The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 Page 12

  “Ah, the female’s final weapon,” Douglas said. “I really shouldn’t be surprised, should I? If naught else, I put it in your mind this morning. I should have known, should have guessed. When all else fails, bring out the female body and parade it about in front of the randy man’s nose.”

  “My only problem is that I’m not certain how to go about doing it.”

  “That’s twaddle.”

  “Perhaps if you could help me just a little bit, I could figure it out.”

  “Let me make something clear to you, something it’s obvious you haven’t considered in this plan of yours. I can still have this farce of a marriage annulled even if I take your virginity. Do you understand me? Who would know, after all? Would you or anyone in your family announce to the world that you were damaged goods?”

  “You make me sound as if I would be a mangled parcel. Surely that is absurd.”

  “Oh no, a virgin who has lost her maidenhead is much worse off than a mangled parcel. Imagine your father’s reaction. He would be appalled but would remain silent, for he would know that if he opened his mouth and announced what I had done, you would be utterly ruined and he would be a laughingstock. As for me, why, no one in our great land would regard me with one less whit of consideration.”

  “But why? That seems absurd. It seems hardly fair.”

  “Fair rarely has a meaningful place in anything. The fact is that men of our class aren’t anxious to afflict themselves with wives who don’t arrive in the marriage bed pure and untouched. Thus, if a female slips, it is kept quiet so the poor fool who does marry her is well and truly trapped. So, you see, no one would know what I did or didn’t do to you. If I chose, I imagine I can take you with impunity for as long as I wished to.”

  “I cannot believe that gentlemen are so callous, so uncaring about the women they love.”

  “Ah, yes, there is the question of love, isn’t there? But that doesn’t come into this marriage, does it? You are a stranger, nothing more, just a stranger and—”

  “In addition to seducing you, I must keep it up until I am with child. Then you couldn’t annul me. But, you see, that is my problem.”

  Douglas’s attention was fairly caught now. He’d used up most of his words, and he’d spoken truthfully to her but with no visible effect. Still, he couldn’t believe the chit was standing beside him, dressed only in her virginal nightgown, her feet bare, her toes curled from cold, looking like some sort of pathetic sacrifice. But she was here and she appeared quite resolute. She wasn’t a coward, he’d give her that. The question was, what was she? Would she do anything for her father, then? “Who told you to keep it up?”

  “Ryder.”

  “Ah, my dear doting brother. Curse him to hell, but he must always meddle, it’s his nature.”

  “But he didn’t have time to tell me how to go about it, this seduction business, I mean. I am your wife, my lord. I am willing to become your wife and sleep in that bed. I am willing to sleep in that bed until I am with child. Do you not want an heir? Isn’t that your primary reason for wishing to wed?”

  “It was, but you are the wrong wife, as you well know, as I am tired of saying because repetition is beyond boring.”

  “I will give you your heir. I am young and healthy and I will give you a half-dozen heirs.”

  “I have never in my male adult life heard a woman offer to become a man’s brood mare. Why, Alexandra? Another agreement with your villain of a father? Hell and damnation, just go to bed. You’re a little girl, a virgin, and I haven’t the inclination to show you anything or take your virginity or hear you whimper. I am tired. Go away.”

  Alex bent down, clutched the hem of her gown, and lifted it over her head. She tossed the gown to the floor. She stood there, arms at her sides, stark naked. She raised her head and looked directly at her husband.

  Douglas froze. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He stared at his wife. He hadn’t had any idea that she was built so very nicely. Her breasts . . . good Lord, he hadn’t imagined, hadn’t realized that . . .

  “You bind your breasts. Why?”

  “My nanny said they were too big. She said that the boys were staring at me and saying things that weren’t nice. Because I had big breasts they assumed that I wasn’t a proper young lady. My nanny taught me how to bind them.”

  “Your nanny was a stupid old prig. Your breasts are an asset, a fine one at that. Don’t bind them any more. Now that I know what you’ve got, I want to see them.”

  “You are.”

