The Hellion Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  "Oh," he said. "Samuel, Sophie. Excuse me." "No, Ryder, it isn't necessary," Samuel said. "You were right. She won't have me. Now, I must needs see to some work. No, stay here, I will be off. I believe 1 will ride into Montego Bay and see what Sherman Cole is up to. Perhaps Thomas has been caught." Ryder didn't say a word until Samuel had closed the door after him.

  Ryder felt a spurt of relief so profound that he trembled with it. He didn't want to accept the relief because accepting made him so furious with himself that he wanted to howl. He looked at her standing there in one of her modest muslin gowns, her feet bare as an urchin's, no bandages now, and he said, "I assume all those sweet girlish gowns I brought over from Camille Hall for you were from your precottage days?"

  Her eyes narrowed. Her hands fisted at her sides. Then she smiled at him, one of those drowsy-eyed smiles, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and mocking, and his body reacted before he could stop it. "Ah, Ryder, certainly they're from before. Boring little confections, aren't they? Could you ever doubt it? But what was I to do? You left all my other gowns at Camille Hall. Why don't you pretend that I'm wearing a bright scarlet satin cut nearly to my waist and come here and fondle me again? Be bold, Ryder, be a man and rip the gown right off me. Wouldn't you enjoy that? A real man asserting his strength and power. Goodness, it makes me shudder just to think about it. You could bend me back over your right arm. Really, don't I deserve a reward for saving your poor Mr. Grayson from a fate worse than death?"

  He didn't move. Then he cursed. Then he shouted at her, "Stop that damned act!"

  "Act? You mean you don't think I'm a harlot any­more?"

  "Yes, no. I don't know, curse you."

  "Did dear Samuel begin to change your mind?"

  "No."

  Just as suddenly as she'd assumed the polished harlot role, she became more vulnerable than he could bear. Because she couldn't control it, and she didn't want him to see that vulnerability, she whirled about and walked quickly to the veranda. But he had seen it and followed on her heels. She was wringing her hands as she said in a terrified whisper he barely heard, "What if I am pregnant?"

  He did not pretend to misunderstand her. "Did you never think of that with all the other men? Did you always take precautions with them?"

  "No."

  More of her verbal confusion. He should have told her that if she were pregnant, it certainly wasn't with his seed. And if she were, just by chance, as innocent as she claimed to be, why then, they should be speaking of a possible religious birth.

  He should tell her that he hadn't taken her. He should, really, but he didn't. Because if he did tell her she just might marry Samuel Grayson, and he knew he couldn't allow that to happen.

  "When was your last monthly flow?"

  She jerked with shock. He watched, fascinated, as she forced herself back into control. She looked him straight in the face, didn't say a word, then turned and walked quickly away.

  He frowned after her. Her look had been one of utter scorn; she'd needed no words, for her expres­sion had been quite enough. He should teach her how to sneer. She would do it well.

  When Samuel Grayson returned to Kimberly four hours later, he was sweating profusely and he looked frantic. He said to both Emile and Ryder without preamble, "Sherman Cole is digging up Burgess's body tomorrow morning. It's the talk of Montego Bay. Thomas is still at large. Cole says that after he arrests Sophia, he will offer money to Thomas to come out of hiding and testify against her. He says he doesn't believe the story of Thomas coming here to murder you, Ryder. He also claims you were lying about Burgess being shot. I heard he is paying a lot of money to three men to dig Burgess up and examine him. He says he will arrest her immediately, try her, and hang her, all within the week. He says that none of us can stop it."

  "So," Emile said, "the end is near. No matter what I think of her personally, I don't wish to see her hung."

  His father snorted in disgust. "You blind young puppy! Well, Ryder, soon you won't have to worry about her. Soon it will be just Jeremy." He turned to his son. "I need you to be at Camille Hall when Cole goes there tomorrow morning. We must have warning. Go tell Sophie to stay close to the house."

