She was a complete and utter stranger, this female.
He cursed, long and luridly.
Alex didn’t move an inch.
“Oh, the devil! Come along, you may ride Fanny and I will judge if you ride well enough to continue mounting her.”
Mr. McCallum, fifty, wiry, strong as a man of twenty, baked brown from decades in the sun, and married to a young widow of twenty-two, was standing outside the stable giving orders to a stable lad when the earl and Alex led their mounts outside.
“Good morning, my lord.”
Douglas only nodded at him. As far as he was concerned, McCallum had betrayed him, giving this cursed female Sinjun’s mare. As had that accursed bounder cousin of his, that damnable Tony who deserved to be shot, and his own butler, Hollis, as well.
“Her Ladyship has a nice seat and light hands,” McCallum said, unknowingly stoking the embers of Douglas’s fury as he stroked the horse’s soft nose. “Ye needn’t worry that Fanny will suffer from any bad handling.”
Douglas grunted. Who cared if she were cow-handed? He didn’t. Indeed, who had bothered to care about him? No one, not one single bloody person.
He gave Alex a leg up, then turned to mount Garth. The huge stallion, left in his stall to eat his head off for two weeks, snorted, flung back his head, and danced to the side, all in all, giving a fine performance.
Douglas laughed aloud with the pleasure of it. He spoke to his stallion, patted his neck, then without a backward glance, he urged him into a gallop.
Alex watched the stallion and the man for a moment, then said, “Well, Fanny, perhaps we should show him we’re made of firm stuff and not to be left to choke on his dust.”
She gave a jaunty wave to McCallum and followed her husband down the long drive bordered with thick lime and beech trees, now full-branched and thick and riotously green.
Douglas was waiting for her just beyond the old stone gatehouse. He watched her ride toward him. His expression didn’t change. McCallum was right. She rode very well. It pleased him only to the extent that she wouldn’t hurt Fanny’s soft mouth. He merely nodded at her, and click-clicked Garth into a gallop. He took a fence into the northern fields of Northcliffe, watching from the corner of his eye as Alex gave Fanny her head and easily took the fence after him. He pulled up finally at the edge of the winding narrow stream that had been one of his favorite haunts as a boy.
When she pulled in Fanny beside Garth, Alex looked about her, and said with pleasure, “What a lovely spot. There is a stream much like this one on the Chambers land. When I was a little girl I spent many happy hours there fishing, swimming—though the water was usually too low for anything other than just thrashing about and getting thoroughly wet—all in all, having a wonderful time.”
As a conversation effort it didn’t succeed.
Douglas looked off into the distance toward the Smitherstone weald, and said without preamble, “Tell me why you did it.”
Alex felt her heart begin to pound, low, dull thuds. The good Lord knew that there were many truths at work here. She would give him one of them and hope it would satisfy him, one that Tony had doubtless already pressed upon him the previous night. It was a good one, actually, the primary one, if one spoke from her sire’s point of view. “My father desperately needed funds, for my brother has just fled England leaving mountains of debt on his shoulders, and any settlement Tony made wouldn’t be nearly enough and—Don’t you see, my lord? Time was of the essence else we would have lost our home and—”
Douglas slashed his hand through the air. Garth took exception to his master’s peculiar behavior, twisted his head around and took a nip of Fanny’s neck. Fanny shrieked, rearing back onto her hind legs. Alex, taken off guard, cried out in surprise, flailed her arms to find balance, failed, then slid off Fanny’s rump, landing on the narrow path on her bottom.
She sat there, feeling as if her bones had been jarred into dust. She was afraid to move. She looked up at Douglas, who was calming his horse. He looked down at her, his eyes darkening to a near black, then quickly dismounted. Fanny, curse her hide, kicked up her back legs once more and wheeled about, galloping back toward the Sherbrooke stables.
“Are you all right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Luckily you appear well padded, what with all those petticoats and the like. Can you stand?”
