The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  He clasped his hands beneath her hips and lifted her onto her back on the bed. He came down over her, kissing her breasts, caressing and lifting them, wanting her desperately, more and more as each instant passed.

  He slid his left hand over her belly, stilling a moment when he remembered the ugly bruises. God, he’d never forget them or the soul-deep rage he’d felt. She’d been hurt so badly. He slowed his hand, easing his fingers lower, until he was cupping her and he felt the stiffness of her body, despite her softness, and he pressed his fingers between her thighs. He found her woman’s flesh and gently probed. He wanted to come into her now, this moment, for his need for her was so great that he trembled with it. Unlike the Ryder Sherbrooke before he’d met Sophie, he didn’t want to lose his control. But it had been so very long that he’d wanted her, so very long that he’d been celibate, that he simply didn’t know if he could hold himself under control.

  Perhaps, he thought, staring down at her, just perhaps this was why he’d wanted to marry her. Perhaps he’d known that she would do this to him, that she would be like no other woman in his life. He closed his eyes as he eased his middle finger inside her. His breath hitched with the effort to keep control of himself. The feel of her around his finger, the softness of her, the heat of her, made him grit his teeth. She made a soft keening sound and he took it for burgeoning passion. It had to be. Sweet God, it had to be passion. How could she not want him when he was edging toward madness with need for her?

  She was tight, her muscles squeezing his finger. He knew it would be over for him soon. He eased deeper until he touched her maidenhead. He smiled; he realized now he’d known he would find it. He widened her as best he could for he didn’t want to hurt her too much.

  He pulled her thighs wide and came down between them. He looked at her face. “Sophie, I’m coming inside you now. No, open your eyes. Remember, there’s no reason for you to be embarrassed. We’ve already done this. There is nothing new here. Believe me. If you could try to relax, you just might enjoy it.”

  She looked at him as if he were mad. She closed her eyes against the urgency of his expression, then opened them again. No, she would bear all that he did to her. It wouldn’t be bad. It would be over soon enough.

  That damnable lie. He had believed it would help her to relax with him. It hadn’t appeared to do anything of the sort. He knew he couldn’t wait. He guided himself slowly inside her. He promised himself he would only come into her for a very short time and then he would ease out of her and give her his mouth. Yes, just a bit more, just until he knew she accepted him, for he wanted her to experience having him inside her before he brought her to pleasure. He said as he came deeper, “You are my wife,” and there was wonder and satisfaction in his voice. “It is very odd for me, you know. I’ve never had a wife before, never thought to have one, but you are here with me and we are in my bed and I’m coming inside you. Please accept me, Sophie.”

  Accept him, she thought, holding herself as still as possible. She had no choice but to accept him. She waited, afraid, willing it to be over, willing him to make those ugly grunting noises the men made, the noises that soon meant they would be through, their sex shriveled, and shortly asleep and snoring.

  She was a virgin and she was his wife and she would be his now. When his sex butted her maidenhead, he pushed forward as gently as he could. It held. He cursed, knowing he should withdraw from her. He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t make himself pull out of her. He looked down at himself inside her. He shook and tried to pull away again. He couldn’t. He leaned down and kissed her instead. His tongue was deep in her mouth when he groaned and thrust deep, tearing through her maidenhead until he was touching her womb and then it was simply too much. Even as he became aware that she was struggling against him, even as he tasted her tears in his mouth, he groaned again, feeling such swirling, utterly wild feelings, that he jerked frantically at the intensity of his release.

  He stilled. She lay quiet beneath him. He was heavy on top of her, his breath still deep and fast, his body damp with sweat, his face on the pillow beside hers.

  She hadn’t expected the pain. Dahlia had never complained of pain, not that Sophie had ever asked her, but, on the other hand, Dahlia gave her opinions on everything with lazy abandon, comparing the men down to such details as the noises they made during their release. Sophie couldn’t imagine that Dahlia would suffer pain willingly or in silence. Thus, this pain did surprise her and she burned deep inside with the stinging of it, and the alien fullness of him. She knew about a man’s seed and knew it was in her as was the pain he’d inflicted upon her. How could a woman possibly enjoy this if it hurt so badly?

  She’d known all about intimacies, known all about six men and their bodies and their needs, but she’d never realized that his sex entering her joined them in such a way. He was deep inside her still and she could feel him, feel every slick bit of him. If was as if he were trying to be a part of her but she wouldn’t allow it. No, he was the different one and soon he would separate himself from her. She pressed her hips deeper into the mattress. She sucked in her breath, wishing he would just be done with her and leave her.

  Ryder managed to balance himself on his elbows above her. He was actually smiling, a tender smile that confused her. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I won’t hurt you ever again.”

  “Why did you hurt me this time?”

  No more lies or evasions, he thought, and said simply, “This was your first time. You were a virgin just as I finally realized you would be. I had to get through your maidenhead. That’s what hurt you.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes darkening as she finally understood. A lie, it had all been a lie, him taking her at the cottage, her possible pregnancy. “You bastard!” She heaved upward, trying to buck him off her.