  After Emile had left the salon, Samuel said, "Now there is no choice. I will tell you, Ryder. There is the Harbinger, a big stout barkentine, in port right now. It is returning to England with the morning tide. Sophia and Jeremy must be on that ship."

  "Yes," Ryder said. "They must." He grinned, splay­ing his hands in front of him. "I know, I know. I cannot send her to England with no protection. No money. No one to look after her."

  "You cannot as yet leave Jamaica."

  "I know, not until all this guardianship business is completed. There's Sherman Cole to be dealt with, of course, as well as that mangy bastard, Thomas, to be found."

  "Then what will you do?"

  "It appears my choices have just dwindled alarm­ingly. Get the vicar over here and I will wed her. She and Jeremy will be aboard that ship even as Sherman Cole is over digging at Camille Hall. Once they reach England, she and Jeremy will go to Northcliffe Hall, to my family. They will take care of them."

  "And when you return to England, Ryder?"

  "Don't push, old man. You've got your way. You've saved the girl, using me to do it."

  "She will make you a fine wife."

  Ryder cursed him and left to go find his soon-to-be bride.

  Marriage! It was a truly appalling thought, but there was no hope for it. He thought of his broth­er, the earl, and prayed that his own recent mar­riage was shaping up, but in truth he'd had grave doubts when he'd left England, despite the plucki-ness of Douglas's new bride. All because he'd come to Jamaica he would find himself leg-shackled. His life had been progressing just as he'd ordered it up.

  He sighed. He might as well get it over with. He found her in the late afternoon at Monmouth Beach. Her mare, Opal, was grazing nearby on swamp grass. She was seated in the shade of an Indian almond tree, staring out over the water, her legs crossed, tomboy style.

  He loosed his own horse, then strode to her, stood over her, his hands on his hips, and said, "I rode to Camille Hall. They said you had been there, oversee­ing the indoor work. You shouldn't have gone back there yet. You're not well enough."

  She didn't look up. "Nonsense," she said.

  He leaned down and jerked up the skirt of her riding habit. "Then why aren't you wearing shoes?"

  She slapped her petticoats and skirt back down. "Go to the devil, Ryder. Camille Hall belongs to Jeremy now. He is still there. In truth I became overtired and came here to rest a bit. Now, what do you want? More truths from the resident harlot's mouth?"

  "No."

  "Then what do you want?"

  He looked at her with acute dislike. He shook his head and said, "As of thirty minutes ago, you and I have no choice in the way we must now proceed. You will come back to Kimberly with me. You have much to do before tomorrow morning."

  "What the devil are you talking about?" she asked with a cold indifference that nearly made his eyes cross with rage.

  "Look at me, damn you!"

  She sighed and looked up. 'Your language is foul. You're also standing with your back against the sun and I can't really see your face. Forget your display of manliness and sit down, Ryder."

  He did and crossed his legs, like hers. 'You will listen to me now, Sophie. I dislike you speaking to me like that. That was no manliness display; I was just standing there, like anyone would just stand there."

  She nearly smiled. She began to sift sand through her fingers. He truly didn't perceive the natural arrogance that was deep within him. All wish to smile vanished as he continued, saying, "Now, there is no other solution. I have thought and thought, but it does no good. I have argued with myself. I have brooded, a pastime I abhor. I have presented myself with all the reasons why it is the height of fool­ishness, the very depths of idiocy, but nothing has worked. Very well, then, I will have to marry you."

&n
bsp; She stared at him. "You're mad."

  "Yes. However, I will do it. I can't seem to find another choice for myself. I will marry you. You and Jeremy will be aboard a ship leaving for England early tomorrow morning. You will wed me this eve­ning. When you reach England, you and Jeremy will journey to my family at Northcliffe Hall, and they will take care of you until I come home."

  "You're doing this because you're afraid I'm with child? Your child?"

