The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  “A glass of milk first, Jeremy?”

  The boy shook his head. “No, I’d throw it up. This was scary, Sophie, too scary. I’m tired of being scared.”

  “Me too, love, me too.”

  “I as well,” Ryder said and ruffled the boy’s hair when he stared at him, disbelieving.

  It took a good thirty minutes to settle Jeremy. They both remained with him until he fell asleep. Ryder followed Sophie back to her bedchamber.

  “Come outside and let’s sit a while. Like Jeremy, I’m too excited to sleep yet.”

  They sat in two wicker chairs, enveloped in silence, the terror fading slowly, very slowly.

  “Thank you, Sophie.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I heard an odd sound, one that didn’t belong to the night, and it woke me up. I saw this shadow and followed it. Then I knew it was Thomas and he was here to kill you.”

  “You reacted very quickly,” Ryder said, and he sounded a bit annoyed. “I have never known a female to act so quickly and so competently. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t swoon and give a pathetic little yell. You screamed your head off. You even had your weapon with you.”

  “As you recall, I had used that same pitcher before. I knew it was sound. You were tangled in the netting. What was I supposed to do? Let him gut you like a trapped fish? Also, a delicate feminine little whimper wouldn’t have accomplished much. Besides, I was next and then possibly Jeremy.”

  “Yes, you were next,” Ryder repeated slowly. “He would have succeeded if you hadn’t been there. You know that, don’t you? I am not a particularly light sleeper.”

  She shrugged as if she didn’t give a good damn and it infuriated him, this strength in her, this bravado, that was or wasn’t real—he didn’t know and wondered if he’d ever know. He rose quickly to his feet and stared down at her. He was shocked at his own behavior. Never before in his life had he come face to face with a dog-in-the-manger attitude in himself. It was too much. She’d turned the world and all his experiences and beliefs inside out. “I am pleased that I am someone dear to you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Emile said you were ferocious when it came to protecting those dear to you.”

  “I told you, Ryder, he would have killed me after he’d taken care of you. I’m not stupid.”

  “How are your feet?”

  “Fine. I’m nearly well.”

  “Good,” he said, and jerked her to her feet. He pulled her against him before she had a chance to react. He grabbed her chin in his hand and held her still. He kissed her closed mouth, hard.

  “I don’t like this,” he said against her mouth, his breath hot as the urgency that burned deep within him. “You are not as you should be. I cannot understand you. I won’t put up with it anymore. Damn you, be a woman!”

  He kissed her again. He felt her belly against him and his hands were wild down her back, caressing her, stroking down over her buttocks, pulling her upward hard against him.

  She wrenched away from him. She didn’t say a word. She kept backing away from him, one step at a time, a single, small step, farther and farther away from him. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

  He knew such fury he was shaking with it. “After all the damned men you’ve had, you dare to wipe the taste of me off your mouth?”

  She dropped her hand to her side and took another step backward.

  “You go much farther and you’ll end up in Samuel’s bedchamber. You’ll have to kick his housekeeper out of his bed, but I’m certain he’d be more than pleased to have you instead of Mary.”

  She shook her head, still silent.

  “Damn you, say something!”

  She turned on her heel and ran.

  CHAPTER 10

  THOMAS ESCAPED. No one was precisely certain how he’d managed to free himself from the icehouse, but there were two Kimberly slaves unconscious and bound in the bushes nearby. They’d been clobbered, but not killed, and that surprised Ryder. They hadn’t seen a thing. Ryder suspected that some of Thomas’s cohorts from Camille Hall had rescued him, and perhaps it was these cohorts who had kept him from killing the guards like one would swat flies. He was long gone, dammit. No crocodiles for him, dammit even more. Ryder sent out search parties. He sent word to Sherman Cole. Then he brooded about Sophie.

  Ryder hated to brood. He’d done very little of it in his life for the very simple reason that he’d never felt the need to take himself apart from his fellow man and commit himself to brooding. It had always seemed to him to be a singularly boring way to pass the time. But now he felt the need and it was sharp and deep inside him. It was also unexpected and unwelcome and made him uncomfortable; nor did he particularly know how to do it properly.