Alex nodded. She came up onto her knees, felt a strange shock of dizziness, and shook her head to clear it.
Douglas clasped her beneath her arms and drew her upright. She didn’t weigh much, he thought, as he continued to support her. She did, however, feel very female. Finally, he felt that damned broom handle stiffen all the way from the back of her neck to her waist.
He released her. She weaved about, then straightened. “I’m all right.” She looked back toward the hall, obscured by two miles of trees and fields. “Fanny left me.”
And it was his fault, Douglas thought, wanting to howl because it meant that now he would have to hold—actually hold—this girl in front of him. He didn’t even want to look at her, much less be in her company, much less hold her.
He’d even have to talk to her, since it was all his bloody fault that she’d been thrown.
“You’re obviously not as proficient a horsewoman as you claimed, else you would have been more alert.”
As a verbal blow, it was the very best thus far, for it struck a killing blow to a pride inborn in her. She was not just a competent horsewoman; she was the best. She had ridden since before she could walk. She was beyond the best and above the best as well.
Her voice was as cold as the gaping shred in her pride. “Since your stallion is so ill-mannered as to take exception just because you fling yourself about on his back, yes, you are doubtless right.” She turned away from him and began the long walk back to the hall.
Douglas watched her go.
He should apologize.
He should take her up on Garth.
Well, hell.
Her riding costume was dusty and he saw a rip beneath her right arm. A good length of the hem had come unstitched and dragged behind her in the dirt. Her riding hat lay in the middle of the road and her hair was falling down her back. She was limping just a bit.
He cursed, quickly mounted Garth, and went after her.
Alex heard him coming. She kept walking. At this moment, she hoped he would rot, every beautiful inch of him. Suddenly he swooped down, catching her around her waist, and lifted her up to sit sideways on the saddle in front of him.
“I’m sorry, damn you.”
“That was most romantically done. Mrs. Radcliffe couldn’t have penned a more dashing performance.”
“Just because I didn’t wish to argue with you or dismount again . . . What damnable drivel!”
“I could have walked,” she said mildly. “It isn’t all that far.”
“You look like a ragamuffin. You look like a serving wench who’s enjoyed half a dozen men but didn’t please them sufficiently and got no coin for her labors.”
She said nothing, merely sat with that straight back of hers, looking off toward the side of the road.
“I suppose I’ll have to buy you a new riding habit now.”
“It would appear that I didn’t have to wheedle even a tiny bit.”
“Since it was somewhat my fault—your fall, that is—I shall make reparations. Still, you should have been more alert, more prepared for the unexpected.”
Alex was mild-tempered. She was patient and long-suffering; she knew how to endure; she knew how to hold her tongue to avoid distasteful scenes. She was never reckless. Even when her mother was at her pickiest, Melissande at her most demanding, she’d merely smiled and gone about her business. But with Douglas, her husband . . . how dare he continue to insult her riding ability? She simply couldn’t help herself. She twisted against his arm, pushing at him with her entire weight. Caught unawares, Douglas went over the other side. He would have saved himself had Garth not decided that
the extra weight on his back demanded that he make his master realize he wasn’t to be treated like a common hack. Garth reared and twisted in the air. Alex managed to retain her balance, clutching wildly at Garth’s mane. Douglas lost everything. He hit the road with a loud thunk, landing on his back, winding himself. The reins were dragging the ground and Garth immediately sidestepped away from his master.
Like Alex, Douglas just lay there, waiting to see if anything was broken, if anything had shaken itself loose.
He opened his eyes, still not moving, and said, “I will beat you for that.”
“Tony said that you were a gentleman. Gentlemen do not beat ladies nor do they make such bullying threats.”
“Being a gentleman pales when one is confronted with a wife one doesn’t know, doesn’t want, never did want, never even knew existed, a wife who is violent, heedless, without control.” He drew breath to continue on this fine monologue when the ground shook and he watched, speechless, dust flying into his open mouth, as the female rode Garth—his stallion—away from him.