  “I know. I’m sorry for it.” He clasped her wrists and pulled her arms over her head. He was heavy on top of her and she felt him growing inside her. It couldn’t be, not this soon, no, she wouldn’t allow it. She wanted, quite simply, to kill him.

  “I am sorry I lied to you, Sophie. At first I meant it as simple punishment for what you’d done to me. Not very nice of me, I’ll admit, but then again, what you and your uncle did to me wasn’t any better. It gave me a power over you to have matched you at your same game. After, when I decided I would marry you, I used it against you. And I won.”

  “How can you believe that marrying me is winning? That is errant nonsense. I am nothing, less than nothing. I have no dowry, no reputation, no—”

  “Damn you, you will be quiet.”

  Her eyes went a very dark gray at the anger in his voice; her face was as pale as the white sheets. “No matter your anger, you can’t change what I have been, what I am. You haven’t won a thing, Ryder.”

  “I will always win with you, Sophie. It’s best you remember that.”

  Without warning, without any sound at all, she jerked her right arm free of his hold, and smashed her fist into his jaw. He saw the flash of movement but he wasn’t fast enough, simply because he’d been laughing and bragging and telling her how omnipotent he was, in short, her master, the one man who would handle her always to his satisfaction.

  Her fist hit him hard and he jerked back with the surprise and the flash of pain. She shoved at him, her legs striking him hard on his back, and he went over the side of the bed and landed with a loud thud on the wooden floor.

  She lurched up and stared down at him.

  He was laughing, lying there on his back, rubbing his jaw, and laughing. At her.

  She scrambled off the other side of the bed, grabbed her nightgown and pulled it over her head. She was panting with fury, with fear, because she’d seen the blood on herself, but she knew it couldn’t be her monthly flow. He’d hurt her, all right, hurt her so badly she was bleeding.

  God, she hated him, hated herself, wished she could topple the bed over on top of him. It was rosewood and very heavy. She tried, but she couldn’t lift it.

&nbs
p; He stopped laughing, rose and shook his head. He stood on the other side of the bed now, just looking across at her. She couldn’t help herself. She looked at his groin, at his flat belly and the thick mat of hair that surrounded his sex, at his legs that had pressed against hers. He wasn’t fully aroused now and he was wet with her and with himself and there was blood too and she gasped.

  Ryder looked down at himself then back at her face. He pulled back the covers and looked at the stains of blood on the sheet. “I won’t seek retribution for that blow until after I’ve got you cleaned up.”

  “You come near me and I will break your back. You’ve hurt me quite enough, Ryder. No more. If I die from what you’ve done to me, so be it. I deserve it for being such a colossal fool, but you will stay away from me.”

  “I told you that the hurt is because this was your first time. As for the blood, that won’t happen again either. Good God, if a woman bled every time she had a man, the species would cease to exist in a very short time. I’m not lying to you, Sophie. I do find it passing strange that you are ignorant of this. The bleeding signifies your passage into womanhood.”

  “That is sheer nonsense and you know it. I am nineteen years old, Ryder, very much a woman.”

  “Oh, I do agree, my dear wife, indeed I do. But my rending of your maidenhead now means you can bear a child. There will be some stretching for a while yet until you become used to me, but it won’t hurt. Indeed, I’ve been told it’s a very nice feeling.”

  “Yes,” she said, “told by doubtless two dozen women!”

  Acrimony? He wasn’t certain. He prayed it was acrimony, a goodly dose of it. He walked around the end of the bed. She didn’t back away from him as he’d imagined she would, instead, she flung herself at him and punched her fists into his belly, against his chest, tried to hit his face.

  It was a silent battle and he became aware of that silence and wondered at it. Fighting was a loud business, at least in his experience—cursing, grunting, yelling. But she didn’t make a bloody sound save for her harsh breathing. And he realized then, and said aloud, “You learned how to fight, to struggle, without a sound, didn’t you? You knew that any sound could have awakened Jeremy and you couldn’t allow that. Damn you, Sophie, it’s different now. That mangy old bastard is well and truly dead. Damn you, yell at me when you fight me!”

  She tried to kick him in the groin instead and he simply turned quickly to the side and her blow landed on his upper thigh. He ripped her nightgown off her and threw her onto her back. He brought his full weight over her.

  She was heaving and jerking against him and he simply let her, holding her hands over her head. He didn’t look at her heaving breasts, tried to ignore her legs thrashing against his, her belly tensing against his.

  When she finally quieted, he said, “You didn’t enjoy me touching you or kissing you at all, did you?”

  She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “No, that was a rather stupid question, wasn’t it? We will change all that, Sophie. You are remembering the past year, aren’t you? Those men, and what your uncle made you do. Dismiss it, Sophie, relegate it to a time that no longer matters, a time well gone, and forget it.”

  She realized then, in a flash of understanding, that she didn’t doubt for an instant that he wouldn’t hurt her no matter how much she tried to hurt him. Never would he raise his hand to her, never would he smash his fists into her ribs. She could probably shoot him and he wouldn’t hurt her. She lay there simply looking up at him. Those blue eyes of his were blazing, brilliant as sunlight against a clear sky, yet somehow deep and calm. She said slowly, “You were a part of it. You were the biggest part of it. I knew everything would fail once you came, but my uncle wouldn’t believe me. I tried to tell him you were different, because I knew, somehow I knew what you were, but he wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to get near you but I did, and look what happened. How can I forget it?”

