The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  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.” “Ah, it pleases me to allow you to resharpen your knifely wit on my poor male head.”

  She paled. It infuriated him. He leaned down, his hands on either side of her face. “Dammit, Sophie, don’t think about your uncle! Lord, had I been with him, I wouldn’t have stabbed him, I would have wrung his mangy throat. Now, stop it.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand a lot more than you think I do.”

  She looked up at him, wondering, but afraid to ask him what he meant. “Thank you for keeping Jeremy away.” He merely nodded and left the bedchamber.

  When he returned, Sophie was eating her breakfast. No, he was wrong, she was actually pushing the soft baked yams around her plate. She didn’t look quite as frightful as she had the day before or the day before that. He needed to examine her ribs, but he would wait a bit for that.

  “Eat. I won’t leave you alone until you finish everything. Does it hurt to swallow and chew? I imagined that it still did and that’s why you have the soft yams again. I had Cook put some brown sugar on them.”

  “Thank you. They’re quite good, really. I’m just not very hungry.”

  “You’re worried and I told you not to. Eat.”

  “Why are you being like this?”

  He turned toward the open wooden doors that gave onto the balcony. “Like what?” She waved her fork at him, winced because the slight movement brought her pain, and continued silent.

  “Well, I really can’t see myself making love to you in your current condition. No, don’t throw the yams at me, you might hurt your ribs. I will tell you something. Even the bruises in all their splendid color are preferable to those cosmetics you smeared on your face.”

  “My uncle demanded the cosmetics. He said they made me look more like a woman should, more sophisticated.”

  “Yes, and I imagine you also had to use them to cover bruises. Am I right?”

  “I will be well enough to travel very soon now.”

  “Oh? Where do you intend to travel to? A young girl with a little boy and no money?”

  He regretted his sarcasm, though she’d deserved it, and said quickly, “I will decide what will be done after you’re completely well again. You’re not to concern yourself about anything. As I told you, Jeremy is just fine and I’m keeping a close watch on him. When I’m not with him, Emile or Samuel is. All right?”

  �
�Why are you being so nice?”

  “Does that come as a shock to you? I suppose you’re really not used to nice men.”

  “No.”

  “Finish your breakfast and then we’ll talk. It’s time, don’t you think? I cannot continue to battle shadows. I must know the truth.”

  “You’re so smart I would have thought you would have already figured out everything. Didn’t you just tell me that you understood more than I gave you credit for?”

  No, he thought, he wouldn’t strip her just yet to see her ribs.

  “I don’t like the way you’re giving orders, Ryder. I’m sorry, you are being nice to Jeremy and me, but after I’m well again, I will see to us. We are not your responsibility and—”

  “Shut up, Sophie. You’re really quite wearying.”

  “Go to the devil!”

  He grinned at that. “Who was it who told me you were a regular hellion?”

  “Some miserable man, I doubt not. Hellion—what nonsense! None of you can bear the thought of a woman making decisions for herself, being responsible for herself. You must always rule and order things to your own satisfaction, and you dare to call it protecting her. Well, let me tell you, I won’t have it, do—”

  “Shut up, Sophie. If you want to expend ire, why, then, let’s redirect it. Let’s talk about Uncle Theo.”

  “Is Uncle Theo alive? Are you certain?”

  “Yes, I am certain. Your aim wasn’t all that good.”

  “It is not a good thing to stab one’s uncle.”

  “Nor is it a good thing to beat one’s niece.”

  She sighed, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. He studied her in silence for several minutes. Her hair was loosely braided and hung lank and dull over her right shoulder.

  “Would you like to bathe? To have your hair washed?”

  Her eyes flew open and there was such hope and excitement that he laughed. “Very well, if you finish your breakfast, I will see to it.”

  She ate everything on her plate and promptly fell asleep. Ryder removed the tray and sat down on the chair beside her bed. What a damnable mess. He realized fully that he was in it up to his neck, perhaps beyond. What he was going to do about it was still unknown. He looked at Sophie—yes, she did look like a Sophie, young and vulnerable and soft. She didn’t look like an elegant, cold Sophia. He looked beyond the ugly bruises and saw the fine high cheekbones. Her nose was thin and straight, her eyebrows nicely arched and slanted, her lashes thick. Perhaps in another time, in another place, in different circumstances, he would have taken her as his mistress and shown her that men could really be quite useful when it came to making a woman happy. But the time was now, and the circumstances were godawful. He continued to study her. She was really quite nice-looking and that realization surprised him. Her chin wasn’t rounded and soft, it was stubborn and solid, that chin, as was her jaw. He imagined she was a hellion even when she was a little girl. Ah, but she was loyal. She would do anything for Jeremy. Anything at all.

  And now what was there for her to do?

  He had bath water brought to the bedchamber and poured into the large copper tub. Now was as good a time as any to have a look at her ribs. Very slowly he drew the sheet down. He was unfastening the buttons on one of Samuel’s borrowed nightshirts when her eyes flew open. She stared up at him, not moving, not saying a word.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to look at your ribs. The bandages must come off in any case if you’re to have a bath.”

  “No.”

  “Sophie, I know your body very well, as well, I imagine, as you know mine. I admit the circumstances are a bit peculiar here but I am the only one who has taken care of you. You will hold still and let me look at your ribs. If you continue being stubborn about it, I will tie you down.”

  “No, damn you!”

  “You won’t get your bath.”

  “No.”

