The Hellion Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  He took her hand in his.

  The sky was beginning to lighten into morning. Ryder stood on deck of the Harbinger beside Sophie. "Don't forget to give my brother the letter," he said for the third time. "And don't worry. He will take good care of you and Jeremy. My mother could be a bit of a problem, but she's unaccountable. If she chooses not to be charming to you, simply ignore her, all right? You'll have quite an ally in Alex, I doubt not. Have you put the money I gave you in a safe place?"

  "Yes, Ryder."

  "Does your belly feel all right this morning?"

  "Yes."

  "You promise to hire two guards at Southampton?"

  "Yes."

  He frowned at her. "You think I'm treating you like a child, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Look, Sophie, I've never had a wife before, never really had any responsibilities of this sort before except of course for the chil—" He broke that off and shook his head at himself. He couldn't seem to keep his tongue quiet in his mouth around her. He would tell her about the children, but in his own time, in his own way. She was looking at him, an eyebrow lifted in silent question, but he merely shook his head, and continued. "In any case, you and Jeremy are mine now and I want to make certain you will be all right."

  "We will be fine. Don't worry. Are you sure your family won't toss us out on our ears?"

  "I won't lie to you. They will be very surprised. I hadn't planned to marry, at least for a very long time. I would appreciate it, Sophie, if you would try to make my family believe you are at least a bit fond of me, that you don't look upon me as a ravening beast."

  Captain Mallory appeared at Ryder's elbow. There was a wide grin on his broad, ugly face. " 'Tis time for you to remove yourself, Mr. Sherbrooke. Your bride will be fine. Give her another hug and a kiss and get off my ship."

  He smiled down at Sophie. "Can I have a kiss?"

  She raised her face, her lips pursed. He lightly touched his fingertip to her lips, pressing slight­ly, then he kissed her very gently, with very little pressure. He felt a shudder in her but didn't know if it was from fear, nervousness, or wonderful lust. Somehow he doubted the latter.

  "You will be careful," he said yet again, patted her cheek, walked over to Jeremy, hugged the boy tightly, ruffled his hair, and said, "Keep her spirits up, Jeremy. I'll return to England as soon as all this nonsense is taken care of. Be a good boy. Another thing. I'm quite fond of you so you will be careful of yourself as well."

  He strode down the gangplank. He watched it hauled onto the ship's deck. He watched the sun rise full in the sky now and stood very still listening to Captain Mallory shouting his orders. He waved a final time to his bride and his new brother-in-law.

  He continued to wait on the dock until the ship was gone from view. He turned then, smiling. She was safe now, completely safe. He whistled as he mounted his horse to return to Kimberly Hall.

  At one o'clock that afternoon Sherman Cole arrived. Ryder smiled as he watched the man dismount and walk toward the veranda where he sat, a glass of lemonade in his hand. Samuel and Emile came out of the house and Ryder felt the relief radiating from them.

  "What an unexpected surprise," Ryder said, and yawned deeply. He didn't rise. "Have you come to bring more discord, make more threats?"

  "Damn you to hell, Sherbrooke!"

  Ryder's eyebrow went up. "I beg your pardon? I truly didn't strike you that hard, though you deserved it."

  "I was certain you'd lied, I would have wagered all I possessed that you had lied, damn you. And you did, of course, to protect that little slut."

  "Where are all your bully boys?" Emile asked quickly before Ryder could rise from his chair and flatten Sherman Cole again.

  "They're looking for Thomas."

  "I wager you'll have to pay him quite a bit of mon­ey once you catch up to him. He probably won't trust you. You'll have to convince him that you want him to help you hang Miss Stanton-Greville."

  "Pay him! Ha, I will hang the bastard! He lied to me, he made a fool of me."

  Now this was the wrong play, Ryder thought, blank-brained. This is a comedy, not a tragedy.

  "What do you mean?" Samuel asked.

  "Burgess wasn't shot, nor was he stabbed, as Sherbrooke here said. He was garroted. Dammit, she couldn't have killed him, she doesn't have the strength."

  He turned away, stomped to his horse, mounted, and rode away, never once looking back.