  “In what way did you believe me different from the other men?”

  She wished she hadn’t said it but she had. “The others were so pleased with themselves, so filled with their pride and conceit, for they had gotten me, just a simple woman really, nothing more, but I was a prize, a possession, no matter how temporary, and it gave them stature and prestige in other men’s eyes. You don’t care what others think of you or what you do. You see things differently; you react differently.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Sophie. I wanted you, don’t ever mistake that, but it was a game to me. I wanted to best you, to conquer you. Perhaps I wished to teach you a lesson, as I said, but things changed. I married you. Surely that isn’t such a bad thing. You are safe with me, as is Jeremy. You are secure, you will never know fear again in your life. Now, you will forget the past. I am your present and your future. Can you feel me? I want you again but I will bathe you first and give you a while to ease. Will you continue to fight me?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed and rolled off her. He walked to a long, low dresser and pulled two cravats from a drawer. “I regret doing this for it will probably make you so angry you won’t speak to me for a week, no matter that I’m your husband and you vowed to obey me.”

  She jerked off the bed and ran naked to the bedchamber door. His hand slammed against the door above her head. “Are you quite witless, Sophie? You are splendidly naked, my dear. It is doubtful that any of my siblings or any of the servants are wandering the halls, but who knows? I prefer to keep all your female endowments just for my eyes. You are quite beautiful. Your legs are long and firm. You run well.”

  He took her hand and began to pull her back to the bed. She kicked him hard in the back of his leg and he felt the pain spurt through him and his grip loosened. She jerked away from him, and this time, she was at the door and through it before he could stop her. She ran down the long corridor, unaware really that she was naked and out of control. She simply ran until, quite suddenly, there was a shadow in front of her and she ran full tilt into it and it wasn’t a shadow but a man and he was in a dressing gown. It was the earl, her brother-in-law, and his hands were wrapped about her bare upper arms.

  “Let me go!”

  “You need some clothes,” Douglas said, so stunned at the appearance of his new sister-in-law completely nude that he was surprised there were any words at all in his mouth.

  “Please,” she began, trying yet again to jerk away from his hold, looking back over her shoulder even as she struggled. Ryder was striding toward them, wearing a dressing gown, carrying another dressing gown over his arm. He looked furious.

  Douglas saw the look on his brother’s face in the dim light. He had no idea what was going on, but he felt the fear coming from her, and he felt a protectiveness that wasn’t unlike what he felt toward his wife.

  He eased his grip on her arms but didn’t release her. He said quietly, “Your wife appears a bit distraught, Ryder.”

  “Yes,” Ryder said when he reached them. He was dizzy with anger at her. And here was his brother, holding his wife, and she was naked. “Give her to me, Douglas.”

  Douglas knew there was no choice. He also knew Ryder wouldn’t hurt her, but he would give her a good dose of speech that could shrivel the stoutest of hearts.

  He said quietly, “I trust everything will soon be all right?”

  “Yes,” Ryder said again. “Sophie, put this on. My brother doesn’t need to see my wife.”

  Douglas released her. She was still, not moving when Ryder wrapped her in the dressing gown. It was soft, very soft from many washings; it smelled of him. She shuddered, but didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Everything had gone awry.

  “Sleep well,” Douglas said, his eyes resting a moment on his brother’s face.

  “Yes,” Ryder said, took Sophie’s hand, and led her back down the corridor.

  Douglas stood there many minutes until they went into Ryder’s bedchamber. What the devil was going on here?

  Ryder didn’t say a word. He
just pulled her back to the bed. He took her squirming body and eased her down on her back. He pulled away the dressing gown. He reached for the cravats. He was over her again, straddling her, and he wrapped the cravats around her wrists, and secured them to the headboard.

  “Now,” he said, and moved off her again. He stood by the bed and looked down at her. She was pale and furious and still she made no sound.

  “There is a lot of blood,” he said and frowned. “I am sorry I hurt you, Sophie. Now hold still and let me bathe you.”

  She held still because she was too tired to fight him further. She tugged once at her wrists but his knots were secure. Why hadn’t he said anything yet about her flight and capture by his brother? She felt him hold her legs apart and closed her eyes tightly. He was looking at her and she felt the wet cloth stroke over her. She hated it, this knowing he had of her, this power he had over her. He looked at her and he saw a woman’s body that belonged to him.

  When he was done he was silent for a moment, then, “Sophie, look at me.”

  She opened her eyes. He didn’t like the message in them.

  “What you did was foolish. I do not appreciate your showing my brother your body. I don’t understand why—but it doesn’t matter right now. You’re tired; you’re not yourself. Would you like to sleep now?”

  “Yes.”

  He untied her wrists but didn’t release them. He massaged them gently and thoroughly. And when he saw her looking about, he said, “No, no nightgown. Just the two of us together.”

  The bed could hold six people side by side and still he held her tightly against him. The strong beat of his heart sounded beneath her palm, the prickle of hair against her legs.