The Hellion Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  She looked over at her new husband. He was hug­ging Jeremy against him and the boy was chattering faster than a magpie and Ryder was laughing and nodding.

  Suddenly, without warning, all the happy chatter began to die away. Ryder looked up to see Sherman Cole standing in the doorway of the salon.

  Sophie wanted to sink into the mangrove swamp. She didn't move. She watched Ryder stride over to Cole.

  "What a pleasure, Mr. Cole. However, you weren't invited. What do you want now?"

  Sherman Cole looked around the room. He stared at Sophie, standing there like a pale statue, in her wedding gown, her white wedding gown. He saw Samuel standing there beside her, her arm in his, and he said, "Good God, you think to protect the little slut by marrying her off? Has that fool Grayson really married her? He actually married the little tart?"

  Ryder sighed. "Did I not warn you before? You are slow of wit, sir, and an unspeakable embarrass­ment."

  "But he can't be married to her! Look here, Samuel, it will make no difference! She murdered her poor uncle. I will come for her tomorrow, once we've examined Burgess's body. You will have only one night with her, no more, so be certain you enjoy it! And then it will be my turn, that is to say, I will see that justice is well done and—"

  Ryder hit him cleanly in the jaw. Sherman Cole went down in a graceless heap. Ryder grabbed the man beneath his arms and heaved and tugged until he'd managed to drag him behind a chair. His legs still stuck out. He pulled the chair out a bit more and shoved Cole completely behind it. Then he moved the chair back in place. He looked over at Sophie, grinned, and rubbed his hands together.

  "That was fun," he said when he rejoined her. "Emile, when he rouses himself, why don't you see him back to Montego Bay. I like the notion that he believes Sophie is married to your father. He will remain unworried and quite pleased with him­self."

  "Now," Samuel said, "let us go into the dining room. I want to toast both of you with that cham­pagne James unearthed for you."

  She remained still and pale. Ryder frowned down at her. "Stop it," he said, and when she didn't, he pulled her against him and kissed her. Not hard, but very lightly, his mouth barely touching hers, gently pressing, but not demanding. Then he said into her mouth, "I am your husband. I will protect you. Cole won't touch you."

  She was afraid. She didn't move. When he finally released her, he wasn't frowning, but he still looked thoughtful. She hadn't kissed him back, but then again, she'd just had another unpleasant shock.

  "You know something, Sophie, I did indeed protect you this time. On the other hand, to be completely honest, I wanted very much to hit him, so I can't be certain that my motives were all that pure. But let's be kind and assume they were. Now, can I believe that you would likewise protect me?"

  "I already did."

  He grinned at her. "Yes, you were a marvel. Will you continue to be my Amazon? Will you continue to protect me?"

  'You aren't Jeremy."

  "No, I'm not. I'm your husband and, in the future scheme of things, I'm more important."

  "Yes," she said on a sigh. "I will protect you, Ryder."

  "Good."

  Ryder looked back over his shoulder once. He saw Cole's feet sticking out from beneath the chair. What the devil had the man wanted? It was a long ride to and from Montego Bay. Had he merely come to gloat? To terrify Sophie? To try to intimidate the rest of them?

  Ryder forgot Cole. Tonight he would have her. Very soon now. No more than three more hours and he would have her naked and in his arms and in his bed. He would have to sate himself on her to make up for the weeks they would be separated.

  He was humming as he walked beside her into the dining room. He seated Sophie on his right hand then took the master's chair. He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. She didn't move.

  "Emile will take Cole away," he said. "Perhaps he'll find out how and what Cole found out and why he came here tonight."

  "I wish I could have hit him," she said.

  He was pleased. "Would you really? Well, perhaps I can find him again and bring him back to you. Show me your fist."

  She did and he neatly tucked her thumb under. "Whenever you hit someone, don't let your thumb stick out. You could get it broken. That's it."

  "You bruised your knuckles."

