could praise him about the children, perhaps, but that was different, that was something deep within him that he had to do. It was a pleasure to do; it was easy to do; they made him feel blessed, not put upon.

  But now things had spun quite beyond his control. He didn't want to be involved in this mess, but he was. He stared over at the beaten girl on his bed. She'd managed to stab the bastard. She had guts. He couldn't walk away from this. He couldn't walk away from her. He cursed quietly, with great fluency.

  There was nothing for it.

  CHAPTER

  7

  SUNLIGHT POURED IN the bedchamber, warming Sophie's face. She opened her eyes and queried her body. The pain was less than it had been yesterday. Two days now, two days of lying here and wondering what had happened and what would happen now. She hated the helplessness. She had to get up; she had to do something, what she didn't know, but she knew the first step was to get her feet on the floor. She managed to pull herself upright, groaned with the rush of pain in her ribs and fell back again, panting. She closed her eyes and waited, counting slowly to ten. At least she could close her eyes, even blink, without pain. The ice Ryder had kept on her eyes for the past two days had markedly reduced the swelling. Ah, but her ribs. She tasted blood and knew she'd bitten her lower lip. But it didn't matter. Who cared? She got control
of the pain, finally. Still, she didn't move. She was afraid to move, it was that simple. When she finally opened her eyes again, Ryder was standing beside the bed, looking down at her.

  "Good, you're awake. I've brought you breakfast. I'll bring Jeremy along to see you once I make cer­tain you're in good enough condition not to scare the devil out of him. I had to let him see you the first time because he wouldn't believe that you were alive. But it did scare him; he was brave about it and continues to hold up well. I am proud of him and so should you be as well." He smiled at her as he spoke, and he was very matter-of-fact. The last thing she needed was an outpouring of sympathy and pity, and he knew it.

  "I did what I thought best for him and for you. No, hold still. I'm going to lift you. Don't try to do anything yourself."

  When she was propped up against the pillows, he set the tray on her legs. "Before you eat, perhaps you need to relieve yourself?"

  "No," Sophie said, staring at the fork beside her plate.

  "Don't be unnerved. It really doesn't suit you. Surely you can handle any impertinence out of a male mouth. Come now, after the long night you must have to—"

  "All right, yes! Would you please take this tray and leave me alone."

  He grinned down at her, pleased with her out­burst that brought color to her face, and called out, "Coco, come here and assist Miss Stanton-Greville."

  He turned back to her. "I suppose you would like me to remove myself?"

  "At the very least."