"Yes, massa," James said and he was smiling. "Dat man a bastid, a real bastid. He look good flat on de floor. No, not a bastid, he be a serpent."
"His fangs should be dangling loose, at the very least," Ryder said as he rubbed his knuckles. He frowned down at Thomas. "He's got a big belly. That's not good for a man. No, not at all healthy."
He rubbed his knuckles again as he finished speaking, thinking again how good it had made him feel to vent his rage on that mangy bastard. He looked at Sophie and grinned just as he had before to James. "That's all that happened. Nothing more. James and another fellow took him away."
She said, "I'm glad you hit him. I hope you struck him very hard. I've wanted to many times. He's a horrible man. Good heavens, you enjoyed that!"
"Perhaps," Ryder said with obvious relish. "The man's a rotter." He fell silent then and he gave her a brooding look. "However did you manage to get yourself into this ridiculous mess?"
"What do you mean, sir? Ah, you wonder why I chose of my own free will to become a whore? Perhaps why Jeremy decided to become a cripple? I would that you be more specific."
"You were much easier to handle on your back. You're all vinegar again."
"A pity, for you will never see me like that again."
"Not even when I make love to you again?"
Another very small jerk of her shoulders. Yes, he was getting to knew her quite well.
"Sit down, Sophie. I'll keep my distance. I don't wish to frighten you."
That got to her. Ryder was pleased; he was even grinning shamelessly when she said, "You don't frighten me. No man frightens me."
"As a matter of course I would believe you. You appear quite skilled with men. However, I am not other men and I do frighten you. You will admit it eventually and then, I daresay, you'll be more careful around me. Sit down before I pick you up and set you down."
She sat down, smoothing the nightshirt over her legs. It occurred to her then that it must surely be odd to be here in a bedchamber with a man wearing only a man's nightshirt, and that made her smile.
She said then without preamble, "Kimberly Hall belongs to you, not to your brother, the Earl of Northcliffe."
Ryder stared at her, his mouth open. "What did you say? No, that's absurd, that's utter nonsense. Wherever did you get such an idea?"
"Be quiet and attend me. Kimberly Hall belonged to your uncle Brandon. When he died, you inherited his fortune. However, Oliver Susson neglected to attach the specifics of this property to the will he sent back to your family. At the time it was truly an oversight. Also, at the time, I believe your father had just died and thus there was some confusion because the new earl hadn't sold out yet of the army. Thus, everyone believes that Kimberly belongs to the family—your older brother—not you, to be exact."
"By God," Ryder said, staring at her.
"Are you not rather rich for a second son?"
"Yes."
"Well, now you are even richer for this plantation is yours."
"I begin to see why Oliver Susson was one of your lovers."
"Naturally."
"I did tell Emile that there were always motives. Particularly where you are concerned, Sophie. You would never have become a slut without very strong motives."
"Understand me, Ryder. I don't care if you own all of Jamaica. My uncle wanted this plantation and he thought my talents would give him an excellent chance at it. Don't get me wrong, I was to be used just to soften you up. In his final estimation, he didn't think you would care about living here, or care about the uncertainty of sugar profits, and thus, you would sell out to him, stuff the guineas in your aristocratic pockets, and sail happily back to England."
"And at the appropriate time I would have been told by Mr. Susson that Kimberly Hall belonged to me."
"Yes."
"And with you as my delightful mistress—you and that other woman with the big breasts of course— I would be delighted to sell to your uncle. Did he intend to send you back with me to England? As my mistress?"
"I don't know what he planned."
"Why did you agree to this?"
Her look was hard and cold. "Don't be absurd. You're so excellent at assigning motives, why have you let down here? Jeremy was to be his heir if I cooperated. If I didn't cooperate, he said he would throw both of us out. Jeremy is lame; he would never be able to make his way here."
"And naturally, you could."
She didn't react in any way, merely said in that same cold voice, "Quite probably."
"Lord David became your lover so that he would fleece Charles Grammond."
