The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  Ryder nodded and continued to eat.

  Emile said after a moment, “You were to have ridden with her, weren’t you?”

  Ryder grinned at him. “Yes, but I will never allow a woman to dictate to me. I will tell her what I wish of her and when I wish it. I will do the asking, not she the telling.”

  “This should prove interesting.”

  “I trust so,” Ryder said and drank the rest of his rich black coffee. “Do you have the time, Emile?”

  “Yes, it’s nearly nine-thirty.”

  “I believe I will go riding.”

  Emile gave him a crooked grin. “Good hunting.”

  “Indeed,” Ryder said.

  “Where is he?”

  Sophie turned to face her uncle. “I don’t know. I assumed he would be here at eight. He did not say he wouldn’t come.”

  “You angered him, damn you!” He raised his fisted hand, but one of the house servants was coming onto the veranda. He lowered his arm.

  He lowered his voice, but the anger was strong and vicious. “You put him off! You didn’t succeed, Sophia. I am displeased with you. Must I do all the planning? No, don’t say anything. I will decide what is to be done now. You’ve botched it and I wonder if you did it apurpose.”

  He began to pace the veranda. Sophie watched him with a disinterested eye and kept silent. She prayed that Ryder Sherbrooke would have the good sense to keep miles away from Camille Hall and away from her.

  Burgess paused and approached her, sitting in a cane-backed chair close to hers. “You took Lord David to the cottage last night, did you not?”

  She nodded.

  “All went well?”

  “Yes. But he was jealous of my attention to Ryder Sherbrooke. His is not a steady character. He is childish and self-absorbed. Once he has drunk sufficiently, he is not difficult for me to handle, but last night his jealousy ... well, it doesn’t matter now. It turned out all right.”

  “You dealt with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Grammond will be leaving next week.”

  “Yes.”

  “You may detach yourself from Lord David now. There is no more use for him.”

  “He will not go easily,” Sophie said. “He’s young and arrogant and considers himself to be my stud. He will not take it kindly that I no longer want him.”

  “You will think of something.” Theo Burgess rose and walked into the house, leaving her alone with her endless round of useless thoughts.

  When Ryder Sherbrooke rode up some ten minutes later she wished she could yell at him to leave, curse his male stubbornness. She knew men and she knew what he was doing. He was teaching her a lesson; he was teaching her that he would not take commands from a woman. He was punishing her, humiliating her. Well, let him try. If only he knew it was her wish never to see him again, that she would give just about anything for him to book passage on the next ship back to England. She didn’t move, merely watched as he cantered up the long drive, dismounted, and tied his stallion to the post some ten feet away from her.

  He strolled over to her, leaned negligently on the veranda railing, and said easily, “Good morning.”

  He frowned for she was wearing that awful paint on her face. It looked garish and tawdry in the morning sunlight.

  “I told you to wash your face. You look absurd. You may be the tart, but there is no reason to advertise it.”

  Sophie stood up slowly. She looked at him for a very long time, saying nothing. Then, in that light, teasing voice, she said, “Are you here to take me riding or to dictate terms for a surrender?”

  “Surrender,” he repeated. “That sounds quite charming to me, particularly with regard to you, madam. First, go wash your face. Then I will take you riding.”

  “You are nearly two hours late, sir!”

  “Am I? Dear me, how remiss of me. On the other hand, I didn’t wish to ride two hours ago. Now I do. Go wash your face. I will give you ten minutes, no more.”

  “I wouldn’t go to the trashhouse with you, damn you! Get out of here! Go back to England and be a boor there.”

  “Mr. Sherbrooke! How delightful to see you, sir. My niece mentioned that perhaps you would be coming to take her riding. Sophia, where are you going, my dear? Mr. Sherbrooke surely would appreciate your charming company.”

  Ryder was amused to see her so neatly trapped. “To freshen myself, Uncle.”

  “Excellent. Mr. Sherbrooke and I will have a cozy chat until you return. Such a sweet girl, my niece. Sit down, Mr. Sherbrooke, do sit down. Should you like a rum punch?”

