The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  He strode over to her, pulled her to her feet, and just looked down at her silently. Then he kissed her lightly on her closed mouth. He wanted more but forced himself not to take any more from her, even though he imagined he could ease her down to the floor this very minute and take her without much fuss. But he didn’t. He would keep himself within safe bounds. He said, “I would like to see you again, despite your brother’s edict. Would you like to go riding tomorrow? We’ll be discreet.”

  “I would love to. Douglas will never know. Oh, Colin?”

  He turned.

  “Will you teach me how to speak Scottish?”

  “Aye, and ’twill be my pleasure, lassie.” His voice was lilting and smooth as honey. “Ye’ll be my sweetheart, dinna ye ken?”

  “I’ve never been a sweetheart before. It sounds grand.”

  All he could do was shake his head at her.

  Douglas said to his wife, “I’ve discovered nothing ill about Ashburnham. He is liked and respected. He attended Eton and Oxford. He has many men friends in society. The only thing any of them can say is that he must marry an heiress.” Douglas, in a habit that was becoming more pronounced, plowed his fingers through his hair again. He continued his pacing as his wife watched him from her dressing table. It was still early in the evening, three nights from the week Douglas had demanded. Both of them knew that Sinjun had met Colin the day after the historic brawl, but neither wanted to make an issue of it. As far as Douglas knew, Sinjun hadn’t seen him since. But who could know with Sinjun? She was damnably resourceful.

  “How long has he been the earl of Ashburnham?”

  “Just six months. His brother was a wastrel, as was his father. Together they ran the estate into the ground. He has a huge barn of an old castle that will require vast sums to bring it back to what it was. Then there are the crops, the sheep, the poverty of his people—crofters, they’re called in Scotland.”

  “So,” Alex said slowly, “when he became the earl and discovered the true state of his affairs, he made a decision, the only one he could make. You don’t dislike him for that, do you, Douglas?”

  “No. It’s just that—”

  “That what, my dear?”

  “Sinjun doesn’t know him. She’s infatuated, that’s all. She’ll end up in Scotland, with no one to protect her, and what if—”

  “Do you believe that Colin Kinross is an honorable man?”

  “I have no idea. On the surface, I’d say yes. What goes on in his mind? In his heart?”

  “Sinjun will wed him, Douglas. I only hope she doesn’t seduce him before they’re wed.”

  He sighed. “I hope so, too. Now I must go to speak with Mother. She is squawking again, driving her maid insane, demanding that the young man be brought to her. She is threatening to send Sinjun to Italy until she has forgotten this foreign bounder. The strange thing is that she doesn’t at all mind that he is marrying her daughter for money. What she minds is that he is a Scot. She says all Scots are hard and mean-fisted and Presbyterian.”

  “Perhaps you should quote some Robert Burns poetry to her. It’s really quite lovely.”

  “Ha! It’s a foreign language and she’d have even more fits than she’s having now. Damnation, I wish Sinjun weren’t lying in her bed with a headache. She is never about when I need her.”

  “Shall I come with you?”

  “If you were to do that, Mother would rage until we were both deaf. You still haven’t won her over, my dear. I doubt not she will soon come around to blaming you for this debacle.” Douglas sighed and left the room, mumbling about his damned sister and her equally damned headache.

  Sinjun didn’t have a headache. She had a plan and she was well into its execution. She had carefully molded a bolster into a reasonable human shape and covered it. Excellent. If there were no close inspection, the bolster would pass muster as a likely female. She patted her own pants leg, straightened her jacket, and pulled her felt hat more fully down over her forehead. She looked like a boy, no doubt about it. She turned and looked at her back in the long mirror. Just like a boy, even to her black boots. She whistled softly. Now all she had to do was climb down the elm tree into the garden. Then she was off.

  Colin’s lodgings were on the second floor of an old Georgian town house on Carlyon Street, only three streets away. It wasn’t yet dark and she kept whistling to keep away any fears that might try to nibble at her, and to make anyone who saw her see only a boy, out for the evening. She saw two gentlemen in their swirling cloaks, laughing and smoking cheroots, but they paid her no heed. There was a ragged boy sweeping the path for anyone who passed, and she thanked him and gave him a pence. Sinjun found Colin’s lodging without problem and strolled to the front door as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She pounded the huge eagle’s-head knocker.