  "No. Sherman Cole is digging up your uncle tomor­row. Then he will arrest you. He's even offered money to Thomas to come out of hiding to testify against you. Therefore you will marry me, and you and Jeremy will be long gone by the time Cole is rubbing his fat hands together contemplating having you complete­ly in his power. No, don't say anything. You have to leave Jamaica. Ah, do you want to know what you're getting in a husband? You won't have a title because I'm the second son, as you know. However, I am rich enough even for you, I imagine. Hell, now that I own Kimberly Hall, I daresay I can give you whatever your heart desires."

  "Excellent. All right, my heart desires that I will be Jeremy's guardian and that it will be I who will see he receives a gentleman's education."

  "Don't do this, there is no time for further games on your part. We will wed. It will be done. Be quiet. I'm not jesting about Cole and his intentions."

  She jumped to her feet. "I can't believe this. Are you certain? But—" She stared down at him, silent now. She turned and picked up her skirts and ran down the beach.

  "Sophie! Come back here! Your damned feet!"

  She ran faster. He, fool that he was, was wor­ried because her damned feet weren't yet completely healed. He ran after her, and because he was stron­ger, his legs longer and unhampered by petticoats and skirts, he caught her quickly. He grabbed her arm and jerked her around to face him. He pulled her up against him and kissed her hard.

  She struggled and jerked and tugged, but even when he released her mouth, he didn't let her go. "Do you prefer the hangman to marriage with me?"

  She shook her head.

  "Ah, but before the hangman you would doubtless have Sherman Cole slavering all over you when he rapes you."

  "You don't have to say anything more."

  "Good, because I was growing a bit impatient."

  "This is absurd. I am very ordinary, Ryder. I am common. I have no secrets, nothing to interest you. I'm not ignorant because I have read a lot, a pas­time I know gentlemen consider frivolous in women, mayhap even harmful for their brains. Believe me, I am nothing at all, merely a backwater colonial with no pretensions to anything. Why do you feel responsible for me? It is not your fault that my uncle is dead."

  "Shut up." He kissed her again but she was strug­gling frantically against him, and he didn't want to risk hurting her ribs. He contented himself with merely holding her. He felt the heat of her, felt her breasts heaving against his chest, and he closed his eyes a moment.

  "Do you forget how much you dislike me, Ryder? You think me a horrible woman. You scorn me and what you believe I am. Why are you doing this?"

  He looked over her shoulder at the jagged black rocks that jutted out into the sea. "I have to. Call it my honor. Call it an attack of scruples. Samuel said I'd ruined you. Perhaps you are even now carrying my child. Now, in addition to your ruination and a possible babe, there is the matter of saving your neck. Now, come back with me. We both have a lot to do."

  She fell into step beside him. She stared blind­ly ahead of her. She didn't believe that life could change so drastically and so very quickly.

  She looked at his profile, pure and clean and strong. He would be her husband.

  She shivered.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE VICAR, Mr. Jacob Mathers, was a wizened little man with a shock of white hair sticking up like a rooster's comb. He knew all the gossip, naturally, but to his credit he took no part in it. Truth be told, he was more a listening man, particularly if he had a glass of rum punch in his hand. He listened and listened even more, and then disregarded the most of it. He had been a close friend of Samuel Grayson's for over twenty years, and thus, when an invitation to dinner arrived, he accepted gladly. After dinner was over and he learned what his other duty was to be, he blinked once, looked at Samuel for guidance and received a smile and a nod. If this was what Samuel believed was right, then Jacob would do it.

  He would marry these two disparate people. When Ryder Sherbrooke had told him with a smile that he also wanted him to accept Kimberly Hall hospitality until the following afternoon, he readily agreed. He knew all about Sophia Stanton-Greville's reputation and that Sherman Cole wanted to arrest her very badly, for what reason he imagined he already knew. Human failings were, after all, his primary business. However, he wasn't a stupid man nor an unkind one, and curiosity wasn't necessarily a good thing. In this instance, he didn't really want to know all the ins and outs.