  “At this hour? No, thank you, Mr. Burgess.”

  “Ah, do call me Theo. I’m not quite that old.”

  “Then you must call me Ryder.”

  “I understand your brother is the Earl of Northcliffe?”

  “Yes. He would have come here himself but he had recently wed.”

  “Ah. Do you plan to remain on Jamaica?”

  “Only until we have dealt with the ghostly manifestations that seem to have plagued Kimberly Hall for the past four or so months.”

  “Mr. Grayson has spoken to me of these things. It’s common knowledge that there are evil ceremonies and equally evil priests and priestesses on Jamaica who are capable of anything.”

  “They have stopped.”

  “Really? I’m vastly relieved, Ryder, but I wonder why.”

  “So do I.” Ryder wanted to ask him about his overseer and his archery skills but it was too soon. He wanted to keep the upper hand. He sat back in his chair and gave Mr. Burgess a guileless smile.

  A house slave brought lemonade at Mr. Burgess’s request. It was delicious. Ryder noted that Miss Stanton-Greville had far exceeded her ten minutes. He finished his glass of lemonade and gently set the glass down on the polished mahogany-topped table next to him. He rose and extended his hand to Theo Burgess.

  “I fear it grows late, Theo. Evidently your niece has become occupied with more important matters than riding with me. Good-bye.”

  He walked away, whistling, nonchalant as a clam.

  Theo Burgess stared at him, then yelled, “Sophia!”

  Ryder didn’t pause. He strolled out onto the drive toward his horse. He heard a noise from above, and curious, looked up. She was standing on the balcony some twelve feet up and in her hand was a basin. He moved, but not quickly enough. A good amount of water whooshed down in a thick arc and landed squarely on the top of his head.

  He knew he heard a laugh, but then she was crying out. “Oh dear, what have I done? Oh, Mr. Sherbrooke, how could I be so very careless! Dear me, I really should have looked. Do forgive me, sir. Do come in and I will give you a towel. Oh dear, oh dear.”

  He would give it to her. She’d gotten him quite nicely.

  He called back, “Thank you, Miss Stanton-Greville. Actually the water feels very good in this heat.”

  “I will be right down with a towel, sir.” She added with a voice of gentle sweetness so false he was forced to grin, “And do call me Sophia.”

  He turned back to the veranda and saw something very unexpected. It was Theo Burgess’s face and it was ugly and mean and something very frightening moved in his pale brown eyes. Then, suddenly, whatever Ryder thought he’d seen was gone, and Burgess was distraught and concerned and waving his hands as he moved quickly toward him, even wringing his hands, exclaiming, “Come here, Mr. Sherbrooke, do come here and sit down. Ah, my niece was careless, but surely she will make it up to you.”

  “I have no doubt she will try,” Ryder said.

  The brazen jade.

  Sophie had washed only the most vulgar of the makeup off her face. But Ryder Sherbrooke’s face was shiny and dripping with nice clean water. She smiled at him, her eyes glittering her triumph even though the words that came out of her mouth would do justice to a contrite nun. She prattled nonsense like a brainless twit. She hung about him, offering to pour him more lemonade, offering him four more towels, perhaps even five for he was so very wet, even offe
ring him a comb for his hair, even offering to comb his hair.

  Finally, Ryder said, “No, thank you, Sophia. I feel quite dry. No more of your ministrations. I do hope that the bucket you accidently spilled on me contained fresh water and only fresh water?”

  She blinked rapidly, her face paling creditably, then flushing, and settled finally into a patently false mask of chagrin. “Oh dear, I think so, but you know ... oh certainly Dorsey must have changed it and cleaned out the bucket, but then again, sometimes she is lazy so perhaps not. Wait, sir, and I will ask.” Then she struck a pose. “But you know, if Dorsey didn’t clean it out, she would never admit it. So we will never know. Oh dear.” She jumped to her feet and as she passed him, she sniffed rather loudly and wrinkled her nose.

  She was quite good.