  Damn her for making him ponder and muse and agonize and absorb thoughts and feelings he didn’t want or need.

  He jumped to his feet, furious with himself and with her, and determined to end it once and for all.

  She wasn’t in her bedchamber—his former bedchamber, rather. She was dressed and sitting quietly in a chair on the balcony. Her eyes were closed, her hands folded in her lap. She looked to be asleep. She was wearing one of the pale blue muslin gowns he’d brought back from Camille Hall for her, a high-necked affair with lace that nearly touched her chin. He paused, just looking down at her for a very long time. Her hair was clean and pulled back with a pale blue ribbon at the nape of her neck. There were only the faintest bruises on her face now. She looked scrubbed, fresh, and immensely innocent, and too young.

  Innocent, ha. But that was the crux of the matter, indeed it was, and he wouldn’t stand for it anymore. He lightly touched his hand to her shoulder.

  She opened her eyes slowly and stared up at him, her expression not changing. She didn’t jump or exclaim.

  She said only, “Ryder.”

  “Hello,” he said, and he felt something odd and sweet touch him as she spoke his name. It made him angry and she felt it. She tensed beneath his hand. He pulled back, his hand dropping to his side, and took the chair opposite her.

  “This is the second time we’ve sat here on this balcony like an old married couple reviewing the events of the day.”

  “Hardly,” she said. She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a hard smile, and had he but realized it, a smile that cloaked an immense vulnerability. “If I didn’t know better I would think you were agitated about something. Difficult to believe, I know. You, Ryder Sherbrooke, a man to whom the worries of the world are practically unknown. No, certainly that can’t be it. You are not like normal people with normal concerns.”

  “I believe you have said quite enough. It always surprises me how you can go immediately on the attack with little or no buildup. Instantly, you are at the jugular, biting and nipping away. But you won’t draw me this time or sidetrack me. That is always your purpose with me, isn’t it? No, don’t bother to deny it or bait me more. Now, I want to know something from you and I want the truth.”

  “Very well.”

  He sat forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “The truth, Sophie. I mean it.”

  “If you have to remind me, if you have to look as serious as an idol, I doubt you’ll believe a truth when you hear it.”

  “Did you sleep with any of those men willingly? Did your uncle force you into being a harlot or were you a harlot before and your uncle merely molded you into doing what he wanted you to do and with whom?”

  “No.”

  “Damn you, Sophie, don’t you dare—”

  She rose suddenly, her skirts swirling about her ankles, and he saw that she was barefoot. Still bandages, but no shoes. He didn’t like that. It made him angrier.

  “Answer my question, damn you!”

  “Ask me a single question, then, and I will answer it.” Her back was to him, her shoulders straight, and he knew that chin of hers was probably thrust up a good two inches.

  “Very
well. Did you sleep with any of those men willingly?”

  “No.”

  “Not even Lord David Lochridge?”

  “No.”

  “Had you slept with any men before your uncle coerced you into bedding those of his choosing?”

  “No.”

  “I see,” he said, but he didn’t, not really. His brain wasn’t functioning with its usual clarity—doubtless because of the brooding—and it was making him equal parts frustrated and furious. “Damn you, how old were you when you had your first man?”

  She turned to face him then and she was still smiling that hard, cutting smile. “If you’re to be believed, why then, the first man had me when I was nineteen. And that first man was you.” She laughed at the infuriated expression on his face. “You see, Ryder, you refuse to believe me because you’re a man and men must place women into very neat slots. A woman is innocent or she’s not. There is no middle ground for a woman. A widow is all right, perhaps, but even then men assume that she will bed any number of them willingly, indeed, enthusiastically, because she’s used to having sex and knows what it’s all about.