  Ryder didn't move. "Dear God," he said at last, "I didn't have to marry her. I didn't have to ship her and Jeremy back to England. To be only twenty-five years old and be done in by irony."

  "It's better done," Samuel said. "One never knows what Cole will do next."

  But Ryder was immersed in contemplation of his fate. Well, perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad fate. One would have to see about that. He sighed and rose. He shook his head and said, "Garroted, the bastard was garroted."

  He shook his head again. "I'll be damned," he said, and walked to the stables.

  CHAPTER

  12

  The English Channel, seven weeks later

  Sophie and Jeremy stood side by side on deck, the fog-laden wind blowing into their faces, tight­ly holding the wooden railing because the water was choppy, the waves splashing high and rocking even the solid barkentine with their force. Jeremy was nearly squealing with excitement because he'd been the first to see the English shoreline through the thick fog bank. Gravesend, he'd shouted. As for Sophie, she wanted to shout hallelujahs as the English coast neared. She felt equal parts of anticipation and belly-deep fear as she watched the billowing fog bank just off port. Nearly home, but not really hers and Jeremy's home in Fowey, but Ryder's home—Northcliffe Hall.

  The trip had been long and uneventful. Captain Mallory and his first mate, Mr. Mattison, both puff-chested Scotsmen who had nearly identical bald heads, had kept Jeremy and her entertained with the best tall tales they'd ever heard.

  Sophie had tried to structure the days as best she could. She gave Jeremy French lessons an hour each morning. Captain Mallory tutored Jeremy in astronomy and navigation, the first mate taught him geography and gave him access to his collection of novels and plays that filled his small cab­in to overflowing. Jeremy was nearly through the Restoration. As for Sophie, she too had nearly read her way through all the first mate's books as well. She occasionally wondered what she'd do when she turned the last page and closed the last book.

  One afternoon several days before, Sophie and Jeremy were playing chess in their small cabin. A light rain splattered against the single porthole. The room was warm. Sophie played with verve and enthu­siasm, but not much strategy. Jeremy, on the other hand, excelled in patience and tactics. He invariably beat her soundly, but it was slow torture, and Jeremy was heard to groan frequently.

  She said after she'd moved her queen's bishop, "We will be home soon. Rather, we will arrive in Southampton."

  "Yes, Ryder told me that a carriage would get us to Northcliffe Hall all in one day. He didn't want us to have to stop at an inn for the night because we're alone. He said I had to grow another foot at least before I could protect you properly." Jeremy smiled then and added, "Ryder's going to teach me how to fight."

  "I'm delighted it pleases you so, but heed me, love, one doesn't necessarily need a man. I'm not a fool or helpless."

  "Of course you're not like most girls," Jeremy said, not looking up at her, his entire attention now on the position of his pieces and his burgeoning strategy. "Ryder said you'd say something like that. He also said that he was responsible for both of us now and that was the end to it."

  "Perhaps you would like to discuss some of the plays both of us have read."

  Jeremy easily accepted her change of subject. "I was reading one of the Restoration plays and Mr. Mattison saw it. I thought he'd throw it overboard he was so upset. He turned red in the face and actually sputtered at me. Even the top of his head turned red. It was a remarkable sight."

  Sophie chuckled. "Some o
f those plays are fairly racy. Perhaps you'd best show me what you plan to read before you read it."

  Jeremy frowned as he looked up at his sister. "I've got to learn all about men and women sometime, Sophie. In the plays they act pretty silly and do the most outlandish things. As for the other part of it, it just seems strange to me."

  "I think you're right about the strange part," Sophie said. She thought of Ryder and felt a pang of something—guilt? Anger? She wasn't certain. She did know, however, that she missed him—his wit, his outrageousness, the way he teased her until her eyes nearly crossed with rage. She looked up when Jeremy moved his queen's bishop pawn.

  "Oh ho, it appears you want to trample my cen­ter." She moved her king's knight, a mindless move really, then sat back in her chair, her arms folded over her chest. "That should take care of your foolish hopes."