  He rose to stand beside her. “Sniff again, Sophia. Yes, is there anything untoward? No? Excellent, I see that your face must weigh a bit less than it did. There are still cosmetics, but not enough to make me send you back to your room. Further, you have no more water to wash your face with, do you? Perhaps I now have some of your powder on my head? Come, let’s go riding before it becomes too hot.”

  A boy appeared leading a beautiful bay mare with two white stockings. She nipped Sophie’s shoulder. Sophie laughed, and patted her nose. “You naughty girl! Ah, you are ready for a gallop, aren’t you?”

  Ryder frowned. A completely different voice and a low, quite charming laugh.

  He didn’t help her to mount. She expected it, he saw that, but he merely mounted his own stallion and waited, not even looking at her.

  The boy gave her a foot up. She looked over at Ryder, her expression as bland as his sister Sinjun’s when she’d managed to beat him at a game of chess.

  “Where would you like to go, Mr. Sherbrooke?”

  “Since I am to call you Sophia, why don’t you call me Ryder?”

  “Very well. Where would you like to go, Ryder?”

  “To the beach, to that very cozy little cottage I’ve heard so much about.”

  She didn’t miss a beat, but he would swear that he saw her eyes widen, just a bit, in shock. But she said very coolly, “I think not.” She gave him a seductive smile and a toss of her head. Her riding habit was of pale blue, her hat was a darker blue with a charming feather that curved around her face. It was very effective, that feminine head toss. “Besides, I do believe the cottage is perhaps still occupied. My uncle lends it out, you know. Yes, one never knows just who might be there.”

  “Oh? Your uncle, you say?”

  Sophie kicked her mare, Opal, into a canter and off they went down the long, wide drive of Camille Hall.

  She was brazen. There wasn’t an ounce of shame in her.

  He followed her, content to let her take the lead. They rode onto the road, following it only for a half mile or so, then she turned off it toward the sea. When they broke through the thin stand of mango trees, Ryder sucked in his breath. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

  There was a stretch of beach that went on and on, disappearing around a bend a goodly distance to the east. The sand was stark white, pure and clean. The water was a light turquoise. The mango trees gave way to coconut trees that lined the perimeter of the white sand. The tide was going out and the different hues of the sand and water were startling in their beauty.

  “It’s incredible,” he said before he thought to censor and give her only what he wanted her to hear. “I have never seen anything quite like it.”

  “I know. It is my favorite stretch. I swim here a lot.”

  He got control of himself and raised a brow at her. “Would you like to swim now?”

  “I normally swim in a sarong. I don’t have one with me.”

  “No matter. I really would like to see you. I already know that your breasts are quite adequate. Not all that large, but fine, really. No man I know of would complain about their size or their weight or their softness. But there is the rest of you—your hips, your belly, your legs, and your woman’s endowments. I think a man should be able to see what he’ll be getting himself into before he takes the plunge, so to speak.”

  She turned her head away, but for only a moment. “Oh? And do you believe a woman should have the same consideration, sir?”

  “You may call me Ryder since it’s likely we’re going to become quite close. Why, certainly women should be given every consideration. Would you like to see me naked, Sophia? Now?”

  He thought he’d gotten her, but not a moment later he knew he was wrong. She gave him the hottest smile he’d seen in his adult life. She ran her tongue over her lower lip and leaned her upper body toward him. “Why, I think that would be nice, Ryder. Perhaps you could pose for me. I could sit over there beneath a coconut tree and tell you which way to turn so I could gain every perspective I wished of you. A man’s buttocks, flexed, you know, are sometimes quite delightful.”

  Good God, he thought, picturing exactly what her words had conjured up in his mind.

  He flushed. He actually turned red to the roots of his hair.