  There wasn’t a sound from within. She knocked again. She heard a giggle and a girl’s high voice scolding, “Now, sir, don’t you do that! No, no, not there, you mustn’t. Now, we’ve a visitor. No, sir—” There were more giggles and when the door opened, Sinjun was face-to-face with one of the prettiest females she’d ever seen. The girl’s neckline was low over very white, full breasts, and her pale hair was mussed and her eyes were bright with excitement and fun. She was grinning wickedly.

  “And just who’d you be, my fine lad?” she said, striking a pose, one hand on her hip and her chest poked out.

  The fine lad answered with a wide smile, “Who do you want me to be? Your father, perhaps? No, that isn’t possible, is it? I would have to scold the gentleman who was making you laugh, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  “Oh, you’re a fine one, you are! All jests and games and a well-oiled tongue. You want to see someone here?”

  Sinjun nodded. She saw a gentleman from the corner of her eye as he slipped into a door off the main corridor. “I’m here to see Lord Ashburnham. Is he in?”

  The girl struck another pose, this one even more provocative, and giggled once again. “Aye, a pretty one, his lordship is. But he’s poor, you know. Can’t afford a nice girl, he can’t, or a gentleman’s man to help him. Talk is he’s marrying an heiress, but he won’t say boo about it. Probably the heiress is a stoat all dressed in fancy silk, poor man.”

  “Some heiresses can even whistle, I’ve heard,” Sinjun said. “Now, his lordship’s apartment is on the second floor, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” the girl said. “Hey, wait! I don’t know if he’s here or not. Haven’t seen him for two days now. Tilly, one of the girls, went up to see if he wanted some fun—all willing to give it to him on the house, she was—but he wasn’t there. Leastwise he didn’t answer. And what man wouldn’t answer when he heard Tilly calling out to him?”

  Sinjun took the stairs two at a time, saying over her shoulder, “If he isn’t there, perhaps I shall return and you and I can, er, have a cup of tea and a chat.”

  The girl giggled. “Ah, go along with you, my cute lad! Ah, ’tis you, sir, back again. Now, where were we? Ah, what naughtiness you are!”

  Sinjun was still smiling when she reached the landing. It was a solid house with a wide hallway. Well maintained, the paint fresh, a gentleman’s establishment. Were the pretty girls here all the time? She found Colin’s door and knocked. There was nothing. She knocked again. Please, she thought, please let him be here. It had been too long. Four whole days without him. It was too much. They’d fooled Douglas that first morning, but Colin hadn’t called on her since. She had to see him, to touch him, to smile at him.

  Finally she heard a deep voice call out, “Whoever you are, go to hell.”

  It was Colin, but he sounded strange, his voice low and raw. Was he with someone? A girl like the one downstairs?

  No, she wouldn’t believe that. She knocked again.

  “Damnation, go away!” The curse was followed by a hacking cough.

  Sinjun felt a spurt of fear. She gripped the door handle, and to her immense relief it wasn’t locked. She pushed the door open and walke
d into a small entrance hall. She looked to her right into a long, narrow drawing room that was well enough furnished, she supposed, but impersonal, without any individual character. It called up nothing of Colin. Nothing of anyone except perhaps a musty gentleman from the past century. She called out, “Colin? Where are you?”

  She heard some cursing coming from beyond the drawing room. She hurried now, pushed the door open, and came face-to-face with her betrothed. He was sitting up in the middle of a rumpled bed, quite naked, the sheets drawn only to his waist. Sinjun stood there a moment, just gawking. Goodness, he was big, and there was black hair all over his chest, and he looked strong and muscular and lean and she couldn’t stop staring at his chest and his arms and his shoulders, yes, even his throat. There were black whiskers on his face, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was standing on end. He looked quite wonderful.