He nearly forgot to whistle.
Garth, thank heavens, heard him, stopped dead in his tracks, whipped about and trotted back to his prone master.
Alex was grinding her teeth. She stared down at Douglas, who was now sitting up in the middle of the road.
“I believe,” she said clearly, “that you, my lord, are also in need of new riding clothes.”
“These aren’t really riding clothes. They’re morning garb. Are you ignorant as well as a sham?”
“Sham? I am not!”
“Then why did you do it?”
Both Alex and Garth were motionless. She opened her mouth, then closed it. It was obvious that Tony had failed utterly to bring the earl around. She could repeat that her father had been in horrible financial difficulties, repeat that all the Chambers holdings would have been lost, that the heir had fled to America, that her father would have been disgraced, perhaps had to blow his brains out with the shame of it. She shuddered with the thought of how those offerings would be received. Then there was the other truth, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, tell him that.
“No answer, hm? Well, I’m not surprised, particularly after all the drivel Tony was feeding me last night.” Douglas got to his feet, queried his body, was satisfied with the response, and walked to his stallion. He picked up the reins, stroked the stallion’s nose, and said slowly, “I am to believe that you were willing to sacrifice yourself on the marital altar because your beloved father was going to lose everything if you didn’t? That you and your father convinced dear Tony—that traitorous sod—that it would save me having to find myself a proper female amongst the current batch of debutantes in London? That all of this was done for my benefit? But then you, honorable to your female toes, told your father you couldn’t do it? Because of your nobility of spirit? Then he forced you?”
How could Tony have said that? It was ludicrous! Certainly she’d refused, at least at first she had. Before she could say anything, Douglas snorted, just like his horse. “Sorry, but I don’t believe that. In this day and age, fathers cannot coerce their children to do anything against their will.” Even as he spoke the words, they rang false and he knew it. Actually Tony had said nothing of the like but Douglas was probing, and the chit wasn’t telling him anything that sounded reasonable.
Alex said quietly, “No, Papa didn’t force me. He loves me, but I had to—”
“Yes, I know. You had to save him and sacrifice yourself. I hope you’re pleased with my purchase, since I have paid dearly to have a stranger for a wife.”
Alex straightened as tall as she could in the saddle. “I would that you would give me a chance, my lord, that you not despise me out of hand. I will make you a good wife.”
He looked up at the disheveled female atop Garth. She was pale now and he wondered momentarily if she had been hurt in her fall, but then she added, “Tony said you would rather have a tooth extracted than spend a Season in London. He said the last thing you wanted to do was be forced to attend all the routs and balls and parties and sniff out available young ladies for your consideration. He said you felt like a plump partridge in the midst of well-armed hunters. He said you hated it.”
“He did? And you believed him? I don’t suppose it occurred to you during your spate of nobility that Tony would have said anything to try to find excuses for himself? To justify what he did to me?”
“I am sure that he still feels immense guilt. He is very fond of you.”
“But more fond of your sister!”
“Yes, he loves her.”
“He’s a Judas and I should blow his brains out.”
“He did not intend for it to happen. Surely you don’t believe he married Melissande to thwart you? To somehow spite you? No, even in your foulest mood, you wouldn’t believe that. Did he lie about your feelings toward going to London?”
Douglas looked down at his scuffed Hessians. Finkle would have a fit when he saw it. “No, but it wasn’t up to him to make that decision for me. It is all a part of his justification, nothing more.”
“I’m sorry.”
Like hell she was! “You know, don’t you, that I can have this farce of a marriage annulled and demand the settlement back from your black-hearted father?”
“Don’t you dare speak of my father like that!” She waved a credible fist at him.
Douglas didn’t move. He merely stared up at her, no expression on his face. “What am I to believe?”
