Sherbrooke Twins tb-8

by Catherine Coulter

  James fully recognized what a fine whap that was to the head. He flushed, color rising over his cheek to his hairline. She was grinning at him, knowing she’d bested him, a grin so wicked she should go up in smoke.

  It was hard, but he got hold of himself. “Corrie, why don’t you come here and help me drink a bit of water?”

  She kept that big wicked grin even as she shook her head at him. “So you can pour the water over my head? No thank you, James. Now, I see that you can do nothing but ignore my insults, a rather pathetic ploy, don’t you think? You’re waiting to dish an insult right back at me. You’ve just got to think of one, and that’s a problem since your brain is still lying in your head, doing nothing helpful. So, admit that this time I’ve left you sprawled in the dirt. Hmm, sprawled. What a lovely word.” Then she poured him a glass of water, sat on the bed beside him, automatically slid her arm beneath his neck, and raised his head to drink. His face was nearly touching her breasts.

  He breathed in deeply. “Ah, enough. That’s good. Thank you, Corrie.”

  She set down the glass and arched her own eyebrow at him. “What is this? You’re still too weak to tend to your own thirst?”

  “No, I like you doing it for me. I like to smell you when you’re so close.”

  Without thinking, she caressed her hand down his face, cupping his chin for a moment. “Did I smell interesting enough? Enough complexity in my scent?”

  “Yes, enough.”

  She snorted, and he said, “You know, that snort, as distinctive and expressive as it may be, simply doesn’t go well with your gown that makes your waist look no larger than a doorknob. As for the top of you, your damned neckline is much too low. You’re supposed to be a modest young lady in her first season, not a seasoned nearly on-the-shelf lady who needs blatant advertising to lure in the unwary male.

  “Ah, now look at you, ready to hurl the water carafe at me. You’re taking my well-meant words in the wrong spirit, Corrie. I mean it only as a very small observation on the goods you shouldn’t be presenting to the world in such remarkable detail, at least yet.”

  That was quite fluent; both of them knew it. James waited, feeling his brain spark. She stared off into space as she said, “I remember how my hands nearly cramped I washed you so many times, to bring your fever down, you know. Each time my hands went lower and lower.” She looked at him straight on now and grinned like a witch. “Ah, James, I can say without hesitation that your goods don’t need any advertising at all. But look at me, I’m such a pedestrian peahen, I need all the advertising I can do.”

  He flushed. Damnation, he flushed again and she saw it, and so he said, “For God’s sake, Corrie, have your gown hoisted up a good two inches.”

  She smiled at him. “All right.”

  He couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “Close your mouth, James, you look too much like Willie Marker after I told him no girl would ever marry him because he was such a lamebrained bully.”

  “I doubt Willie Marker has ever thought of marriage,” James said.

  “That’s what he yelled at me,” she said, and sighed deeply. “And then he tried to kiss me again. Isn’t that odd? After I’d insulted him but good?”

  “I suppose some males are aroused when a girl beats them over the head, metaphorically speaking.”

  She looked down at him, her fingers itching to touch him again, but naturally she didn’t. He was no longer helpless. And so she said, “Enough about my gown. Tell me, how do you feel this beautiful morning?”

  “My pillows have slipped down. I need you to raise them back up. My head hurts.”

  She rose to lean over him and fluff up his pillows. She straightened and looked down at him. “Shall I also rub some rose water on your brow?”

  “Yes, that would be good.”

  She began humming, one of his favorite ditties actually, as she dampened her handkerchief in the water carafe and leaned over to dab his forehead. She wasn’t wearing a wicked grin now, rather a look of utter concentration. “I’m sorry that I don’t have any rose water, James. Do you think the water from the carafe is helping?”

  “Keep rubbing, ah, yes, that feels very good.”