"Yes and he performed admirably." -
"And Charles Grammond was your lover so he would be quite amenable to selling his plantation to your uncle." "Yes." "How did you ever manage to rid yourself of Lord David?" She smiled. It was an impish smile, a young smile, and he found himself reacting to it. He realized it was the first genuine smile he'd ever seen from her. "I told him I had the pox." "Good God, that's wonderful." "I would have probably told you the same thing once you had sold Kimberly to my uncle."
"Ah, but the difference is that I wouldn't have simply believed you."
"That's what I told my uncle. I told him you weren't like the other men. I told him you weren't stupid. I told him that he should be very cautious with you, perhaps even fear you. He refused to heed me."
"You aren't making much sense about this fear business, but no matter. He didn't listen to you. He wasn't afraid enough of me, more's the pity."
"No. He measures all men with himself as the standard. He'd heard you were a womanizer, a young rakehell with no more morals than a tomcat. He thought it would be marvelously easy."
"I'm not a—" He stopped and frowned down at his bruised knuckles. Jesus, what an appalling thought. His mind shied away from it. He swallowed, then shrugged negligently. "Well, he was wrong, wasn't he?"
"About you being a womanizer? A tomcat? No, surely not. If you'd been like the other men, you wouldn't have realized that it wasn't me."
"Are you telling me that you didn't sleep with any of them? That it was always this other woman?"
She looked at him steadily. "Would you believe me if I told you that I had not?"
"Probably not." He raised his hand to cut her off. "No, attend me, Sophie. I have never before met a woman with such a repertoire of feminine tricks as you have, and believe me, I've been treated to the best. I wish I knew the female equivalent of a rakehell or a tomcat. You surely fit the mold. You're remarkable in your scope of seductive devices for one so young. Now, enough of that. It's not important. Back to your dear uncle. It still takes me aback that I own Kimberly Hall."
"It's true."
"But what if I hadn't come here? What if my brother had come instead?"
"Uncle Theo considered that unlikely. You see, he knows all about your family. He even hired a man back in England to find out everything he could about the Sherbrookes, about you. The man wrote back with a goodly number of details."
"He did all this before he and Thomas began their little scare campaign?"
"Oh yes. It was all well planned. Uncle Theo knew that Samuel Grayson was superstitious and could be manipulated. He knew if he played on his fears, why, he was bound to write to your brother, begging for help. And he did. He even told my uncle that he was going to write. Of course, my uncle encouraged him to write, encouraged him in his superstitions, stoked the fires, so to speak."
"I begin to believe that Uncle Theo deserves to have me wring his miserable neck."
"The man my uncle hired wrote that your brother had many responsibilities and that it was highly unlikely that he would come; your younger brother is at Oxford studying to become a man of the cloth. That left you and your fifteen-year-old sister. Naturally it was you who came. Everything went just as he'd planned. He simply misjudged you, that's all. He assumed you'd be like Lord David—frivolous, narcissistic, rather stupid, and wanting only to sleep with me. He was wrong; he simply wouldn't
recognize that he'd failed. You never for a moment believed there was anything supernatural about; the incidents, did you?"
"Of course not," Ryder said, his voice clearly abstracted.
"Nor did you ever want to become my lover."
"No. Yes. I don't know. I don't share."
"What are you going to do?"
"Oliver Susson agreed not to say anything to my brother or to me until your uncle decided it was the right time?"
She nodded.
"Did Jeremy know any of this?"
"No, I tried to protect him as best I could. Also, Uncle Theo was always very careful to treat him well, both in private and in public. Even now, everyone believes both Jeremy and I are very lucky. Indeed I imagine the gossip is that Uncle Theo is too loving, too sentimental, to even realize that his niece is a whore."
"Yes, that's what I've heard. You're tired. It's time for you to rest and for me to do some thinking. I want this mess resolved and soon."
She didn't sleep for the simple reason that she was too frightened about the future. But she did lie on that damned bed for three hours, her mind squirreling about frantically.
