The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  “He isn’t the kind of man to ever forget something like that.” Samuel shook his head. “Something must be done and soon. Ah, that poor child.”

  “You mean Jeremy? I agree but he is young and adaptable. He will be just fine.”

  “No! I meant Sophia.”

  “Oh, her. I trust she’s kept to her bed?”

  “Yes.”

  Ryder said nothing more, merely walked back into the house and headed up the stairs.

  When next he visited her, it was late afternoon. Sophie was wearing one of her nightgowns. She looked fresh and clean and very young. Her face was only faintly bruised now and she looked very bored. She frowned at him and said, “It is difficult to bathe and not get your feet wet.”

  “It’s a sight I should have enjoyed witnessing. Perhaps you could bathe again this evening for my entertainment? I suppose that vicious snarl means I am to be denied. Well, it doesn’t matter. I have come to talk to you.”

  “Talk, then.”

  “Feeling restive, are we?”

  “I want to go home. I heard that one of your bookkeepers is overseeing things at home. That isn’t right, Ryder. I should be there. Our people are perfectly capable of dealing with the problems themselves. I really must go home.”

  “Well, you can’t just yet, so be quiet. As for Clayton, Emile says he’s a diplomat so you needn’t worry about lacerated sensibilities. Cole was here again after your lovely hide, but I told him that your uncle was just buried and it turns out he was stabbed, not shot.”

  She stared at him. “You’re jesting.”

  “Who knows? It got Cole out of here. But I will tell you true. I think Thomas really did kill him and that he was the one you shot. Of course, that means it wasn’t a mortal wound for he later spoke to Cole, giving his spurious evidence. But he’s gone to ground now. I want to find him and toss him into the mangrove swamp. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “He won’t return to Camille Hall. I really do want to go home, Ryder. There is so much to be done. There is no reason for Jeremy and me to remain here any longer. My ribs are much better now and my feet—well, I won’t walk much, all right?”

  “And just what would you do if Mr. Sherman Cole arrived with his men to remove you to Montego Bay?”

  She paled. He remained unmoved.

  “Actually,” he said, looking beyond her right shoulder, “I’ve decided that we’re all going back to England.”

  “You’re mad!”

  “Quite possibly. Jeremy needs schooling. He will go to Eton.”

  It was a dream come true, only Sophie didn’t want it to come true this way, no, not through him. “No,” she said. “I won’t allow it.”

  “You have no choice at all,” he said and smiled at her.

  “I do have a choice. I won’t be your mistress, Ryder, I won’t.”

  “I don’t recall having asked you. At least not in the past three days.”

  “I heard you! I heard what you said to Mr. Cole!”

  “In that case, you must know that my ardor for your lovely self is quite in doubt now. After having examined you quite thoroughly I’m not sure at all that I am interested anymore. You are adequate for your environs, perhaps, but back in England? I don’t know about that.”

  She picked up a heavy book of Shakespeare plays and flung it at him with all her might. He caught it square in his chest and grunted. Actually, she felt more pain in throwing the heavy tome at him than he felt at the blow. She paid it no mind. She threw a pitcher of water at him, a much easier shot, soaking the front of him.

  There was nothing else to throw. She lay back against the pillows, panting and heaving, her forehead damp with perspiration. He hadn’t moved, even to wipe the water from his face. “That’s the second time you’ve attacked me,” he said mildly. “What do you think I should do about it?”

  “You should stop trying to take over my life.”

  “I want you to be well again.”

  “So do I!”

  “Ah, but my reasons for wishing it are quite different from yours. I want you well and thus able to fight me. I want to hear you yowl when I’ve bested you, which I will do. I want to hear you curse me. I want you to hurl yourself at me again and again, because I know you, Sophie, I know you don’t give up easily. When I have bested you, then you will get what you deserve.”

  “I wish you had never come here.”