  She did, a slow easy motion, one that his body recognized. “The oddest thing happened this morning, James. I was walking with my maid to visit you and I saw Mrs. Cutter and Lady Brisbett. I’d met them both last week at some sort of dance and they’d been quite charming to me. Both of them cut me, looked at me like I wasn’t there, and walked by, noses in the air. Isn’t that amazing?” She paused a moment. “Or perhaps they are both shortsighted, but I did smile and speak to them again. It was very odd, don’t you think? Not as odd as a boy wanting to kiss a girl when she’s blasted him, but still odd.”

  There was a gasp from the doorway. It wasn’t Petrie nor was it his mother with more food. It was Miss Juliette Lorimer, her mother in her wake.

  Juliette drew herself up, advertising her lovely goods even more prominently than Corrie did, and to, admittedly, better effect, and said in a voice cold enough to chill the lemonade, “May I inquire what is going on here?”

  James said easily, “Hello, Juliette. Corrie is kindly dabbing my forehead with carafe water, since we have no rose water. My head aches.”

  “You need softer hands to attend you, my lord,” said Mrs. Lorimer. “Juliette, here is my handkerchief. You caress his lordship’s forehead. Miss Tybourne-Barrett should not even be in here. She is alone, unlike you, who is with your mother. It is not at all the done thing. I should probably give Maybella a hint.”

  Corrie said, an eyebrow hoisted up, “Why ever not, ma’am? I have been nearly one of the family all my life.”

  “That makes no difference at all, missy, and so you should know it. You need to go home now. That’s right, it’s time for you to leave.”

  “But what about James’s headache?”

  “Be quiet, Corrie,” he said, and closed his eyes against the battlefield that was now gathering cannon in his bedchamber.

  “James,” said Juliette, her voice sweet and clear, all of her being focused on him, “you are looking splendid. I swear you look nearly ready to dance. I am so relieved. I was so dreadfully worried when you disappeared. No one could explain it. Then, of course someone remarked that Miss Tybourne-Barrett had also disappeared. It wasn’t remarked upon nearly as much as your disappearance, needless to say, and what a strange thing it was to have the two of you return to London together.”

  A deep male throat cleared at the doorway. The earl of Northcliffe himself said, “Ladies, I am here to invite all of you down for tea and some of Cook’s excellent lemon seed cakes. Corrie, you will join us after you’ve finished bathing James’s forehead. Ladies?”

  Saved by his father.

  There was no choice. Juliette looked longingly back at James, whose eyes were closed at the moment, gave Corrie a stare to scorch her eyebrows, then turned to follow the earl from the bedchamber.

  “She’s right, Corrie,” he said, eyes closed.

  “That your disappearance was more remarked upon than mine? Well, that’s surely a fact. Who would begin to care about me other than Aunt Maybella and Uncle Simon? It’s quite likely that Uncle Simon wouldn’t even notice unless he wanted me to hold down a leaf so he could glue it.”

  That was quite true, and it made James very angry, for some reason he didn’t want to examine.

  “He told me this morning that he’d found an unidentifiable leaf lying there unremarked by the side of one of the paths in Hyde Park. He was quite excited about it, determined to locate the plant from which it had detached itself, and he could enjoy his excitement without remark from Aunt Maybella since I was again home safe and sound.

  “Naturally Jason missed me. And perhaps Willicombe. How I wish Buxted was here. You remember Buxted, our butler at Twyley Grange, don’t you, James?”

  “Naturally. I’ve known him since I was born.”

  “Buxted was always helping me slip in a
nd out, never gave me a scolding. He did caution me about London, though to the best of my knowledge he’s never been here.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He said that wickedness was all fine and good within the confines of the country, but you stir wickedness in a pot the size of London, and the good Lord’s eyes near cross, Buxted was right, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, look at you. You’re all upset. Now, don’t move, James, keep yourself relaxed and your eyes closed. Is your headache better?”

  He sighed deeply. “Did your aunt and uncle speak to you yesterday or this morning?”

  “Certainly. Aunt Maybella wanted every detail and Uncle Simon appeared to be listening, at least most of the time. They were still thrashing it about this morning until I was ready to scream. That’s when I told them I had to come to see you.” She paused a moment, frowning over at the pillow next to James’s head.