CHAPTER
8
SOPHIE WALKED QUIETLY down the upstairs corridor of Kimberly Hall to the bedchamber where Jeremy was sleeping. She wanted to speak to her brother, to reassure him, to make him promises that she prayed she'd be able to keep.
She quietly opened the door and peered in. The room was small, but as in all the other chambers, there were floor-to-ceiling louvered doors that gave onto a balcony and those doors were wide open. She smiled. Jeremy many times slept on his balcony at Camille Hall. He was probably doing the same here. The mosquitoes never bothered him.
He wasn't in his bed. She still smiled even as she walked slowly to the balcony. He wasn't there either. Her smile froze.
Oh God.
She'd seen him today, briefly, and he'd been very quiet, too quiet. He'd looked at her for a very long time and she'd known he was troubled, but she hadn't said anything to him because Ryder had come in. And that was why she'd wanted to see him now.
But he was gone.
Of course she knew where he was. He'd gone back to Camille Hall to face down Uncle Theo for beating her.
Uncle Theo would hurt him badly, perhaps even kill him, for now there was no reason for him to pretend to kindness, to affection, for either of them. She realized she was breathing in huge gulps that made her ribs throb and ache. She leaned forward, hugging her arms around her.
When the pain drew back, she still didn't move, just stood there, very still, staring out onto the beautiful scene before her, but not really seeing the glistening waves beneath the near full moon. The stars were points of cold white in the sky, a sky empty of shifting clouds. Slowly, she turned and went back to her own bedchamber. She found her gown in the bottom of the armoire. It was ripped and soiled but she didn't care. She dressed quickly, ignoring the pulling and aching in her ribs, her mind set on what she had to do. She merely shook her head when she realized she had no petticoats, no chemise, no stockings, nothing but the gown.
Nor could she find her shoes. No matter, she'd go barefoot. She crept down the front stairs as quietly and stealthily as a thief, and into the small estate room that was also the Kimberly Hall library. There was a gun case there, thank God, a tall oak affair with glass doors. It wasn't locked. She knew guns and thus picked out a small derringer. If she had to protect Jeremy, she would shoot whoever it was at very close range. She had no intention of missing.
She slipped out of Kimberly Hall five minutes later, walking quickly down the graveled drive, ignoring the small rocks digging into the soles of her feet, welcoming the evening breeze that stirred tendrils of hair on her forehead.
It was a beautiful night, a still night. Her heart pounded in slow, steady strokes. If only she knew how long Jeremy had been gone. She was afraid, but she was calm. It was about time she took over responsibility for herself and for Jeremy. Dear God, please give her enough time to prove herself.
It took her twenty minutes to walk to Camille Hall, cutting through canefields, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. She cut her feet but ignored the jabs of pain, even ignored the blood when she felt it sticky and cold on the soles of her feet.
There was light coming from several windows, but she couldn't see anything, no shadows, no sign of her uncle or of Thomas or any of the servants. Where the devil was Jeremy?
She ran bent over from bush to bush, getting closer and closer to the great house. She slithered up onto the side veranda to where her uncle's study was located. It was then she heard the voices.
It was Uncle Theo, and he sounded amused. He also sounded quite drunk. "So, you little bastard, you decided to come back here and whip me, eh?"
"Yes. I'm not a bastard. My mother was your sister and she was my father's wife. I'm here because of what you did to Sophie. I can't allow you to hurt my sister and get away with it. You beat her!"
"She deserved it, and as soon as I get my hands on her again, I'll whip her until she's begging for mercy."
"I won't let you. Ryder won't let you."
Ryder Sherbrooke, the young man Theo wanted very much to kill. Ah, but he had the boy here, the useless little cripple. He grinned down at Jeremy. "And just how do you think you'd ever stop me, whelp? You couldn't even keep your whip. I have it now, don't I?"
"I will think of something."
There came the hissing sound of a whip cutting through the air. Then she heard a sharp cry. It was Jeremy. Uncle Theo had struck him with the whip.