  Jeremy said as he fiddled with a rook, "You're not very happy, Sophie. You miss Ryder, don't you? I know I do. He's a great brother-in-law. I'm glad you married him. I'm glad we left Jamaica, because we are English, you know. But still it's kind of scary." He finally released the rook and moved his queen's bishop instead. "Do you think his family will like us?"

  "I pray so, Jeremy." Nor did she miss Jamaica. All the happiness she'd experienced on Jamaica could be weighed in her left hand.

  "Well, I don't see why they wouldn't like us. We're nice and we know how to use our forks at the dinner table. You shouldn't have moved that knight. It was a bad move. I'm not just going to trample your cen­ter. I don't have to. Checkmate, Sophie."

  "Why," she said aloud, "don't I ever learn?"

  Sophie shook away the memory. She prayed every night that she and Jeremy wouldn't be shunted aside by Ryder's powerful brother, Douglas Sherbrooke. After that she simply stared off into space. She didn't know what to pray for. She couldn't begin to imagine her future. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes and she slapped it away.

  Seven interminable weeks. It was nearly over. She wondered how much longer it would be before Ryder returned home. She would have to be a wife to him, whatever that would mean.

  She immediately shied away from that.

  Jeremy waved to Clancey, the third mate, a young man full of high spirits and liking for children. "Aye," he'd told Sophie at the beginning of the long voyage, "I was one of nine nippers, and there was only me ma to see to us. Don't ye worry about Jeremy here. He be a good lad. I'll see he don't go headfirst into the briny deep." Sophie liked him. He appeared utterly disinterested in her; some of the other sailors looked to be interested but they kept their distance, thanks to a frank discussion the captain had given them. "As the only woman on board, ma'am," he'd told her, "you will still be careful." And she had.

  She was bored. She was also worried.

  She made herself dizzy trying to structure the future for her and Jeremy.

  Southampton at eight o'clock on a drizzly, foggy morning was an alien landscape with men yelling on the docks, drays and wagons of all sizes being loaded and unloaded. As it turned out, the first mate, Mr. Mattison, escorted them to the Outrigger Inn and hired a carriage and two outriders, just as Ryder had demanded.

  Ryder had his way even here. She'd had no choice in the matter. She smiled up at Mr. Mattison and offered him her hand. "Thank you. You were kind to us. Good-bye."

  Jeremy begged to ride on top of the carriage with the coachman, but Sophie said he couldn't until after the fog burned off and the sun came out.

  The weather remained horrible.

  Jeremy fidgeted until Sophie released him to ride with the coachman. It was after a lunch of codfish and strawberries that Sophie's stomach rebelled. Four hours later when the carriage pulled into the long winding drive of Northcliffe Hall, there was no one inside the carriage. Sophie and Jeremy sat huddled together against the drizzling rain, the driver pressed against Jeremy's other side.

  An hour before Sophie had ceased to care. She felt trickles of rain snake down the back of her neck. She was shuddering from cold. There was gooseflesh on her arms.

  "Goodness, Sophie, it's so big!"

  She looked and swallowed. Northcliffe Hall was overwhelming, a huge Palladian mansion of three stories. She couldn't imagine real people living in that awesome structure. The two outriders, bored and wondering why the devil their escort had been needed in the first place—good hell, the girl had ridden on top like a serving wench—accepted pay­ment from Sophie and took themselves off. As for the coachman, he scratched his head, stared from Sophie to Jeremy and back again and said, "Well, miss, this is the fancy cove's abode what ye wanted to come to. Northcliffe 'All. All right an' tight. Be ye sure this is where ye should be?"

  Sophie wanted very much to say no, but she merely nodded, paid the man, and watched him bowl down the drive. She and Jeremy were left in front of the wide, deep stairs of the mansion, their two paltry valises sitting forlornly beside them on the gravel drive. Rain dripped off the end of her nose.

  Had Sophie but had more than the hundred pounds Ryder had given her, she would have turned on her heel and left immediately. She would have walked to Fowey. She would have carried Jeremy to Fowey when he got tired of walking. But again she had no choice. She stood there for another minute, feeling more alone than she ever had before in her life, just staring up at the three-story mansion with ivy rich and green up the west side of it until Jeremy tugged on her sleeve.