  “What?”

  “Well, Uncle Simon started shaking his head at me-just shake, shake, shake-but he didn’t say anything until I was nearly ready to leave. Then he looked at me, shook his head again, and said, ‘Hunted down like a rat. Ha!’ And then he laughed a bit, and looked bemused, something he does quite well. He always looks so handsome when he does it that even if Aunt Maybella is eager to smack him, she immediately wants to stroke him. Isn’t that odd? Do you wish more water? Tea? The chamber pot?”

  “Corrie.”

  She paused, looked down into his eyes. “Yes?”

  He simply looked at her for a long moment, then said, his voice slow and deep, “My father told me you were an heiress.”

  It flew right over her head. “Heiress? What does that mean, James? Oh, I understand. My parents left me a bit of money to ensure that I would make a respectable marriage. That was kind of them.”

  “It’s far more than a bit. You’re an heiress, Corrie, and maybe one of the richest young ladies in England. Your father was evidently astute with his finances, and you were his only child. Your Uncle Simon has guarded your fortune well.”

  “That would be because he simply forgot about it,” she said, not really attending him now, just looking down at the lovely Turkish carpet on the floor beside his bed. James saw understanding hit her square between the eyes, saw the narrowed eyes, seamed lips, and then the explosion. She jumped off the bed, her hands on her hips, a nice touch. Her voice was all the more angry for its calmness, he’d always admired the way she could do that. “I would like to know, James Sherbrooke, how your father knew about this fortune of mine and yet I, the person to whom this supposed fortune belongs, didn’t know a single blessed thing? And why the devil would he tell you of all people? You have nothing to do with anything!” Her voice rose a bit, for emphasis. “This is absurd, James, why I believe it makes me quite angry. If I’m a bloody heiress then why didn’t Uncle Simon bother to inform me?” She stamped her foot. He’d never seen her do that before.

  Now it was his turn to goad her. “Just look at you, stamping your foot like a child denied a treat. Grow up, Corrie. Young ladies don’t need to know about finances. It is not a subject that conforms to their abilities.”

  She stamped her foot again. “That’s ridiculous and you know it, James Sherbrooke! Finances don’t conform to my abilities? I have worked for at least four years with Uncle Simon’s man of business! I know all about his bloody finances! Why did no one bother to mention mine to me?”

  James realized that stoking the blaze wouldn’t get him what he had to have, and that was her agreement. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want it, he had to have it, no choice. A bit of conciliation, he thought. “Well, maybe. You could have a point, but that’s neither here nor there. My father told me about it because he wanted me to keep my eyes open here in London, to get rid of the fortune hunters if I saw some sniffing around you. My father said that where money was involved, there were no secrets. He’s right. It was a matter of time before rumors of your personal wealth got out, and believe me, Corrie, you’d be besieged.”

  Corrie, rarely angry because it upset her stomach, forced herself down to a simmer. “Well, those rumors can’t be out yet since I didn’t even know about it.”

  He smoothly delivered a discreet salvo. “And maybe the rumors won’t come out now in any case.” He looked at her beneath his lashes, but she was tapping her foot, unaware of what he’d said so very well. James sighed, looked down at his hands, clasped on top of the covers. He said without looking up, “There are many rapacious men on the hunt in London, never forget that, Corrie.”

  Corrie threw her handkerchief on his face and began to pace back and forth in front of his bed. “Even though I am no longer yelling, I am still very upset about this, James.”

  “I understand, but you have to admit that my father’s reason for telling me is a sound one. My father also told me, laughing his head off, what your Uncle Simon had said before he brought up the subject of your inheritance.”

  “And just what was that, pray?”

  “You heard it already this morning. ‘She’ll be hunted down like a rat.’ ”

  That brought her to a halt. “Uncle Simon said that?”

  “Yes. He was worried about your, er, lack of experience in the wicked ways of London, not for long, naturally, since he had a new scientific journal that had just arrived in the post.”