  “Oh? And who should have come in my place? My little sister, Sinjun? I must admit that she would have found all this vastly amusing, but I’m not certain she would have dealt with you as well as I. She is very straightforward and honest, you see, utterly without guile. Or perhaps my pious younger brother, Tysen, who is right now at Oxford preparing himself for vicardom. He, I doubt not, will marry an equally pious girl who will be nauseatingly proper and good. Still and all, however, it’s possible that Tysen would have been the recipient of one of your drowsy-eyed smiles and stuttered himself off the island and quite probably drowned. Now, as to the earl, why, my dear girl, he would have eaten you for breakfast. He has no patience, not like I have. He doesn’t like games, either, not like I do. He doesn’t indulge wholeheartedly in the sport women usually provide, not like I do. No, he would have put a stop to you immediately and walked away, dusting his hands. So, all in all, I think you were very lucky I came here, and I do promise you, Sophie, I swear it, that you will be bested by me, but in my own good time.”

  “A man’s threats—always violence, always bragging and braying about the pain you will inflict.”

  “Oh no, I intend no pain.”

  “Very well, dominance. It’s every bit as bad as physical violence. All men must know that they rule, even if it’s just over a single woman.”

  “I believe we’ve been through similar charges before.”

  “Go to the devil, Ryder. You and all men are despicable ! As for your repulsive family, I hope they all rot.”

  “Even Sinjun?”

  “If she is like you, then yes, damn you.”

  Ryder wasn’t used to explosions like this. He frowned at the newness of it, the abruptness of it, although since he’d met her, she’d knocked him off balance more times than he’d experienced in his life. But this—well, what could he expect? Her uncle had beaten her, probably countless times, out of the demented fun of doing it and to make her perform as he demanded. “You don’t bore me,” he said abruptly. “Actually, I find you quite amusing and I haven’t even made—” He stopped cold in his tracks. No, he wasn’t about to tell her that he hadn’t taken her that night at the cottage when he’d drugged her. He had a clear flash in that instant of himself, staring down at her and how he’d wanted very much to touch her, to caress her, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t that cold-blooded.

  “Well, Sophie, do you want to be my mistress for a time?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, you find Oliver Susson more to your taste? Really, my dear, he’s not at all a sterling specimen of manhood, although he is cooperative, which is a good thing for him. And that is the reason I haven’t been up to see you earlier. I rode to Montego Bay to visit with Mr. Susson. Let us say that he now understands very clearly what he is to do. He will work to see that my guardianship is handled immediately. He apologized profusely for his ethical lapse and assured me that he would perform these duties without financial remuneration.” Ryder paused for a reaction, but she held herself silent. She was well hidden from him, an act she was quite good at. He wanted to draw her, to bait her into fury, and thus continued in a mocking voice. “Naturally, the thought of losing you upset him dreadfully. He even went so far as to say that he would marry you, though he knew it would greatly affect his reputation in Jamaica. I thought there were actually tears in his eyes once he learned that he would never again enjoy you at the cottage.”

  “He never did enjoy me. He did, but not in the way you think.”

  “Oh? You say you were never at the cottage with him?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t—” She stoppe
d. It was no good. She said abruptly, “All you have to do is look at my face and my ribs, Ryder, and know that I did nothing with any of these men willingly.”

  “Reluctant all the way, huh? Perhaps I believe you with a pathetic bastard like Sherman Cole. But with all the rest of them? I’m sorry, Sophie, but I do remember that first night with you and how you played the coquette to perfection. You didn’t turn a hair when I pulled your gown to your waist and fondled your breasts. Oh no, you handled me with great skill—ah, the promises, the anticipation you built up in me. I positively festered with lust.”

  “Will you get me some bandages so I can wrap up my feet? I must get up, Ryder. I am so bored I want to scream and your conversation is rendering me nearly insensible.”

  So much for goading her into an excess of bile, he thought, and simply nodded. He himself wrapped up her feet, pleased that they looked better than they had that morning. Nice feet, he thought, narrow, highly arched. He said as he studied her toes, “When I finished my conversation with Mr. Susson, I checked on shipping schedules to England. There are several ships due in from England very soon now. We will have time to tie up all loose ends. I firmly intend for the three of us to be on the next ship back home.”

  “Sir, are you helping my sister again?”