  "Ah, but don't you see? One must weigh the bruises against the fun of it. Now, my dear, you're a new bride. Raise your glass and lightly touch it to mine. Yes, that's right. Now smile. Good."

  She sipped the champagne. It was wonderful, cool and tart.

  She took another longer drink.

  Conversation at the table was brisk. As each new bottle of champagne was uncorked, the laughter and noise increased. The vicar recounted a jest about a saint who was accidentally sent to hell. He told it with all the enthusiasm of a devout sinner.

  Ryder laughed until he looked at his wife. 'You're too damned quiet. You ate almost no dinner."

  "I didn't want this to happen," she said, eyes down on the plate with its slice of pineapple cake.

  "It's happened. Get used to it. Accept it."

  "I suppose there's nothing else to do," she said, and took another drink of her champagne.

  "Are you planning to drink yourself insensible?"

  "No, I don't think that's possible."

  "Oh, it is, believe me. Young men do the most ridiculous things, you know, like drinking them­selves into unconsciousness, singing at the top of their lungs even while they're falling flat on their faces under a table."

  He was smiling at her charmingly, laughing, seducing her with the best weapons in his arsenal. It wasn't working.

  "You're tired, Sophie?"

  'Yes," she said, then realized the import of her words and actually jerked back in her chair.

  "How are your ribs?"

  "They hurt dreadfully as do my feet and—"

  "You're a very bad liar. You didn't use to be, but you are now, now that I know you."

  "You don't know me, Ryder. You truly don't."

  "I will come to know you. It is something I want very badly. It's unfortunate we will be separated. I will give you a letter to present to my brother the earl once you arrive at Northcliffe Hall. Also I will give you sufficient funds so that you and Jeremy can rent a carriage at Southampton and several guards. Promise me you will hire guards."

  She promised.

  He was looking at the swell of her breasts above the soft lace over her bosom. "You're thin at the moment, but I don't mind. I'll fatten you up."

  "Since I am with child, that will most certainly happen."

  Lies, Ryder thought. It was damned difficult to keep up with them. Still, he said easily, "The child, as I've told you, isn't necessarily a foregone conclu­sion. It's possible that you're pregnant. I hope that if you aren't pregnant you won't be too disappointed."

  "I don't feel well. I must be pregnant."

  That was interesting, he thought. He sat back in his chair, twirling the stem of his champagne glass between his long fingers. "You know, Sophie, there's no reason for you to be embarrassed around me. No, please don't waste my time or yours deny­ing it. I told you I know women. Please strive to remember that you're not a virgin since I took you. And I did look my fill at you. I even kissed that very cute birthmark of yours behind your left knee. So, you see, there is no need at all for embarrass­ment."

  "That's true, I guess, but still—"

  "Still what?"

  "I wasn't really there when you did all those things to me."

  "You will simply have to trust me."

  "Trust you the way you trusted me?"

  "All the past lurid machinations are over, all the druggings are over, though I still admit to a burgeoning of rage when I think of you and your uncle stripping me and offering me up to that other girl. What was her name, by the way?"

  "Dahlia. She looked at you and said you were a treat."

  When Ryder grinned she quickly added, "But not enough of a treat for my uncle not to pay her
."

  "Did you watch me with her, Sophie?"

  "Just for a moment because my uncle said I had to, that you were the kind of man to share intimacies with his mistress and thus I had to be prepared to be intimate in my speech back to you, but I couldn't bear it, and left the cottage."

  "It was a very nasty game. Now, my dear wife, you and I are going upstairs."

  Not ten minutes later, she was staring at him across the bedchamber. He'd shut and locked the door. Then he was striding confidently toward her, smiling, looking at her with the victor's gleam in his blue eyes.

  She did look like a virgin sacrifice, he thought, staring at her. He supposed it was at that moment he accepted the fact that she was indeed a virgin, that all her supposed lovers had enjoyed Dahlia, that Samuel had been right when he'd said that she simply wouldn't play the whore, no matter the cost.