Alex felt an awful wave of guilt for what she’d done to him. “I’m sorry, my lord, truly, but don’t you think that perhaps you could allow me to be your wife for a while? By annulment, you mean you would send me home and the marriage wouldn’t still be a marriage?”
“That’s right. Our temporary union would be dissolved.”
“Please, you must reconsider. I don’t want to be annulled or dissolved. Perhaps in a very short time you won’t mind my being here at Northcliffe, for I will keep out of your way. I will try to make things comfortable for you—”
“Women! Don’t you think a man can be perfectly content without one of you hanging about his neck, handing him brandy and cigars?”
“What I meant was that I wouldn’t be obtrusive and that I would make certain your house runs smoothly.”
“It runs smoothly right now, or have you forgotten that I have a mother and more servants than I can count?”
She had momentarily forgotten the mother. He also had two brothers and a younger sister. Hollis had told her they were all visiting friends in London. But they would return soon to Northcliffe. Oh dear. Would they hate her, despise her as much as Douglas did? Would they follow his lead and scorn her? She drew a deep breath and said, “I had forgotten. I’m sorry.” She leaned unconsciously toward him. “Please, my lord, perhaps you won’t mind that I am in your home after some time has passed. Perhaps you won’t even notice me after a while. I beg you not to annul me just yet.”
“Annul you? You make it sound like a violent act.” Douglas suddenly frowned; there was contempt in his eyes. “Ah, I begin to see the direction of your thinking or perhaps your sire’s thinking. You hope to climb into my bed, don’t you? You know that I cannot annul you—damnation!—obtain an annulment—if I take your virginity. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Once I take your precious virginity, then your precious father will be safe and all my money will remain with him. Did your father counsel you to try to seduce me?”
Alex could only stare down at him. She slowly shook her head. “No, I hadn’t thought any of that and no, no one counseled me about anything.”
He was silent, staring up at her.
“Truly, my lord, I know nothing of seduction. Surely seduction isn’t something done between husband and wife. My mother told me that seduction was only done by wild young men who wanted to ruin innocent young ladies.”
“Really? Did this motherly Delphi warn you of anything more specific?”
“That if a man ever flattered
me or stepped too close to me or held my hand too long after kissing it, that I was to leave the vicinity immediately. He was up to no good, she said.”
Douglas laughed, he couldn’t help himself.
Alex brightened. She’d amused him, that or he was laughing at her. She waited, then said, “I will do my best to please you, to make you a comfortable wife. My temper is usually rather placid and—”
“Ha! You were beyond vicious, a shrew, a fishwife, and a less comfortable female I’ve yet to encounter. You knocked me off my damned horse!”
Alex frowned. “Yes,” she said, surprise in her eyes and in her voice, “yes, it appears that I did, which is very strange. It is very unlike me.”
Douglas saw that the top two buttons of her riding habit had come unfastened. He saw a patch of white flesh. Very soft-looking white flesh. He thought of her virginity and he thought of taking it, of pushing through her maidenhead. “Perhaps,” he said, continuing to stare at her breasts, “perhaps I could be proved wrong. It is possible that you could be the one to demand an annulment. Perhaps you will want to leave Northcliffe as fast as your carriage wheels can roll away with you.”
“Oh no, I want to be your wife—”
“Let’s see, shall we? Unfasten the rest of the buttons. I can only see the curve of your breasts. I would like to see the rest of you. You’re quiet? Is that a touch of pallor I see? You’re shocked at my bluntness? I’ve assaulted your precious virgin sensibilities? Well, so there are ways to shut you up.”
He was right about that, she thought, stunned.
“How old are you?”
“You know I am eighteen. I told you last night.”
“Old enough to be a woman and a wife. You said that too. Oh, hell. Just be quiet, all right?”
“But I didn’t say—”
“Damnation, be quiet or I shall demand that you take off that riding jacket and let me see your breasts and your nipples and your ribs. All your upper parts I’ve paid so dearly for.”
The Sherbrooke Bride Page 9