  Ryder slowly lowered her foot back onto the bed. He turned to see Jeremy standing in the doorway. He said under his breath, but Sophie heard him, “I really must remember to close that bloody door.” He grinned at the boy. “Come in, Jeremy. Your sister is flushed from the heat and I was just trying to amuse her. She is bored, you know, and wants for diversions.”

  “You were holding her foot.”

  “Yes. She had a cramp in her toes but it is better now. As you can see I’m also bandaging her feet again. She is bored.”

  “I will read to her. Goodness, Sophie, whatever is the Shakespeare doing on the floor? You must be more careful. Some of the pages are twisted. Goodness, page four hundred and thirty is torn.”

  “You’re right, Jeremy. She tore the second scene in The Taming of the Shrew.”

  “Go away, Ryder,” she said. “Just go away.”

  He did, whistling.

  Sophie didn’t know what had awakened her. At one moment she was dreaming deeply, and her mother was there with her, laughing and brushing her hair and talking about the future and all the fine young men who would want to marry her when they went to London upon her eighteenth birthday. The next moment, she was wide awake, jerking upright in bed, frozen still and listening.

  The sound came again. Movement coming from outside.

  Her heart began to pound, fast, shallow strokes. Slowly, she pulled off the single sheet covering her and eased out from beneath the mosquito netting. It was very late and very silent except for that other sound. It was a person and he was moving along the balcony outside, quietly but not quietly enough for her sharp ears.

  She stepped onto the floor. Her feet were still bandaged but it had been two days since the fire at Camille Hall and the pain was nearly gone now. She walked slowly, tiptoeing to the open door and peering out. She heard nothing but the soft grating sound of a lone coqui. Then in the next instant, she saw a shadow, a long shadow, the shadow of a man, and he was moving stealthily around the side of the house.

  She picked up the water pitcher beside her bed, the one she’d hurled two days before at Ryder, unceremoniously dumped the remaining water into the chamber pot, and walked out onto the balcony. There were no barriers. The balcony curved around the entire second floor of the house, a good eight feet deep with a twelve-foot overhang to protect from the sun. She crept after the man. Suddenly she was right behind him and she froze. He was silent, staring into a bedchamber.

  It was Ryder’s room.

  She saw him raise a knife in his hand. God, it was Thomas and he was going to kill Ryder.

  She waited until he stepped into the bedchamber then ran quickly after him, the thick bandages on her feet silencing them. She peered around the open doorway to see Thomas now standing by Ryder’s bed. He had the knife raised. She saw a bulky bandage around his chest. She’d shot him, not her uncle. Ryder had been right.

  But her aim hadn’t been good enough, worse luck.

  Slowly, he pulled back the mosquito netting.

  Sophie screamed and screamed again, yelling like a banshee, shrieking like a mad voodoo priestess. She ran toward Thomas, the pitcher raised high.

  Ryder awoke to see the silver flash of a blade over his body, a harsh scream echoing in his head. Jesus! He jerked away, rolling off the other side of the bed, but he tangled himself in the mosquito netting.

  Sophie saw him roll quickly to the opposite side of the bed, but he didn’t jerk the mosquito netting out of the way. He fell hard to the floor, tangled in the yards and yards of netting.

  Thomas was running around the side of the bed, breathing hard, not even looking at her, intent upon getting to Ryder.

  “Thomas!”

  He jerked toward her then and she saw the hatred twisting his face.

  “It was I who shot you, Thomas, not Ryder! What’s the matter, are you afraid of me? You miserable bastard, you are afraid of me, a girl, half your size. Coward, murdering, sniveling coward! Why did you kill my uncle? Did he deceive you, cheat you?”

  Thomas went berserk. He was trembling, making slashing downward and upward motions with the knife. “I know you shot me, you damned bitch! After I kill him I will deal with you. First I’m going to have me some fun with you and then I’ll let you beg me not to kill you. On your knees, you little slut, on your knees in front of me begging and begging.” He was stalking her, Ryder now forgotten.