  “Hunted down like a rat. What an image that brings to mind.” She started to laugh. “Hunted down like a rat,” she gasped, and held her stomach she laughed so hard.

  “It has a certain effect,” James said. “My father laughed his head off too.”

  She was still laughing as she walked to the door. She said over her shoulder, now hiccupping, “Tell me, James, if finances don’t conform to my meager female abilities, then what does?”

  He said, his voice deep and rich, “You would have been the parfait gentil knight.”

  That brought her up short. Her face flushed with lovely color. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She nearly ran to the door, threw a big grin at him, and waved her hand. “You should rest now, James. I will see you tomorrow, if, that is, you don’t mind me coming to visit you without an escort of twenty brawny young men to protect me from you and all the gossips,” and she laughed some more, the witch, and was gone.

  He could hear her whistling. She’d left him before he’d said what he’d had to say.

  He cursed to the empty room. But not for long because Corrie’s departure meant Juliette’s return. His father gave him a look, and left him to his fate, which included Juliette’s mother. James wished Petrie would come in and shave him again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CORRIE ARRIVED AT the Sherbrooke town house the following morning to be told by Willicombe that the younger lordship was in the estate room, doing a bit of work to resharpen his brain.

  “He doesn’t need papers to sharpen his brain, he needs a good argument,” Corrie said, and waved Willicombe away when he would have announced her.

  She opened the door quietly to see James sitting at his father’s desk, a piece of paper in his right hand, a pen in his left hand, his head resting on the desktop. He was sound asleep.

  She started to back out of the room, when he jerked up, stared at her, and said, “It’s about time you got here.”

  “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  He stretched, rose, and stretched again, then yawned.

  “You’ve lost weight, James. I will speak to your mother about this.”

  His arms dropped to his sides. “Don’t worry. My mother is stuffing food down my gullet every hour on the hour. You lost weight as well. Where have you been?”

  “I chanced to meet Judith McCrae, you know, she’s the girl who’s very interested in Jason, if I don’t miss my guess. Of course, every girl in London is interested in both you and Jason, but she seems different, more suited to him, perhaps.”

  Whatever that meant. He said, “She’s the niece of Lady Arbuckle. How did you meet her?”

/>   “She was coming out of a milliner’s shop with Lady Arbuckle. They were having a very intense discussion, but when Judith saw me, she was all smiles. I don’t think that Lady Arbuckle was pleased to see me. I suppose Judith knows that I’m a childhood friend and thus someone to be cultivated.”

  “Jason hasn’t spoken much about her lately.”

  “No wonder, since his brother disappeared and could very well have been killed.”

  “I think he quite likes her too. Now that he sees I’m well again, he’ll resume his course with her.”

  “I wonder what course that will be. Was Juliette camping out in the drawing room when you woke up this morning?”

  “Well, she and her mother did visit not long after breakfast. I was in bed.” He struck only a very slight pose since he was still too weak to goad her to his normal standards. “Do you know, I believe she enjoyed my company, her mother sitting comfortably in the corner, benignly watching the tableau.”

  “And I don’t suppose you enjoyed all that dripping attention? All the cooing? Did she smooth her palm over your poor brow?”

  “I can’t recall a single coo, except maybe from her mother.”

  “Well, yes, that makes sense. You’re the heir, after all. You know, James, I really can’t imagine that she would want to marry you.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Juliette is very rightly aware of her own beauty. The problem is that you’re more beautiful than she is. Just imagine, both of you could be looking into a mirror and she would come in a very poor second. I can’t see her tolerating that.”

  James streaked his fingers through his hair, standing it on end. “Bloody hell, I’ve already let you distract me. You open your mouth and I forget where I was going. Now, be quiet and sit down, Corrie. I have something to say to you.” He started to walk to her, to tower over her, intimidate her a bit, when he felt a wave of dizziness and quickly sat back down in his father’s chair. He cleared his throat, then plowed forward. “Jason told me he saw you riding in the park with Devlin Monroe.”