  “How many men have seen your body besides me? Surely more than the three you entertained when I arrived. Surely you can’t have an ounce of modesty left.”

  She turned her face away. He eased her out of the nightshirt then methodically began to untie the bandages from her ribs. He paid no attention to her breasts, to her white belly. He was staring at her bruised ribs and feeling bile rise in his throat. He wanted, quite simply, to kill Uncle Theo with his bare hands.

  He gently ran his fingertips over each rib. “Tell me how bad the pain is,” he said. Her breathing was shallow. His hand brushed against her left breast.

  She shuddered.

  “All right. You’re better. Now, I’m going to help you into the bathtub.”

  Why not, she thought. It didn’t matter. He was quite right. He had seen her and taken her and probably looked his fill of her the night he’d drugged her. It made no difference. She allowed him to ease her to the side of the bed. She was naked and he was holding her, lifting her now to her feet. Her knees gave, and when she fell against him, he held her upright, pressing her against him. His breath was warm on her temple. She would have been terrified of him but she felt too weak, and the pain was rippling through her. He knew, of course, damn him.

  “Is the pain bad?”

  “No, I’m just weak, that’s all. Ryder, I can manage, truly. Would you leave me alone now?”

  “Be quiet, Sophie.”

  He eased her into the copper tub. She sighed with pleasure and he grinned down at her. He unbraided her hair and smoothed out the ripples.

  She managed to wash most of herself and he washed her hair. It took a long time, and she was white with fatigue and trembling with weariness when they were finished. And pain, he guessed. He toweled her dry as matter-of-factly as he’d rub down a lathered horse. That thought made her smile and he saw that small smile and wondered at it as he wrapped her hair in another towel.

  He carried her to a rocking chair by the open louvered doors and sat down, holding her in his lap. “Time for a rest for both of us. You’ve worn me out. You’ve a lot of hair. Lean your head against my shoulder. That’s right.”

  “I’m nothing to you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I mean that I’m naked and you have seen me and taken me and yet you don’t care. I’m nothing to you.”

  His arms tightened about her and he felt her wince and immediately loosened his hold.

  “Would you prefer me to slaver all over you and make you uncomfortable by staring at your breasts?”

  “No, you already did that. It was just a game to you, it meant nothing. It’s just that—”

  “That what?”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “Sometimes I don’t understand myself,” he said. He began to rock her back and forth. She was asleep within two minutes.

  No, he thought, he didn’t understand and it was driving him mad.

  He carried her back to bed and laid her on her back. He decided to leave her ribs unbandaged. Very gently he removed the towel from her hair and smoothed out the tangles with his fingers, fanning her hair about her head on the pillow to dry.

  He looked at her flat belly and at the soft nest of hair below. She really was quite lovely, he thought, as he pulled a sheet over her, and she’d known men in only one context. They wanted her body, nothing more. Well, she had a very nice body, but he wasn’t moved at all.

  He had no intention of ever being moved by this woman, at least any more than he already was.

  He was eating luncheon with Samuel, Emile, and Jeremy, when James came into the room and said, “Mr. Thomas is here, Mr. Sherbrooke. He wants to see you.”

  Jeremy’s fork fell to his plate, his face suddenly white. Ryder nodded to James, saying, “Show him into the salon, James. I shall be there presently. Now, Jeremy, pick up your fork and eat those delectable shrimps. I asked your sister to trust me. I’m asking the same of you. If you don’t get color back into your cheeks, I’ll stake you out in the sun. If you think I will allow Thomas or anyone else to get near y
ou, you are sorely mistaken. Do you understand me, young man?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jeremy said, his eyes searching Ryder’s face. Ryder saw the fear, the uncertainty, and he felt something move deep inside him. He buffeted the boy’s shoulder as he passed his chair. “Emile plans to teach you all about rum this afternoon.”

  “I already know a lot about rum.”

  “Emile will show you things you’ve never seen before, won’t you, Emile?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Eat your lunch. You’ll need your strength.”

  Ryder heard Jeremy say to Emile as he left the dining room, “Do you whip the slaves, sir?”

  “No,” Emile said matter-of-factly. “They’re our workers. Without them we wouldn’t produce much sugar. We depend on them. If I hurt them, why then, they couldn’t work and then where would we be?”

  “Thomas beats the Camille slaves.”

  “Thomas is a stupid man. Ryder will doubtless see to his education.”

  Ryder smiled in anticipation. He wished he’d spoken to Sophie but he hadn’t wanted to awaken her. Well, doubtless Thomas was here because Uncle Theo still wasn’t well yet. Good. It seemed that she’d plunged that letter opener nice and deep.

  Sophie woke up just as the sun was lowering, splashing the sky with all shades of pinks and reds. She was alone. She rose and relieved herself, then found the man’s nightshirt she’d been wearing and slipped it over her head. Her ribs ached and pulled but the awful tearing pain was now bearable.

  She walked slowly to the balcony and raised her face to the still evening air. Soon she would be well enough to leave Kimberly. Soon she would have to leave Kimberly, she and Jeremy. But where would she go?

  Ryder was right about that. She had nothing, no money, nothing except a harlot’s reputation.

  She stared blankly into the pink and golden twilight, listening to turtledoves, frogs, crickets, and the myriad other night creatures that she normally didn’t hear because she was so used to them.

  Ryder paused in the doorway. He saw her standing there in the ridiculous loose nightshirt, her hair thick and flowing down her back. She looked sixteen. But he knew when he saw her eyes there would be weary cynicism there.