The Hellion Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  Lady Lydia wasn't at all daunted by this proof of her error, and not at all remorseful about the insult she'd just dished out to her daughter-in-law, for she usually dished out too many in the course of a day to remember more than a fraction of them. Her hands remained on her hips and her nostrils still quivered with indignation. She wasn't about to budge. She gave Sophie another long look, and said, "Well, the color is all wrong for her. Sallow, that's what it makes her, utterly sallow. Now, young woman, you dare to say you're married to my son. Well, you can't be. Ryder has always laughed when anyone mentioned marriage. He is content as he is with all his women. Therefore, you are a liar, an adventuress, doubtless a—"

  "Sorry, Alex, I lost track of her, but I'm here now. Hello, Mother."

  It was the earl, and he was actually out of breath. Sophie was tempted, but only for an instant, to laugh as she pictured this fiercesome man racing up the stairs and to this bedchamber to muzzle his mother.

  "Ah, I see you've met Sophie. Her little brother is also here. Jeremy is with Sinjun, I believe."

  As if recalling that he was the master, the earl strode like the lord he was into the room, giving Sophie a wink as he passed by her. He paused a moment and looked her up and down. He said to his wife, "You see, it is just as I said. You are quite unique. Now, Mother, would you like to welcome Sophie to Northcliffe Hall?"

  The earl sat down on a very feminine chair that all but groaned under his weight, but his dark eyes were calm and deep on his mother's face, and if Sophie had been in the older woman's slippers, she would have stammered something quite inoffensive and slithered out of the room. She prayed she would never have to cross swords with this man. He was honed as the sharpest of knives.

  "Well, what am I to think?" Lady Lydia said, her voice peevish. "Come, Douglas, don't tell me you believe her. Just look at her. Why, dear Ryder wouldn't look at her a second time."

  "I imagine he had to, Mother, for they are mar­ried. You see, Ryder wrote me a letter introducing her and Jeremy. I would appreciate it if you would accord her one of your lovely smiles and welcome her here."

  Sophie would have smiled like a fool if those qui­etly spoken, utterly calm words had been directed at her. Lady Lydia fidgeted a moment, then said stiff as a poker, "You are here. My son, who is also the earl and thus must be accorded respect and patience, has accepted you. We will see if you remain once my other son returns."

  Back straight as a broom handle, Lady Lydia marched from the bedchamber.

  The earl said to his pale-faced wife, "Have you been giving my mother lessons, my dear? That straight back of hers rivals yours at your most arrogant. Surely you must have instructed her."

  "I wish you'd been faster," Alex said.

  "Sorry, but as I said, she moves very rapidly when she wants to. The gown does make you look a bit sallow, Sophie. You must avoid shades of yellow. They look lovely on Alex, but you need pale pastels, I believe. Have you a soft pink, Alex?"

  Alex owned three such soft pink gowns. Within fifteen minutes, the countess was tucked down for a nap, the maid had taken the pale pink gown away to alter, and Sophie was in her bedchamber, staring at the huge cherrywood armoire that held a goodly number of men's clothes. Ryder's clothes. She was in his bedchamber.

  It simply hadn't occurred to her that she would be put in his bedchamber. To await him. What to do?

  Ryder's bedchamber.

  She walked over to the window that gave out onto the front drive. She saw Jeremy walking with his slow hitched gait beside Sinjun from the stables. She'd slowed her own step to match his. He was speaking with great animation, using his hands, just like his father, and Sinjun was looking down at him, smiling and nodding. Sophie felt a surge of gratitude. The sun had come out in the late after­noon and the beautiful grounds were lush and green, the flowers in bloom, not the suffocating sort of lush bloom on Jamaica, but nonetheless, it was beauti­ful. She wondered where the naked Greek statues were kept.