  “This morning, when we were riding, I couldn’t tell that you were so finely endowed.”

  “No.”

  Douglas fell silent. He was still staring at her breasts. They were high and very full, as white as her belly. They would fill his hands to overflowing. His fingers itched, his palms were hot.

  She hadn’t known how Douglas would react, but this conversation about her breasts, as bland as discussions about the weather, was unnerving. She saw him raise his hand, then lower it. He was still looking at her, oh yes, he was looking and his gaze was intent and, of all things, his eyes looked even darker. She forced herself to keep perfectly still.

  “Pink goes nicely with red. I can see a pink nipple showing through your red hair.”

  Alex wanted to quite simply fold her body into a very small ball and roll away. But she didn’t move. Her entire future was in this room, contained in this very minute. This man was her husband; she belonged to him more than she’d ever belonged to anyone else in her life.

  Douglas tried to be blasé. He was an experienced man, a man who’d enjoyed many women, a man who was selective, a cold fish, Ryder had called him, because he could always control his passion. But, truth be told, he was stunned. Aside from the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen in his life, breasts nearly too big for her slender torso, her waist was narrow, her belly flat, the curls covering her woman’s mound, a soft dark red. Her legs were long and nicely curved. There was a mole on her belly, just below her navel. She looked very nice. She didn’t look at all like a little girl. She stood straight and tall even though she was small. That damned broom handle against her backbone. He wanted to tell her to turn around so he could see her back and her buttocks.

  Good lord. What was he to do?

  “Come here,” he said before his brain could countermand the order, and parted his legs.

  She came to stand between his legs, still and silent, her arms still at her sides. Still he didn’t touch her, merely looked and looked some more, now at her belly, and she knew it. It was almost beyond what she could bear, this intense study of her body by this man. Even she herself had never looked at her body as he was looking now.

  Finally, after an eternity of minutes, Douglas raised his head and looked her in the face. “You do not displease me. Your female endowments are adequate. Should you like to part your legs so I may see the rest of you? No? That isn’t part of your seduction plan? How far do you plan to go if I do nothing?” He looked away from her then, into the fire. “You say nothing. I have already brought you to stand between my legs. Cannot you think of anything to do yourself?”

  Alex brought her hand up to cover her breasts, the other hand to cover her woman’s mound. It was an absurd gesture, but she simply couldn’t bear standing there any longer, exposed and open to him. His disinterest was obvious and it was so painful she couldn’t bear it.

  “You know, Alex,” he said, looking back at her now, “not only can I take you again and again, I can prevent you conceiving a child. I can easily withdraw my sex from you before spilling my seed inside your body. I am not a boy; I am a man with a man’s control. Don’t look so damnably blank! You cannot conceive a child if my seed doesn’t reach your womb. Thus I can freely take what is offered and still annul this farce of a marriage.” He waved a hand at her. “However, tonight, this very minute with you standing here before me with only your white hide covering you, I find I have no interest. You are not Melissande. You are not the wife I wanted.
Go away.”

  Alexandra felt beyond humiliation. She could scarce think for the pain roiling through her, the pain, the failure, the emptiness his words had carved out inside her. She stood there in front of him, not twelve inches away from him, because she was incapable of moving. She wasn’t as embarrassed as she was devastated. He had rejected her, completely. He’d not been particularly cruel about it, just utterly matter-of-fact. He had made his feelings quite plain. Even though he had seemed to find her acceptable, he still didn’t want her enough to take her and then discard her. He didn’t want her for anything. Ryder hadn’t judged his brother’s feelings correctly this time. Ryder had been wrong. There was nothing more she could do.

  She stepped away from him then, her blood pounding wildly through her, then ran from his bedchamber.

  Douglas saw the flash of white skin. He heard the adjoining door close very quietly. He didn’t move for a very long time. Then he rose and picked up her discarded nightgown. He looked toward her chamber. Then, very deliberately, he tossed the nightgown into his chair.