  “Joan! What the hell are you doing here? Are you out of your damned mind? Are you—”

  His voice was a croak. Sinjun was across the room to him in a moment to stand by the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?” Even as she asked him, she realized he was shaking. And she’d been standing there staring at him like a half-witted fool. “Oh goodness.” She pushed him back down and pulled the covers up to his chin. “No, no, just hold still and tell me what’s wrong.”

  Colin lay flat on his back, looking up at Joan, who was trying to look like a boy, which was ridiculous. But perhaps it was the fever; perhaps she wasn’t really here, perhaps he’d just conjured her up.

  He said tentatively, frowning, “Joan?”

  “Yes, love, I’m here. What’s wrong?” She sat beside him and laid her palm on his forehead. He was hot to the touch.

  “I can’t be your love,” he said. “It’s much too soon. Damnation, I’m tired or something, and weak as a day-old pup. Why are you pretending to be a boy? It’s silly. You have a woman’s hips and long legs that aren’t at all remotely like a boy’s.”

  It was an interesting avenue of conversation, but Sinjun was too scared to be sidetracked. “You have a fever. Have you been vomiting?”

  He shook his head, then closed his eyes. “Have you no damned sensibilities?”

  “Your head hurts?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you felt bad?”

  “Two days now. I don’t feel bad, I’m just tired.”

  “Why didn’t you send for a doctor? For me?”

  “I don’t need anyone. It’s just a passing fever, nothing more. I was out in the rain, at a boxing match on Tyburn Hill. I’m just tired.”

  “We’ll see,” she said. Men, she thought, as she leaned down and pressed her cheek to his. They couldn’t bring themselves to admit to any weakness. She drew back. The heat was incredible. His eyes flew open, but she said as she gently laid her fingertip on his lips, “No, don’t move. I will see to everything now. When did you last eat?”

  He looked as irritated as his voice sounded. “I don’t remember. It isn’t important. I’m not hungry. Just go away, Joan. It’s vastly improper for you to be here.”

  “Would you leave me if you found me sick and alone?”

  “It’s altogether different, and you know it. For God’s sake, I’m bare-assed.”

  “Bare-assed,” she repeated, smiling at him. “My brothers have never said that before. No, no, don’t frown at me or curse at me anymore. Just lie down and I will see to things.”

  “No, dammit, just go away!”

  “I will, and I will soon be back with help. Lie down and keep warm, Colin. Now, would you like some water?”

  His eyes lit up and he nodded.

  Once he’d drunk his fill, she said matter-of-factly, “Do you need to relieve yourself?”

  He looked ready to spit. “Go away.”

  “All right.” She leaned down and kissed his mouth and was gone in the next moment.

  Colin pulled the covers to his nose. His thoughts were vague. The room blurred. When he opened his eyes again, he was alone. Had she really been here? He wasn’t so thirsty anymore, so someone must have come in. Lord, he was cold and he couldn’t seem to stop shivering. His head pounded and his thoughts grew vaguer. He was ill, more wretched than he’d been when he’d cracked two ribs in a satisfying fight just two months before his brother had gotten himself killed and Colin had inherited a title he’d wanted only because he hated the destruction of his home.

  He closed his eyes and saw Joan dressed like a boy and she was smiling down at him. Unaccountable girl. She would be back, of that he had no doubts—that is, if she’d ever been here in the first place.

  An hour later he received a shock when not only Joan returned, but her brother Douglas with her. He saw that she was still wearing boys’ clothes. Didn’t her brother discipline her? Wasn’t she given any guidance on how a young lady of quality was to behave?

  Colin stared at the earl, who was staring back at him. He was unable to find a single word to say.

  Douglas said calmly, “You’re coming back to Sherbrooke House. You’re ill, I can see that, and my sister doesn’t want to marry a man who’s nearly dead.”

  “So you were really here,” he said to Sinjun.

  “Yes, and now all will be well. I’ll take excellent care of you.”

  “Dammit, I’m only tired, not ill. You’re making too much of this, and I just want to be left alone and—”

  “Do be quiet,” Douglas said.

  And Colin, because he felt worse than a half-starved mongrel, shut his mouth.

  And that, he thought, too ill to care, was that.

