The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

"There is nothing either pure or simple about Miss Stanton-Greville. As much as I would like to preen myself on my manliness, on my utter magnetism with women, I would be a fool to do so. No, Emile, if she does indeed want to add me to her string, there's an excellent reason for it."

"Fine. But why kick out Lord David, I wonder?"

"Perhaps," Ryder said, stroking his long fingers over his jaw, "just perhaps he's outlived his use­fulness." But he was remembering his order to her that he wouldn't be one of many men in her bed. He would be the only one. He shook his head. No, he wouldn't be drawn into that conceit. This was really quite interesting.

"What does that mean?"

"I mean that everyone behaves a certain way for very solid reasons. If she dismissed Lord David, then there were very good grounds for her to do so. Remember, we spoke of motives. Lord David is young, handsome, a likely candidate if a woman wished to take a lover. But Oliver Susson? Charles Grammond? They're middle-aged, overweight, or stoop-shouldered . . . no, Emile, the selection isn't random."

"Lord David is saying, of course, that he was tired of her but no one believes him."

"No, indeed."

"I stopped by the Grammond plantation to bid my good-byes to the family. They're leaving at the end of the week. I drank some rum with Charles and learned one thing of interest, but not until that boss-wife of his left the salon. What we had heard is true—he lost a bundle of money to Lord David. Didn't my father tell you of Lord David's phenom­enal luck at cards?"

"Yes, he did and several others as well warned me to avoid him. This is interesting, Emile. So, as a result, he must leave Jamaica after selling his plantation, which, just as a matter of happenstance, is situated next to Camille Hall. Mr. Theodore Bur­gess—because he's such a fine, compassionate fel­low—is buying the plantation. I do wonder what he's paying Grammond for it?"

"I can find out," Emile said. "I should have thought of asking but I didn't. Besides, his wife came back into the room. She quite terrifies me."

"No matter. There are more pieces of the puzzle falling in place with each passing day. Lord, it's hot."

Emile gave him an unholy grin, "It's not even noon, Ryder. I had thought to ask you to visit the stillhouse with me."

"Kill me first, for it's as close to hades as men have managed to get whilst still flesh of this world. I have wondered how the slaves tolerate it."

"They are quite used to it. Also, they all come from Africa, a country even more inhospitable than Jamaica."

"Still," Ryder said, then shrugged at the sight of Emile's housekeeper, Coco, shyly peeping around the door.

Emile turned and frowned at the girl. "What is it, Coco?"

The girl showed another inch of herself, but her eyes were on her bare feet now. "I—I must speak with you, massa. I'm sorry, it's important." Emile turned back to Ryder. "Usually she doesn't say boo to anyone, thus it must truly be important, so I'll speak to her. Excuse me for a moment."

Ryder wondered what Emile's housekeeper wanted. Then he felt the heavy, still air close in around him and he thought only of being naked in a snowbank on the very top of Ben Nevis, and wallowing and wallowing until he was freezing. He even thought fondly of a thick white fog swirling around him, making him cold to his very bones as he walked St. James's street to White's. Even a London driz­zle, frigid and miserable, dripping down the back of his neck, sounded remarkably inviting at the moment.

He wondered why Sophia Stanton-Greville had dismissed Lord David Lochridge. He believed he knew why she'd taken him as a lover in the first place. He wondered how the devil he would verify what he believed to be true. But primarily, he won­dered exactly why he'd been selected as her next lover. For the life of him he couldn't think of a thing to be gained by having himself in her bed.

Theo Burgess was pale with anger when he came into her bedchamber. "Damn your laziness. He hasn't shown himself in two days."

"I know," she said, turning slowly to face her uncle. "It's a game he's playing with me."

"Game or no, I want you to ride over to Kimberly Hall and do whatever you have to. I want him at the cottage and soon, Sophia."

He walked over to her, looked quickly around, saw there was no one in sight, and slapped her. She reeled back, bumping into a chair and careening to the side. She fell. She didn't move.

"Stand up. I'm not certain you understand just how very serious I am about this."

"I understand."

"Damn you, stand up or I'll have your brother fetched and just see how much he enjoys pain."

Sophie stood up. This time she was prepared for the blow, but still the fist in her ribs dropped her to her knees. More bruises, and the ones from his last beating had just begun to fade. She shook with rage and pain.

"Now I trust you understand. Get yourself dressed and put on your cosmetics. You're pale and sickly looking. That little tap I gave your face just might discolor a bit. Cover it up. Go now and hurry."

"Ryder Sherbrooke doesn't like my face painted."

"Then do as he would like. Don't just lie there like a lame dog."