  He knew what he’d done. He knew he’d kicked her and then kicked her again. But, damn her, he refused to be cornered, to be bribed and blackmailed with sex. He would never allow a woman to dictate to him, to try to make him lose his logic and his brain by flaunting her body. But the look on her face as he’d spoken. He cursed as he flung off his dressing gown. It landed beside her nightgown on the chair. He cursed as he climbed into his big empty bed and burrowed under the blanket. He felt disgusted with himself, but he wouldn’t back down. He would do what he wished to do, and he wouldn’t be coerced, certainly not by an eighteen-year-old chit with the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen in his life.

  In the dead of night Douglas awoke with sweat thick and clammy on his forehead. He held himself perfectly still. He’d heard a sound. He waited, completely awake and alert. He heard the strange noise again. It sounded like a woman. She was crying, low and soft, yet he heard her distinctly. No, it wasn’t crying, rather deep moaning, hurt and raw. He knew that she was moaning because of a great pain. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he did. He frowned into the darkness toward the adjoining room. This was absurd.

  It was Alexandra, crying because he’d put her properly in her place. She was sulking; she had failed to get her way, and she was trying to draw pity from him. Crocodile tears, nothing more. That was it. He was a man, but he wouldn’t be swayed by a girl’s tears, sham tears because she hadn’t managed to make him lose his head. But it wasn’t crying . . . it was moaning, it was a deep, deep pain. He cursed and flung back the bed covers.

  He walked naked to the adjoining door and quietly opened it. He knew it had to be Alexandra. It had to be, but still he was quiet, and the door made no noise as it opened.

  He walked into the bedchamber. There was a narrow beam of moonlight coming through the window, slicing over the center of the bed. The bed was empty. No, wait, there she was, standing on the other side of the bed, staring down at it, and she was moaning softly, very softly, only he would swear that her mouth didn’t move, that she was making no sound at all. But he heard the crying, the moaning, he heard it clearly in his head. It was so quiet he couldn’t imagine how he had heard her in his bedchamber. She was hugging her arms around her, and then she looked up and saw him.

  She was still now. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. In the next instant, she was gone, fading slowly like a soft white shadow into that thin beam of moonlight.

  “No,” Douglas said, loudly and firmly. “No, dammit! I will not accept this!”

  He ran to the other side of the bed. Alexandra wasn’t there. Damnation, he’d dreamed it, all of it. He felt guilty and he was having strange visions because of his guilt.

  Where was Alexandra? She was fast in hiding herself, he’d give her that, the damned twit. There weren’t many places to search. He looked in her armoire. He even got on his knees and looked under the bed.

  She wasn’t here. She wasn’t anywhere. It was the middle of the night.

  Where the hell was she?

  He saw her face then, clear in his mind. He saw her pallor, the humiliation in her eyes as his words had struck her, hard and remorseless, words that wounded deeply. And he’d even thrown her sister at her while she’d stood there standing still and solitary between his parted legs, naked and vulnerable and terribly, terribly alone. And she’d run from him, stripped of every shred of dignity, deeply wounded, but still he’d let her go.

  Well, hell.

  It wasn’t, thank God, as late as he’d first thought. It was just past midnight. Not many minutes after he’d fallen asleep then awakened so abruptly. He dressed quickly and made his way quietly downstairs. He didn’t light a lamp, he didn’t need one. He knew every foot of Northcliffe. She didn’t. There were a million places to hide but she didn’t know of them. No, she wouldn’t want to remain here.

  He didn’t question how he knew this. He unlocked the massive front doors and slipped into the cold dark night. The sliver of moonlight was gone, covered now with dense gray clouds. It would rain soon, a thick cold rain. The air was damp and heavy.

  He hadn’t thought of the cold and now he shivered from his thoughtlessness. He was wearing only a shirt, tight buckskin breeches, and boots. The wind was rising, the storm was coming closer.

  “Alexandra!”

  The wind rustled through the leaves. A shutter banged against an upper-story window. He felt sudden urgency. He ran toward the stables. They appeared deserted, naturally, all the stable lads in bed. He walked more quietly as he neared Fanny’s stall. Then he stopped completely. Quietly, efficiently, he lit a lamp near the stable door. He lifted it and just looked.