  “I have come to believe that once a woman has known a man intimately, she really isn’t to be trusted after that. Goodness, if the man is her husband she just might cuckold him. Of course, a husband can’t cuckold his wife. A husband can continue doing whatever he pleases. If he can’t get a woman to willingly bed with him, why he simply buys a woman for the night. Or, like you—a rich man—he keeps mistresses. And the man remains utterly respectable. Indeed, his credit rises with both men and women. It is nonsense and not fair. I will tell you the truth again, Ryder. I have never been with a man intimately—”

  “More of your unenlightened philosophy of life—how trippingly it flows from your mouth. You, Sophie, are more ignorant than a slug. You know nothing of men and women and what is important between them and how—”

  She actually stamped one of her bandaged feet. “I never want to know! I sincerely doubt that there could be anything equal or fine or just between a man and a woman. I don’t think you believe it either, Ryder. Don’t you dare sneer at me. I will tell you again and it’s the truth. I have never been intimate with a man, except you and you had to drug me and—”

  “Damn you, I fondled and caressed your breasts and you allowed me to do it! You let me kiss you and you kissed me back expertly. You let me put my tongue in your mouth. By God, when you woke up on the beach and saw that I’d nearly stripped you and taken you then, what did you do? You smiled at me and teased me and invited me to be your lover. You promised you would dismiss the others. I would call that pretty damned intimate.”

  “—then you took me to the cottage, and I have no memory of that at all, as you well know. So, no, I’m no longer innocent, I suppose. I had assumed a man could tell if a woman was without experience and vice versa, but apparently it isn’t so because you didn’t apologize and admit that I had been a virgin when you took me.”

  Ryder rose very slowly. His face was red, the pulse in his throat was swelled and throbbing. He picked up his chair and hurled it with all his strength over the railing. A shout came from below. He gave her a look of utter loathing and strode off the balcony and out of the bedchamber.

  Samuel Grayson found Ryder in the north cane-field. He was speaking to one of the head drivers, a black man named Jonah who could snap a man’s neck with one huge hand. Ryder wore a hat. His shirt was open nearly to his waist and his chest was shiny with sweat and darkened from the sun. Samuel set his jaw and rode to the two men.

  Ryder finished his questions to Jonah, thanked him, then turned to give a salute to Samuel.

  “A good man,” Samuel said, looking after Jonah.

  “Yes. I would certainly like to have him on my side during a fight. Thinking of him as an enemy makes my blood curdle.”

  “I must speak with you, Ryder.”

  Ryder took off his hat, fanned his face, then rubbed his sleeve over his forehead. “Let’s go find some shade. Perhaps to the beach, if that’s all right with you, Samuel.”

  They rode to Monmouth Beach. Ryder was aware of a slight deepening of recognition inside him, a warming that somehow pulled and tugged at him, which was quite foolish, of course. It was just a beach, for God’s sake, a place that was pleasant, nothing more. Certainly it had nothing to do with her. They dismounted and settled themselves beneath a coconut tree. The breeze was steady and cool. Ryder felt the sweat drying and it brought a very nice chill to his skin. He sighed with pleasure and leaned back bonelessly against the trunk.

  Samuel said without preamble, “I want to marry Sophia Stanton-Greville. Then I will be the boy’s guardian. Camille Hall is the very next property to Kimberly. Emile and I will be able to oversee all operations and ensure that the boy’s inheritance is secure.”

  Good God, this was a shocker, but it shouldn’t have been, not really. Ryder knew Samuel was infatuated with her, had known it from the beginning, and had found it, at first, somewhat amusing. It was no longer amusing. He heard himself say in a faraway voice, “I will shortly be Jeremy’s guardian. As for Sophie, who knows? But, Samuel, there is no need for you to do anything.”

  “But you don’t really want to be the boy’s guardian. I know you want to return to England as soon as possible. Your life is there. You’re taking the boy and Sophie with you because you don’t see any other choice. But there is now a choice. They both belong here, not in England. I know there is a house and some property in Cornwall, but surely it isn’t as important as the plantation is here. I will hire a tutor for Jeremy. He will be educated and someday he will assume his inheritance. Sophia will have security, a family, people around her who care about her.”