  “Sinjun, get out of here. The man’s naked and you aren’t to stay about and embarrass him. Send in Henry and Boggs to help me get him into clothing.”

  “I can dress myself,” Colin said, and Douglas, seeing the fever burning bright and hot in his eyes, agreed.

  He didn’t do it well, but he managed to dress himself quickly. However, the ride to the Sherbrooke town house was a nightmare Colin would just as soon not have lived through. He passed out when Henry and Boggs were helping him up the wide stairway.

  It wasn’t until they were in the guest bedchamber that Douglas discovered the jagged four-inch-long knife wound at the top of Colin’s right thigh.

  CHAPTER

  4

  “YOU MUST GET some rest, Sinjun. It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning.”

  Sinjun didn’t wish to look away from his still face, but she forced herself to glance up at her sister-in-law. “I’m resting, Alex. It’s just that I must be here if he wakes up. He’s always so thirsty, you know.”

  Alex said calmly, “He’s a strong man. He won’t die. I’m not worried about him now. I don’t want you to lose your health.”

  “Do you promise, Alex?”

  “Yes, I promise. His breathing is a bit easier, I can hear it. The doctor said he would survive this. He will.”

  “I still don’t want to leave him. He’s had horrible nightmares.”

  Alex handed Sinjun a cup of tea and sat beside her.

  “What sort of nightmares?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s frightened and he’s confused. Whether it’s real or just the fever, I don’t know.”

  Colin heard her voice. It was pitched low and it was calm, but the underlying worry was there, thick and deep. He wanted to open his eyes and look at her, but he couldn’t. It was that simple. He was deep within himself, and he was afraid; she’d been right about that. He’d seen Fiona again, and she was lying there at the base of the cliff, quite dead, her body sprawled on the jagged rocks. He was standing there looking down at her. Fear welled up in him and he wanted to get away from it, but it pursued him, overwhelmed him, and he was dying of the fear and the terror of what he couldn’t or wouldn’t remember, and the god-awful uncertainty. Had he killed her? No, dammit, he hadn’t killed his wife, he hadn’t. Even this nightmare couldn’t make him believe that he had. Someone had brought him here, perhaps Fiona herself, and she’d fallen, but he hadn’t killed her. He
knew it deep down. He’d backed away from the cliff edge very slowly, one step, then another. He felt dizzy and strangely detached from himself. He’d led men back there, to where he’d found her, and no one had asked him what had happened, how it was that Fiona was lying there thirty feet below, her neck broken.

  Ah, but there was talk, endless talk, and that talk was more devastating than an outright accusation, for it swirled around him, always out of his reach, those damned whispers and innuendos; and it ate at him because he knew he could shout his innocence, but how could he explain how he’d come to be there on the cliff edge himself? That he didn’t know, didn’t remember. He’d just come to himself and he’d been there. There was no reasoning he could grasp, nothing. The only person he’d told everything he remembered had been Fiona’s father, the laird of the MacPherson clan, and he’d believed him. But it wasn’t enough, never enough, for he couldn’t remember and it preyed on him, brought him down when he slept, when he was at his weakest, this guilt that wasn’t really guilt. But he still felt the nightmares to be a penance he was obligated to pay.

  He was thrashing now, moaning deep in his throat. The knife wound in his thigh burned and gnawed at him. Sinjun was on her feet in an instant, gently holding him still, her hands on his shoulders. “Hush, Colin. It’s all right. They’re just nightmares, nothing more than nightmares. Just phantoms to plague you. Nothing more. That’s right, listen to me. I won’t lie to you. Come closer, yes, here’s some water, it will make you feel better.”

  She tipped the water glass slightly and he swallowed. She held the glass until he turned his head away. She dabbed the water from his chin, saying quietly to her sister-in-law, “I put some laudanum in the water. It should help him into a deeper sleep, away from the nightmares.”

  Alex said nothing. She knew no one could pull her away from Douglas were he ill. Thus, she just patted Sinjun’s arm and left the bedchamber.

  Douglas was awake. He pulled Alex against him and held her close. “How is he?”