  Alex dropped the saddle, whirling around when the light struck her. She couldn’t see anything because the light was in her eyes, blinding her.

  “Who’s there?”

  She sounded scared. Good, she deserved it. He was furious now with her; she’d roused him from a deep sleep—well, it had obviously been some sort of nightmare—but still, it was her fault. She’d forced him to come looking for her. She’d made him worry; she’d made him suffer needlessly; she’d made him feel guilty.

  “Please, who is there?”

  He set the lamp down.

  “You move an inch and I will beat you,” he said and walked to where she was standing. Garth, recognizing his master, whinnied. Fanny twitched her head around and whinnied in response.

  “Take off the bridle.”

  It was time to take a stand. “No,” Alex said. She wanted to drop the saddle for it was very heavy, but she clung to it, holding it against her chest.

  “You were planning to steal my sister’s mare?”

  “No. Well, just for a while. I’m not a thief. I would have returned her.”

  “Drop the damned saddle before your arms fall off.”

  Instead, Alex hefted the saddle onto Fanny’s back. The mare twitched her tail and leaned around to take a nip of Alex’s shoulder. It was close, but Alex managed to draw back in time.

  “May I ask where you intended going?”

  “Home. Now will you leave me alone? I’m leaving; annul the marriage, I don’t care! Do you hear me, I don’t care! Just leave!”

  Douglas leaned against Garth’s stable door and crossed his arms over his chest. “I had believed you many things, but not stupid. However, with the proof of your stupidity before me, I must bow to the obvious facts. You are incredibly stupid. You are a blockhead. Were you planning to ride Fanny all the way back to Harrogate?”

  “Yes, but very slowly, and only at night. I also took some money from your strongbox in your desk.”

  “Dishonest and stupid.”

  “I have to eat. I would have returned it.”

  “Ah yes, your father who has all the guineas in the world would have paid me back. I think I shall beat you.”

  Alex knew a man’s anger when she saw it. He hadn’t been content to humiliate her. Now he wanted to beat her. Un
til she was bleeding and senseless? She wondered if he would use a riding crop. “Why did you wake up? I was very quiet.”

  He frowned. “I just did, that’s all. I was in the army. I am a light sleeper.” It was a lie but it would serve. He always slept like the dead and had very nearly died because of his habits two times in Italy. Thank the Lord for his valet cum batman, Finkle. “I’m a very light sleeper and I heard your every movement.”

  She didn’t know how that was possible for she’d been so quiet she’d barely heard herself. But he obviously had heard her and followed, why, she couldn’t begin to guess. “Why do you care if I leave? You don’t want me here. I’m a stranger and I betrayed you as much as Tony did. So I am leaving and I will never return to bother you. Isn’t it what you want?”

  “I will tell you what I want when I want to tell you. You will take no action until I tell you to.”

  “That is absurd! You wish me to wait around like some sort of slave until you decide to boot me out? Damn you, my lord, it is you who deserve to be beaten!”

  It all happened very quickly. Douglas was more amused than concerned when she grabbed a rake that was leaning against Fanny’s stall and ran toward him carrying the rake in both hands over her head. Then, at the last minute, she lowered it, like a knight brandishing a lance in a tourney, and sent it into his belly with such force that he reeled to the side, then landed on his back. Then she struck the lamp and it promptly went out, plunging the stable into darkness.

  He jumped to his feet, his belly feeling like it had a hole poked through it, only to have Fanny snort in his face and nearly run him down. He leapt out of the mare’s way. He twisted about to see that damned girl riding bareback, her hair flying out behind her head, hugging herself low to Fanny’s neck. The saddle lay on its side in the straw. She was riding like the devil was after her.

  The devil would very soon be after her. Douglas was so furious, so disbelieving of what she’d done to him, that for an instant, he was overwhelmed with the force of his rage. He drew a deep breath, removed Garth from his stall, put a bridle on him and swung up onto his bare back.