  "Sophie, I'm wetter than a wharf rat. Let's go in."

  She shivered, picked up both their valises, and began climbing the deeply grooved marble steps. "That sounds like a verbal gift from Clancey. Con­trive to forget it, Jeremy."

  "Do you think they'll let us stay?" Jeremy whis­pered, his eyes large now with fright as they neared the incredibly huge double doors. There were large brass lion heads for doorknobs. The lions' mouths even had brass teeth. The doors looked more solid than a live oak tree.

  "Of course," she said, and began another series of devout prayers.

  There was an overhang just in front of the massive doors and Sophie pulled Jeremy out of the cold driz­zle. She looked at the bellpull. There was no hope for it. The poor relations had arrived.

  She pulled the bellcord with all her might. She jumped at the full-bodied ringing that seemed to reverberate throughout the mansion. They hadn't long to wait.

  The door opened without a creak or a groan. A footman in dark blue and green livery stood before them. He was small and slender and he didn't say anything, just stared at them and blinked.

  He was an older man, as bald as Captain Mallory and Mr. Mattison had been. He opened his mouth then and said, "Would you care to go to the servants' entrance?"

  "No," Sophie said, and forced a smile. She could well imagine how the two of them looked.

  "I saw you arrive, both of you sitting on top of the coach. Perhaps you're looking for employment? Then you must speak to Mrs. Peacham. As for the boy, I don't—"

  "We are here to see the Earl of Northcliffe. You will show us to him immediately, if you please."

  Her speech was upper class, no doubt about that, but there was a faint lilt to it, a sort of strange drawl that Jamieson couldn't identify. So she wanted the earl, did she? She and the boy looked like beggars. Wet beggars. He could tell the girl's gown was too short. Doubtless they wanted charity. The gall of these two. He drew himself up, ready to tell the minx what she could do with her demands when there came another man's voice. "What have we here, Jamieson?"

  "Ah, Mr. Hollis, sir. These two just climbed off a carriage box. This one here's demanding to see the earl. I was just endeavoring to—"

  Mr. Hollis looked at Sophie. She looked back at him. He smiled and stepped aside, ushering them in.

  "Do come in, ma'am, and the lad too. Ah, the weather isn't what one would wish, is it? You are both wet and cold. Come with me. Jamieson, take the bags, please, and place them at the foot of the stairs."

  "Who is he?" Jeremy asked behind his hand. "Is he the earl?"

  "I don't know."
<
br />   "This is all very strange, Sophie."

  Their footsteps resounded in the immense entry hall. A huge chandelier hung overhead, its crystals glittering in the dim afternoon light. Italian black and white marble squares stretched in all direc­tions. There were paintings on every wall, and even several suits of armor set on either side of a huge fireplace. Sophie remembered their snug Georgian house in Fowey. They'd had a chandelier there as well, only it wasn't as large as a room. When Ryder had spoken of his home, she'd never imagined any­thing like this. There were maids and more footmen, all looking at them, and, Sophie knew, whispering about them behind their hands.

  She wanted to be sick. Her chin went up.

  Mr. Hollis led them down a vast corridor into a small room that, luckily, had a blazing fire burning in the grate.

  "I will inform the earl of your arrival. Now, may I give him your name, ma'am?"

  "Yes," Sophie said. Suddenly, she grinned, for it really was too much. "Please tell the earl that his sister-in-law and brother-in-law have arrived from Jamaica."

  The man's dark eyes never registered anything but calm acceptance. If she wasn't mistaken, there was even a sudden gleaming in his eyes. "I see. Do remove your cloaks and dry yourselves. I am quite certain the earl will wish to see you immediately."

  They were left alone in the small room. The drap­eries were drawn against the chill afternoon. It looked to be a lady's salon, with its feminine desk and pale green and yellow furnishings. There was a pile of books on the floor beside a comfortable wingchair. It was a lovely room and so unlike any room in Jamaica.