  Sophie saw that flush and her satisfaction wasn’t at all subtle. She shook her finger at him. “Really, Mr. Sherbrooke, it’s never wise to bait your hook when you don’t know what you’ll catch.” It was difficult, but she’d managed it. She’d won for the moment. She’d been so outrageous she’d made him blush. She knew she must be the first woman to have accomplished such a feat, for he was polished, this Englishman with his clear blue eyes, polished and cynical and very sure of himself. But she’d known exactly what she was saying, for the first time she’d taken Lord David Lochridge to the cottage, he’d already been three-quarters drunk. He’d stripped off his clothes, eager to show her that his body was firm and muscled, much nicer than that old man, Oliver Susson’s, and how once she saw him, she’d dismiss all the other men. He’d posed for her, even turning his back to her and flexing his buttocks, and thus it was he she was seeing when she’d said those words to Ryder Sherbrooke.

  Ryder was furious with himself. He was so furious with himself that he wanted to howl. He wanted to dismount and kick himself. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t allow her the upper hand. Ha, she had it. He had to get it back. It was intolerable that a woman, a damned tart, could do him in.

  “I enjoy taking chances, Sophia,” he said finally, creditably in charge of himself and his voice again. “I haven’t yet caught a shark or a piranha. Perhaps I’ve hooked an angelfish and the good Lord knows they’re quite enjoyable to eat.” He gave her an intimate smile, but Miss Stanton-Greville merely looked at him, one eyebrow arched, and Ryder would swear she had no clue as to what he was talking about. No, impossible, she was just toying with him again, pretending to innocence this time.

  She said on a laugh, “Perhaps I should show you a rooster-tail conch. They’re quite lovely but somewhat dangerous. They can cut you when you least expect it. Then there is the trumpet fish who is quite loud to other fishes and they avoid him. All in all a rather boorish fellow, one would say.”

  “I’m at a distinct disadvantage in this,” Ryder said. “You could continue indefinitely whereas I have used up the sum of my marine life knowledge.”

  “Again, it isn’t wise to bait your hook—”

  “Yes, I know. I wouldn’t want to hurt a tender mouth. However, some fish have tough little mouths and even tougher minds. As for their bodies, who can say? I wonder about their taste. Sour, do you think? Perhaps even deadly? Surely not sweet and juicy.”

  “Your similes are drifting rather far afield. Let’s canter up the beach. There are some rather interesting caves in the low cliffs just beyond that bend ahead.”

  He followed her, appreciating the sea breeze that cooled him. He was angry with himself, not with her. She was what she was. The only problem was he wasn’t certain exactly what that could be.

  She dismounted, shaking her skirts, and led him up a narrow path that skirted jutting rocks and narrow crevices. There were gnarled bushes along the way. Final
ly, both of them panting from the heat, she stopped and pointed. There was a narrow opening into the side of the hill in front of them. Ryder stepped into the black stillness then out again. “So there really are caves. Have you explored it?”

  “Yes. It’s deep and has no other opening that I could ever find.”

  “Have you supplies in there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, things like blankets, perhaps a sheet, a bottle of rum or two? Champagne to toast a successful completion?”

  “I see. Do I come here occasionally with other people, that is what you’re wondering.” She looked momentarily thoughtful, nothing more. “No, not to date, but it isn’t a bad idea. As I told you, it’s quite possible there is a guest in the cottage even as we speak. It would be nice to have another place available to one, don’t you think?”

  “I think a man would have to be pretty desperate to be naked as a snake in a cold, damp cave, despite the skills of his companion.”

  “On the contrary. I have found gentlemen to be much alike. They tend to forget themselves entirely. They could be on the moon and dismiss it as unimportant when they are otherwise occupied.”

  Ryder suddenly remembered telling his brother that he would forget his very name once he was inside a woman, forget everything for the pleasure was so intense. Once again, he flushed. This time he managed to control it enough so he prayed she wouldn’t notice. If she did, she didn’t say anything. Damn her.

  “To keep many men content when each knows about the other tends to support your theory.”

  “Crying uncle, Mr. Sherbrooke?”

  “No, those are facts. A man has to be stupid not to face up to facts. My name is Ryder. I shouldn’t like it if you screamed Mr. Sherbrooke when you have your first orgasm with me. It would make me feel very strange.”

  She didn’t look a bit embarrassed. What she looked was appalled and utterly scornful. He merely smiled at her. “Would you like to go back to the horses? Incidentally, do horses get sunburned?”