  He wondered briefly if he should tell her that she was still a virgin, and that he'd told her a mag­nificent lie to prevent her from marrying Samuel Grayson. Even as a silent thought, it didn't sound all that promising as a way to bring her around. It made him sound like a bastard, truth be told. No, no, he'd keep it to himself. He had all the time in the world to tell her whatever he wanted to tell her. The truth could wait a bit longer.

  He took her in his arms. He didn't kiss her, just said as he looked down at her, "I know you have seen some of what men and women do together in bed. I know from firsthand experience that you know how to seduce a man, how to tease him until he's hard as a stone and willing to say anything, promise anything, to you. However, I know you've never experienced any of it, even with me, because of the odd circumstances. We are going very slowly, Sophie. I don't want you to hark back to the repug­nant experiences you've had. They're not important now. Only you and I are important. Do you under­stand me?"

  "I don't want this, Ryder. I need time."

  "You will have all the time you wish after tonight, at least seven weeks of it. I'm not like those other pawing cretins. I will please you, I will make you forget all their annoying habits."

  His hands were on her back, lightly stroking up and down, slowly, soothing, as if she were a child, as if she were a wary animal to be tamed. She saw Lord David, felt his hands on her, his mouth on hers. And Oliver Susson and Charles Grammond, and Dickey Mason, another man her uncle had ruined with her help. There were two others, one of them now dead, the other a drunkard who'd left Jamaica in disgrace. Dear God, it was too much. She hated it. She hated herself and she hated him for forcing her into this marriage. She pulled away from him suddenly, tak­ing him by surprise, and he let her go.

  She walked quickly to the balcony, not turning to face him until she was to the railing.

  When she turned back, he was where she'd left him, standing in the middle of the room, only now he was taking off his coat. She froze, watching him. Next came his cravat. Then he was unfastening his shirt and vest. Then he sat down on a wicker chair and pulled off his boots. When he rose again, his hands on the buttons of his britches, she yelled, "No! What are you doing? Stop it!"

  "Why?" he said. "I can't offend your maiden's sen­sibilities. Good God, woman, you've seen me naked. Not only have you seen me naked, you've seen my sex swelled. You've seen my eyes glazed with lust. There's nothing new for you. Didn't you see all the other men as well?"

  She stared at him, unmoving. He was soon naked, and as he had been before, his sex was swelled, but he made no move toward her. Instead, he held out his hand. "Come here, Sophie. It's time we began our married life together."

  "I don't feel well," she said.

  "Very well," he said more to himself than to her, and walked toward her.

  Her wedding gown defeated her. She tried to duck around him but the skirts tangled between her legs and she couldn't move quickly enough. She tripped on the lace hem and felt the material rip beneath her left arm. She hadn't meant to hurt the gown. It was so beautiful, she hadn't meant it. Ryder's impatient voice brought her back to another misery.

  "No more fighting me, Sophie. It's done. You're my wife. No more, do you hear me? We've only tonight and I want to consummate this damned marriage."

  "Let me go."

  "Not on your life. I'm going to undress you, Sophie. You will not fight me. You took a vow to obey me and it's time you took that vow seriously."

  She raised her head and looked at him straightly. "From my uncle's domination to yours. I want to be free, don't you understand? A man is born with the taste of freedom in his mouth, but the chances that a woman can ever gain freedom are remote. It's just as I knew it would be. You're no different from the others. All of you are animals, selfish and brutal."

  "I'm quite different from the others. I'm your hus­band until the day I stick my spoon in the wall."

  She was standing stiff as a pole, watching him.

  He had, suddenly, the most awful presentiment that she would never come to want him. No, that was absurd. He wouldn't allow it.

  He sighed. "All right. Sit down. Let's talk for a little while."

  She sat and he saw the relief flood her face, damn her. "Now, do you have more proclamations of men's dishonesty and general brutishness?"