  Ryder felt suddenly very cold. He turned away from Samuel, suddenly afraid of what his expression might give away. He stared out over the sea. Where the devil had all his carefree laughter gone? “I see,” he said at last. “You have thought a lot about this. I suppose you are one of these people who care for Miss Stanton-Greville.”

  “Yes.”

  “You also realize you’re old enough to be her father.”

  “I naturally realize that as well and it concerns me. I had wanted Emile to marry her for their ages are closer, but he believes her a whore. He respects her at least now, for she did save your life, and that is something. Still, he looks at her with a sneer and in that assessing way a man looks at a woman he thinks just might want to bed him—the way you look at her. I want to protect her. I want to care for her. Once I marry her, Emile will keep his opinions to himself. Indeed, he might come to change them for they are quite wrong. She is a good girl, a wholesome girl. She has been maligned and her uncle is the only one at fault. I’m glad the man is dead.”

  “She plays the whore to perfection.”

  “If that is true, it is her uncle’s doing. Everything she has done he’s made her do. But he could not have made her agree to sleep with all those men.”

  “You believe, then, that all the men have simply lied about bedding her at the cottage?”

  “They must have.”

  “Emile said she was a hellion.”

  “I don’t think she could have survived had she not been strong-willed, had she not been able to endure. She has protected her brother to the best of her ability. I have wondered about the gossip, indeed, have listened to all the men who have claimed to have been her lover. She couldn’t do such a thing; it’s that simple. It isn’t in her nature.”

  “But wouldn’t she do anything to protect Jeremy?”

  “Almost anything, yes, but not degrade herself, not that. She didn’t hesitate to save your life either. If that makes her a hellion, why then, it is a good thing, at least I would imagine you believe it to be.”

  “Yes, she did save me, didn’t she? Listen to me, Samuel, you must also realize that if you marry her neither of you will be received by the families here, or, even if you are received, she will be snubbed. She is already ostracized.”

  �
��I intend to change all that,” Samuel said. “I will claim to all that she came to my marriage bed a virgin. I will tell the truth about her uncle.”

  “The only result to that assertion would be laughter. Be sensible, Samuel. No one will ever change their opinion.”

  “I will try, I must.”

  “When I spoke to Oliver Susson today he also said he would marry her.”

  “I wouldn’t allow Oliver to get near her.”

  “If you want to shelter her from all the men she’s entertained—forced to by her uncle or not—you would end up spending your lives as hermits. The list of men visiting that damned cottage of hers is long, Samuel.”

  “You are wrong, Ryder. I will change opinions. My word is respected here.”

  “No,” Ryder said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said no. You won’t marry her.”

  Samuel felt stirrings of anger at the young man. Even though he was Kimberly Hall’s owner, Ryder Sherbrooke had no right to dictate personal matters to him. His reasons for his actions were sound. He rose slowly to his feet. “You have no say in the matter, Ryder. It is my decision, not yours.”

  Ryder smiled. “Actually, Samuel, it is Sophie’s decision and she will say no.”

  “Why? Because you ruined her and thus she wouldn’t want to shame me by accepting me as her husband? Don’t look so bloody surprised. I knew very well you wanted her, that you wanted to dominate her, to bring her to her knees, if you will. You made it a test of manhood. Ah, yes, you behaved just like a new hound in the pack. You had to prove your virility and power with this woman, to yourself and to others. It was a competition. You had to show the world that you could have her, and in having her make her say that the others weren’t important to her, just you. I’m not blind. Also, I was standing beneath the balcony a short time ago, and I heard what she said and your accusations as well. I heard her telling you that she’d been innocent until you’d taken her to the cottage.

  “You have ruined Miss Stanton-Greville and you have made no move to remedy the situation. The only remedy that would occur to you would be to make her your mistress, and she a young lady of excellent birth and breeding. She is also a young lady of principles. Have you even given a thought to the possibility that you could have gotten her with child? Of course you haven’t. Well, I care about her and I will marry her and if she is pregnant, then she won’t birth a bastard. Damn you, keep that supercilious eyebrow of yours down! Can you swear to me that when you took her at the cottage she wasn’t a virgin?”