  With Ryder living here, she would have imagined his windows looking over the statues. She found herself walking around the bedchamber, opening drawers in the dressers, seeing her underclothing next to his. It was disconcerting. It was frightening. She very quietly closed the dresser drawers. She lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

  It was a blustery day, cold with dampness heavy in the air. Sophie dismounted Lilah, the bay mare the earl had given her to ride, tethered her to the skinny branch of a yew bush, and walked to the edge of the cliff. Waves crashed on the rocks some fifty feet below. The beach was littered with driftwood, tangled seaweed, huge boulders, and very dark sand that looked wet and cold. She was shivering, and it surprised her still. She'd been cold ever since she and Jeremy set foot in England. She wrapped her arms over her chest and didn't move for a very long time. The savagery of the scene below held her silent. She stood there very quietly, rubbing her arms, her hair blowing about her face, soon free of its knot at the back of her neck.

  This was the earl's thinking place, Sinjun had told her. However, her sister-in-law had added, a twin­kle in her incredible Sherbrooke blue eyes, Douglas hadn't visited here very much at all since he'd mar­ried Alex and not at all since he'd decided to keep her as his wife. It was just as well; Sophie liked hav­ing the barren cliff and the churning water below all to herself. She'd spent hours here during the past week, escaping Lady Lydia's tongue and all the curious Northcliffe Hall eyes.

  She sat down on a rock, arranging her riding skirt over her legs. Her mare suddenly whinnied and she looked up. It wasn't the earl riding toward her or even Sinjun, who came here quite often and simply sat at her feet, quiet and undemanding, but a man she'd met in the village several days before. His name, if she remembered aright, was Sir Robert Pickering. He was well into his thirties, married and a father of five daughters. He reminded Sophie of Lord David Lochridge, even to the assessing, very possessive way he'd looked at her when Alex had introduced them. She'd disliked him then, and his arrival here, on Sherbrooke land, made her dislike show on her face. She knew his sort, indeed she did, and she braced herself.

  Sir Robert dismounted and strode to her. He stood over her, hands on hips, just smiling down at her.

  "I was told I'd find you here. I trust you recall who I am? Certainly you do. All ladies remember gentlemen who look at them as I did you. You know, my dear girl, once Ryder returns you will be in dire straits, and he must return very soon now. Indeed, I expected him to come sooner. You must know he keeps many women and not one of them has he ever allowed to stay at Northcliffe Hall."

  Oh yes, she knew his sort quite well. Sophie gave him a lazy look and yawned. "This is Sherbrooke land. I would that you leave now. And no, I don't remember your name at all. For the life of me I cannot imagine why I should."

  She'd angered him a bit and it pleased her. She yawned again. He said, "My name is Sir Robert Pickering, and oh no, I shan't leave just yet. I wish to speak to you. I came here to find you. To come to an agreement, if you will. It is all the talk of the district, you know, how you, this simple maid from Jamaica, arrived with the little lame boy as your shill and pulled the wool over the Earl of Northcliffe's eyes. Of course, he is still so besotted with his new wife that it is no wonder he accepted you. It is even said that Lady Lydia avoids a room when you are in it. But your fun will soon be over. Who knows when Ryder will come back? As I said, it must be very soon. He won't allow you to remain, you know. You will be unmasked. He will not bed you in his home. He is discreet. He is very likely to be angry with you for your gall and impertinence. I think you are a quite pretty girl. Thus, I am willing to provide for you, and the little lame boy, but you must leave Northcliffe now. I will install you in a cottage I own some miles from here."

  "I see," Sophie said, hating him so much her hands shook to shove him off the cliff. Sinjun had said on a giggle that he had a shocking reputation and all the ladies felt sorry for his wife, who, the poor wom­an, was continually with child. He was tolerated because his father had been a very
popular man.

  "Will you accept my offer, then?"

  Sophie controlled her anger. She clearly saw his pretensions, his conceits, his fateful pride that would make him do and say very stupid things. She even smiled at him now.

  "Tell me something, Sir Robert. Why are you so certain that I'm not married to Ryder Sherbrooke? Do you think I look like one of Ryder's women? Do I look like a girl who would be a man's mistress?"

  "No, you do not and that pleases me. Actually, the half dozen or so women I know Ryder has kept are quite varied. Some are so beautiful they make a man's rod swell, others are simply pretty, but their bodies—all their bodies are magnificent. Now, as I already told you, Ryder has a reputation. He enjoys dozens of women. He would never tie himself to just one. Thus, you are one of his mistresses. There is no other way for it. Did I tell you I was one of her ladyship's confidants, just as my father was before me? No? Well, Lady Lydia would like to see you at Jericho. I enjoy obliging her. I will take action. Will you accept my offer?"