  She didn't look at him. She said at last, "I suppose it is stupid of me. You already took me and looked your fill at me and I suppose you didn't hurt me because the next morning I felt nothing. But you see, I didn't know you were looking at me, I didn't know anything." She raised her head and looked at him straightly. "It is difficult, Ryder."

  "I'll make it easier. All you have to do is trust me. Now, about your freedom. I shan't lock you up, Sophie, if you believe that's what men do to their wives. For the most part I imagine you will do pre­cisely as you please. If by freedom you mean you can't sail to the ends of the earth by yourself, that's quite true and the reasons are obvious. You are a woman and thus weaker than a man. You could be hurt. But in the future who knows? Perhaps we will visit faraway places together."

  It wasn't at all what she'd meant by freedom but it didn't matter now. It was moot.

  "I won't ever hurt you, Sophie, or beat you or threaten you. I think men who do are utter bas­tards. Your uncle was a conscienceless villain. He wasn't normal; he was twisted. I'm not like that. None of my friends are like that. I will never hurt you."

  "I have no reason to believe you."

  'You have no reason to disbelieve me." Ryder rose and offered her his hand. "Come inside. It's time to go to bed. I'll help you with the gown."

  No choice, she thought. No more choices at all. She went with him. Soon her gown was open on her back and he was gently easing it down. He dropped a light kiss on her shoulder and felt her flinch.

  "Take the gown off now. I assume you will want to keep it since it's your wedding gown. Doubtless you can repair that rip. It doesn't look too bad to me. Do you have space in your valise for it?"

  'Yes."

  She wanted to mend the gown now, truth be told. The night stretched out before her in a terrifying long number of minutes. But even Sophie knew from the look on Ryder's face that she'd pushed him far enough. She saw her uncle's face in its stead, the fury darkening his eyes when she'd pushed him. She remembered the pain of his fists, the rippling of her flesh when they struck. She was soon standing only in her chemise and stockings.

  "You didn't wear slippers at your own wedding," he said, bemused. "I had thought you were tall­er. Let's get those stockings off, I want to look at your feet."

  She sat on the edge of the bed wearing only her white muslin chemise, Ryder on his haunches in front of her, completely oblivious of the fact he didn't have any clothes on.

  "Your feet are healing nicely," he said. "There are only a couple of cuts that still look tender. On board ship, don't wear slippers unless you have to and be careful of the decks, you could get splinters. Now let me look at your ribs."

  He took her hand and drew her upright. He bent down to take the hem of her chemise in his hands. He stopped cold. He wanted to howl and laugh at the s
ame time at the damnable irony. It was his wedding night and he'd been done in.

  There was blood on her chemise.

  "You don't feel well, Sophie?"

  "Not very well. I'm not lying to you, Ryder. My stomach is cramping a bit."

  "No wonder," he said and sighed very deeply. "I'm sorry if this disappoints you, but you're not preg­nant."

  She gasped as she looked down at herself. She turned white.

  "No need to be embarrassed. Have you cloths?"

  She shook her head.

  "All right. I'll send Coco to you. Would you like some laudanum? Is the cramping bad?"

  "No. Yes."

  Fifteen minutes later Ryder stood beside the bed, wearing a dressing gown, looking down at his wife's pale face. Despite the heat she'd pulled the sheet up to her nose. He'd forced the laudanum down her throat, saying in a very irritated voice, "I swear not to ravish you whilst you're unconscious." To which she'd replied in an equally irritated voice, "Why not? You did before."

  That had stopped him cold. He looked down at her now. "So much for the vaunted Sherbrooke luck," he said more to himself than to her, and lifted the sheet. He eased in beside her. "No, Sophie, don't have a fit and don't squirm around so much, you might fall on the floor. I won't force you to have me tonight. Hush now. The laudanum should be taking effect soon. That's right, just close your eyes and breathe deeply. Would you like me to rub your belly?"

  He didn't expect an answer and he didn't get one. A short time later he heard her breathing evenly into sleep.