  Everyone arranged themselves. Mr. Mathers had a remarkably deep voice, mellifluous and soothing, perhaps more so than usual because of the three glasses of rum punch he'd drunk at dinner. Soon, he was near the end of the brief ceremony. He was relieved that the young lady hadn't fainted. She was very pale, her eyes dark and blank, and her responses were barely above a whisper. As for Ryder Sherbrooke, the young man looked every inch the English aristocrat. He stood tall and straight; his voice was strong and steady. If he felt the same terror his bride felt, he was hiding it very well.

  Ryder was wondering what Sophie was thinking. He knew well enough that she hadn't wanted to marry him. It was only the thought of being hung that had turned the tide. Not a very enlivening judg­ment for the groom. He doubted now that even if she'd believed she was pregnant with his child, she would have accepted him. Well, it would soon be done. He realized with something of a shock that he wanted it to be done. He wanted her as his wife. He wanted her safe, her and Jeremy.

  He squeezed her hand when she whispered a very faint, "I do." Her refusal, his thinking continued as he looked down at her, must denote some sort of honor, some sort of honesty. Nor did she seem to want him, but that made sense to him given her experiences. He would soon change her mind about that. He wasn't a clod and she would be his wife. He thought of all the women he'd enjoyed since he'd come to manhood, how he'd pleasured them and teased them and laughed with them. And now, he must tie himself to the one woman who didn't want him. She was marrying him because she had no choice. At least they were even on that, he thought. He would never have considered marriage with her, despite the fact that she did, on occasion, give as good as she got. No, his honor demanded it, nothing more.

  Sophie was pleased that she'd gotten her response out of her mouth. However, she was disgusted that she had sounded like a bleating goat, but the truth of the matter was, even though he was saving her, and she was well aware of what he was saving her from, he scared her to death.

  Once he had her as his wife, he would be free to do anything he pleased with her. She knew that; her uncle had told her that often enough. She didn't believe he would beat her, no, Ryder wasn't that kind of man. What scared her was having him take her body, have it as his right, however and whenever he pleased. On the other hand, he'd already had her, and thus he'd seen her body, just as she'd seen his. Surely he hadn't hurt her. She'd felt nothing the next morning, not a bit of pain or discomfort. No, he hadn't hurt her.

  And it would just be for one night.

  She was scared. She fingered the soft muslin gown Coco had sewn for her throughout the afternoon. It was lovely and it was snowy white. That made her smile. "You'll look like a virgin sacrifice," he'd said when she'd shown him the nearly completed gown.

  She wished the vicar would just be done with it. She felt sick to her stomach. She was terrified, not only of Ryder, but of Sherman Cole. She wondered if she and Jeremy truly would be aboard the ship tomorrow and be safe, once and for all.

  She remembered when Ryder had come to fetch her for dinner. He'd come into the room, all elegant and handsome as the devil's right h
and, and he'd just smiled at her.

  "You're beautiful, you know that?"

  She merely shrugged. "Passable, I would say."

  "No, beautiful. Are you ready? The vicar is here. We'll have dinner first, then the ceremony. I'm sorry about you not having anyone from Camille Hall, but we can't risk it."

  "You don't have to do this, Ryder."

  "Be quiet," he said quite pleasantly, offered her his arm, and walked beside her down the wide stair­case.

  Ryder felt her quiver when he said his vows. "Don't," Ryder said quietly. "Don't stiffen up on me. Trust me, Sophie. It will be over soon and then nothing bad will ever touch you again."

  She didn't believe him but it didn't seem to be the thing to say to him now that he would be her husband. She saw Jeremy smiling just like he'd been offered the world. Ryder had won him over with an ease that astounded her.

  It was over. There were congratulations. Samuel looked delighted and immensely relieved. Then he turned to Sophie, hugged her against him, and said quietly, "It will be fine for you now, my dear. I have always believed that things happen for a reason. You and Jeremy were meant to leave Jamaica and return to England. You will trust your new husband. Once he realizes the right way, he embraces it with­out hesitation. Yes, Sophia, trust him, for he's a very good man."