  Sophie rose slowly. She dusted off her riding skirt. She smoothed out her gloves. As for her hair, she stuffed it as best she could under her riding hat. How very odd that it wasn't she who was regarded as the slut here, it was Ryder. She was only a slut by extension, for her husband couldn't be a husband and thus she had to be a liar. She gave him a remote look and said, "I would wager, Sir Robert, that you are the type of man to pin a maid against the stairs and fondle her."

  He looked taken aback, then he nodded slowly at her, as if she'd just confirmed something he'd been thinking. He said, "I knew you would be brazen behind that demure facade of yours. There's just something about you, something that teases a man, that makes him want to throw up your skirts. A man looks at you and knows that you are well aware of what he wants of you. Your eyes, perhaps. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Like for me to take you right here."

  "Your conceit is remarkable. If you come near me I will throw you over the cliff."

  He laughed, moved quick as a snake, and grabbed her arm, jerking her against him. She felt no fear, just vast annoyance. Men, she thought, they were all the same, no matter what the country. She remarked the clump of hair on his jaw that his valet had missed while shaving his master. She smelled the pea soup on his breath. She waited, looking bored.

  It enraged him. He crushed her against him and tried to find her mouth. But she eluded him. She knew he didn't understand, didn't accept that she wouldn't have him willingly. He grabbed her hair to hold her head still.

  "You really shouldn't do this," Sophie said, still calm. "I won't allow much more."

  "Ha," he said and managed to find her mouth. He touched her flesh, but that was all. Her hands were raised and fisted, her knee ready to come up and kick him in the groin. There was a furious yell behind him. Sophie felt him jerked like a mangy dog off her.

  It was Ryder and he looked beyond angry. He looked vicious.

  For a brief moment, she was so glad to see him she wanted to yell with it. He looked fit and tan and strong and she saw that his Sherbrooke blue eyes were alight with rage. She calmly watched him strike Sir Robert in the jaw with his fist. The man went down on his knees. Ryder reached for him again. Sophie laid her hand on his arm. "Don't, Ryder. He isn't worth bruising your knuckles and that is what would happen. He will already have to find an accept­able explanation for the wonderful bruise you've giv­en him. Let him go. He is a worm, after all."

  Ryder felt her words flow over him. He felt his rage lessen. His toes, however, still itched to kick the man in the ribs.

  "Did the cretin hurt you?"

  "Oh no. In fact—"

  Sir Robert stumbled to his feet. His rage was directed at Sophie, not at Ryder, who'd struck him. It was, Sophie knew, the way men reacted. They always blamed the woman. She drew herself up and waited for his venom.

  "She tried to seduce me, Ryder! Welcome home. I was here and she came and tried to seduce me!"

  Ryder struck him again, and this time he grinned while he did it.

  Sir Robert remained on the ground. "No one believes her tales, no one, particularly your moth­er. She claims to be your wife, Ryder, and everyone knows that's a patent falsehood. She wanted me, she's flirted shamelessly with all the men who've met her, she—"

  Ryder knelt down, jerked him up by his collar, and said not two inches from his face, "She is my wife. Her name is Sophia Sherbrooke. You will tell all these randy men that if any of them come near her again, I will kick them into next week. As for you, Bobbie, you irritate her again and I'll kill you. You say anything about her and I'll kill you. Do you understand, Bobbie?"

  Sir Robert nodded finally, and it was toward Sophie he shot a malignant look. He shook his head even as he backed away from Ryder toward his horse. "You are really married to her? To one single woman?" "Did I not tell you she was my wife?" Ryder said nothing more. He watched Sir Robert climb back onto his horse and kick the poor beast sharply in the sides. It wasn't until he was out of sight that Ryder turned to Sophie. She was standing there silently, the wind whipping her hair across her face, just looking at him, saying nothing. He smiled at her, reached out his hand and lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. He wound a tress of hair between two fingers.