  Sophie didn’t have time to question the wisdom of her attack. If Ryder didn’t free himself quickly, she would very shortly be in grave difficulties. She moved behind a wicker chair, shoving it forward toward him.

  Every nerve was tingling in her body. She felt dread, fear, and, oddly enough, excitement at the danger. Her eyes glittered as she looked at his hated face.

  “You gutless coward!” she screamed at him, taunting him. Then just as quickly, she stepped to one side of the chair, looked beyond him, and yelled, “Yes, Ryder, kill him now!”

  Thomas whirled about to face his new attacker, a man, and thus more of a threat.

  It was a mistake.

  Sophie rushed up behind him and struck the heavy pottery pitcher over his head. It cracked hard against his skull. Thomas groaned softly and slumped to the floor. The knife fell from his fingers and lay beside him, the long silver blade obscene in the pale light of the bedchamber.

  Ryder pulled the mosquito netting off himself and slowly got to his feet. He walked over to Thomas, kneeled down, and felt the man’s pulse. He was alive, just barely.

  “You gave him a fine cosh,” he said, still studying Thomas. “You did shoot him. Here, in the ribs. He must have still been in some pain.” Ryder looked up at her then. She was standing there, silent as a stone, swathed in one of her voluminous white nightgowns, her hair loose down her back, her face as white as the Valenciennes lace at the collar of her gown. She was still holding the broken-off pitcher handle, clutching it like an amulet.

  “Thank you, Sophie,” he said, and slowly rose.

  She drew in a sharp breath. He was naked and he didn’t appear to be aware of it. He walked to a lamp and lit it. He turned to face her and at that moment, Samuel, Mary, Emile, Coco, James, and several other house slaves burst into the room. Coco promptly fainted. Emile caught her, luckily, and set her on Ryder’s bed. “She’s pregnant,” he said and shrugged.

  Ryder smiled and raised his hand. “It’s all right. Thomas is the one on the floor. He came to kill me. At least I was first on his list. Sophie saved me.”

  “Ryder,” Emile said on a strained laugh. “I’m delighted it’s over and both of you are all right. Sophie saved you? She always was a daring girl, and anyone to attack someone dear to her got the brunt of her fury. But, my dear fellow, you are quite naked.
This is the second time you’ve been thusly unattired.”

  “So I am,” Ryder said, bemused. He walked over to a chair and shrugged into a dressing gown. “It’s so bloody hot, you know. Sophie, are you all right?”

  She still hadn’t said a word. In fact, she hadn’t moved an inch. He walked to her and gently touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Are you all right?”

  “Sophie!”

  It was Jeremy and he shoved and pushed his way into the room and ran clumsily to his sister.

  She came alive then and held him against her. She stroked his tousled hair, saying very softly and calmly, “I’m fine, love, just fine, and so is Ryder. Thomas, however, isn’t. That’s grand, isn’t it, Jeremy? No more villains to hurt us or anyone else. No more villains at all.”

  “Unfortunately the world abounds with villains,” Ryder said. “But there is now one less. Emile, why don’t the two of us tie this one up and take him to the mangrove swamp and leave him there for the crocodiles. I surely do like that notion.”

  “I do too,” Emile said.

  “We must notify Sherman Cole,” Samuel said. “Surely now he will believe that Thomas murdered Burgess.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Ryder said on a mournful sigh. “Perhaps Emile and I can take him into Montego Bay. Perhaps we can have a slight accident on the way, by the—”

  “Mangrove swamp,” Emile said, grinning.

  “It’s the middle of the night,” Ryder said. “Let’s tie him up and stuff him in some dark closet. Is there anyplace secure here, Samuel?”

  “Yes, the icehouse.”

  Within five minutes Thomas was securely bound and carried out to the icehouse, a guard set over him. Finally Ryder’s bedchamber was empty again but for Sophie and Jeremy. He was still holding her, clutching at her really, for she was all that was left of his world.

  Ryder didn’t think, he merely dropped to his haunches and said quietly, “It’s all right, Jeremy. Truly. Sophie’s safe. Now, my lad, why don’t your sister and I take you back to bed?”