She thought she'd felt all the rage of which she was capable. She'd been wrong. The wooden door was partially open. She slipped through it very quietly to see Uncle Theo, his shoulder heavily bandaged, wearing a dressing gown, standing over Jeremy, the whip raised again in his right hand.
"I'll give you another taste, Master Jeremy, just to show you how important you are!"
"If you do, you filthy wretch, I'll put a bullet through your belly. I don't want you to die quickly. I want you lie on the ground, holding your belly, feeling your guts rotting from the inside out while you scream and scream."
Theo Burgess froze, but just for an instant. Slowly, very slowly, he lowered the whip and turned to face his niece.
"So, you discovered the little cripple was gone and came galloping to his rescue."
She ignored him. "Come here, Jeremy. Keep your distance from him. That's right, come to me now."
Jeremy's face was white with pain, his eyes hollow with failure. She understood both feelings very well, and said, "It's all right. This time, we've won. You're very brave to come here. That's good, come to me now and we will leave soon."
"You think so, do you, slut? Don't count on it. All I have to do is call out and at least ten slaves will be here to do my bidding in an instant."
"It won't matter because you'll be belly-shot. Go ahead, Uncle, yell as loud as you want because it's the last sound you'll make without agony. I want to kill you very badly. You're a coward, whipping Jeremy, who's half your size. I suppose your utter lack of any feeling surprised even me, but just for a moment."
Theo Burgess didn't know what to do. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts from all the rum he'd had to drink for the damnable pain in his shoulder. He believed the girl. She'd stabbed him, hadn't she? Lord, he should have continued hitting her until she was dead, but he'd had to stop because the blow she'd dealt him was making him dizzy and light-headed. He looked at her now, feeling renewed pain in his shoulder, despite the huge amounts of rum he'd drunk, remembering the bitter torture of that damned letter opener, remembering how Thomas had pulled it out and how he'd tried to keep silent but had failed and screamed. Even then it hadn't been fair. He hadn't fallen into blessed unconsciousness. Oh no, he'd stayed with the torment and it hadn't let up for a very long time. He'd sworn to make her pay. He had to make her pay and he would.
He said at last, very pleased with th
e indifference of his voice, "You know, my dear, if you kill me, you won't have a thing."
"The rum has curdled your wits. Jeremy is your heir. He will have everything."
"Oh no. He isn't my heir for the simple reason that I don't have a will."
"Will or no will, we are your closest relatives, and thus when all is said and done, Jeremy will inherit Camille Hall. Of course my father's house in Fowey is also his."
"Did dear Oliver Susson tell you that when he was plowing your belly?"
"That you believe your own fiction rather points to a failing mind, doesn't it, Uncle? I have two bullets in this derringer. Jeremy, let me see how badly he hurt you."
Her brother turned his back. The single stroke of the whip had cut through his shirt. Thank God the skin wasn't broken, but the long diagonal welt was ugly and red, the flesh rising around it. She sucked in her breath. "You're a monster, truly. Now, as I said, I have two bullets. If that whip had drawn even a fingertip of blood, I would have shot you in your belly. However, you are lucky, Uncle. I won't shoot you at all, this time. I'm simply taking Jeremy back with me to Kimberly Hall. You will leave us alone, do you understand? You won't come there nor will you send Thomas again. Now, we will leave. Don't move an inch."
"And just what will you do when Ryder Sherbrooke tosses you and the boy out of Kimberly?"
"That isn't your concern."
"Thomas told me you were installed in Ryder Sherbrooke's bedchamber. Everyone knows now that you're his mistress. Your reputation is—"
She actually laughed. "Look at my face. Can even you imagine a healthy man being interested in bedding me now? My ribs are even more violent shades of purple and green than my face. Believe me, even if I wanted to be in his bed, even if he'd wanted me there, I would have been unable. You saw to that. Now, Uncle, I want to leave here with Jeremy."
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