  "It's been a very long time," he said, not moving himself. "They told me at the stable that you liked to come here. Hello, Sophie." "Hello."

  "Is this the first time Bobbie has bothered you?" "Yes. I would have handled him, Ryder. There was no need for you to play knight to my damsel in distress."

  His eyes narrowed. "I saw your knee ready to do him in. But I wanted to thrash him, Sophie. I am pleased you allowed me my fun. You understand that, don't you? You know men so well, after all." "Yes."

  "Why were you letting him kiss you?" "He very nearly pulled my hair from my scalp." Ryder shook himself. "This is bloody ridiculous. The last thing I want to talk about or think about is that damned lackwit Bobbie Bounder, as we called him when we were boys." He smiled down at her. "Come here."

  She didn't move. She felt her heart begin to pound, slow, heavy beats. He came to her, pulled her into his arms and simply held her. "I missed you very much. And Jeremy. It's been a long time, Sophie." He lifted her face, his palm beneath her chin. He kissed her, his mouth warm and firm. She remained passive.

  "Kiss me the way I know you can," he said against her lips.

  "I can't," she said and tried to press her face against his neck.

  "I am close to consummating our marriage right here, Sophie. It wouldn't be all that comfortable. Come, kiss me, you really must, you know, to hold me over until I can take you in our own bed tonight."

  And it would happen, she knew. There was noth­ing she could do about it. She kissed him, kissed him with all the expertise she had garnered over the past two years. It didn't content him though. It aroused him until she thought he would fling up her skirts and press her against one of the boulders. He was breathing hard, his hands on her back, down to her hips, lifting her, and then she pushed at him. He stopped instantly.

  He slowly lifted his head. He looked down at her, no expression on his face. "You are a tease. You are behaving just as you did on Jamaica. You have just spent several minutes making me wild. You have held back from me, controlled me. I had forgotten during the past eight weeks how very good you were at manipulation. I suppose I had rearranged my memories, had come to believe that since you were my wife, you would welcome me, you would treat me with some honor, some sign that you had come to accept me, even perhaps like me. But nothing has changed, has it, Sophie?"

  "You took me by surprise."

  He said something very crude and she flinched. "Don't tell me that shocks you? Dear God, you could probably outcurse me—no, no, this is absurd. I have just come home. I saw my brother and he told me that you were here, in his thinking place, that you came here quite a lot. And I saw Sinjun with Jeremy and he seemed very glad to see me. I suppose I was a fool to think you would extend the same courtesy to me. Look, i
t doesn't matter now. I won't annul our marriage. I'm an honorable man. I consented to wed you despite the fact that in the end, there was no reason for me to have to. Do you under­stand, Sophie? Your precious uncle wasn't shot or stabbed. Someone, Thomas probably, had garroted the bastard. I didn't have to marry you to keep you from the gallows."

  "Garroted? I don't understand."

  "Yes, he was. I made a grave mistake. If only I had paid more attention, but you see, his body wasn't a pleasant sight. I just assumed that you had shot him, but you hadn't. And I lied to save you, said that he'd been stabbed. The jest was on me, it certainly was. Garroted, the bastard was garroted."

  "Is Thomas still free?"

  "No. No, he's snug in that small dwelling Cole had planned on keeping you in. I didn't leave Jamaica until he'd been captured."

  She turned away from him then and stared out over the sea. It wasn't the soft turquoise she was used to, it was savage and cold and very gray. "I thank you, Ryder. Your family has been quite nice to me and Jeremy. Now, though, since there is no reason for me not to return to Jamaica, I can. I will be responsible for Camille Hall and the plantation until Jeremy comes of age, I will—"

  "Shut up, damn you!"

  "You don't like me, Ryder. You can't possibly want to be my husband. I know about you now. You see, no one believed me to be your wife because every­one swore you would never wed. There were too many women hereabouts you enjoyed. It is odd. For the first time since Jamaica, I have been cut, not because I'm a tart, but because you are. I have found it vastly amusing save when Sir Robert tried to coerce me. If I could merely borrow some money from you, Jeremy and I could be on our way. Your life could return to what it was, to what you obvi­ously enjoyed."