The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

Sophie tried to sit up. The pain was bad but she managed it. She couldn't remain here. If a slave came in and saw her, the truth would be out all that much sooner, and then Jeremy would find out as well and her mind balked at that. He wouldn't keep still. He would try to protect her. He would attack Uncle Theo. She saw both of them in a heap with their few possessions in a pile of refuse in the middle of Montego Bay. Oh, Jeremy, oh no, not her little brother. She'd been responsible for him for four years. She would be until she died.

No, she had to be wrong. Uncle Theo wouldn't do anything immediately. No, at the very least, she'd wounded him. He would be too weak to do anything yet. But he'd sworn to her that it wasn't over yet. He'd beaten her because he'd been so furious at Ryder Sherbrooke. No, he'd try to continue the fic­tion, he simply had to. Yes, she was wrong.

She drew a deep breath, gripped the edge of the desk, and pulled herself to her feet. She felt dizzy and nauseous but finally she managed to control it. She had to get out of here until she could keep from crying out in pain. She would need all her cosmetics this time to hide what he'd done to her.

She passed a mirror but didn't look at herself. She crept out the side door of the study, holding her sides. She walked the near mile to the cottage, bent over like a frail old woman, breathing in short, jerking gasps.

It was too much. This time she had to do some­thing. It had to end. Either she did it or Ryder Sherbrooke would. But she didn't think she'd have time to take action. She hurt too badly. Time seemed to stop. She wondered if she would die. She thought of Ryder. He was furious and primed for revenge. What he'd done to her was just the beginning, and that gave her hope.

When she finally reached the cottage, she began to cry. She couldn't stop crying nor did she try. The tears burned down her bruised cheeks.

She staggered into the cottage and, very slowly, walked to the bed. She eased herself down on it and let the pain flood over her in relentless waves.

Ryder wanted more answers. He was through with games. He rode to Camille Hall. Sophia wasn't there. The house slave didn't know where she was. The slaves he saw were acting strangely but they wouldn't tell him anything. Uncle Theo wasn't there either, not that Ryder was ready to face him down just yet.

Ryder paused a moment at the end of the long drive, wondering where she could have gone after she'd ridden away from Kimberly Hall. Then he knew. Without hesitation, he directed his horse to the cottage. If she wasn't there, she'd probably ridden to Penelope Beach, her private place, she'd told him.

At first he thought he'd been wrong. There didn't seem to be anyone about. He walked through the door and became very still.

She was lying on her side on the bed, fully dressed, her legs drawn up. She appeared to be deeply asleep.

Ryder walked very quietly to the bed and stared down at her. He took her arm and pulled her onto her back. He sucked in his breath in disbelief. All burgeoning ideas of further punishment fled his mind; incredulity took its place, then a rush of sheer rage. He stared down at her face; he couldn't believe it. Jesus, what had happened to her? But of course he knew. Uncle Theo had beaten her.

Even her heaviest cosmetics wouldn't cover these bruises. He realized his hands were fisted. She moaned and he saw her hands flutter about her chest.

As gently as he could Ryder undressed her. He guessed that she was as much unconscious as she was asleep. When he got her gown and slippers and stockings off her, he was still left with her chemise.

Again he drew his knife and cut if off her. The sight that met his eyes made him go very still. From just beneath her breasts to her belly she was cov­ered with ugly bruises. Uncle Theo had hit her hard many times. He'd shown no mercy. It came to Ryder then that the night before when he'd stripped her, it was possible that there had been remnants of bruises over her ribs. But he couldn't be certain. The light had been dim. But now the evidence was there for all to see.

Jesus, the man was an animal. Lightly, he touched his fingertips to the worst of the bruises, just below her left breast. She moaned softly, flinging her arm out, then letting it fall. She'd come here to the cottage to hide away as would a wounded animal.

He straightened. The first thing he needed was laudanum, explanations could wait. When she awoke he could only imagine how bad her pain would be. He would have to leave her to fetch medicine. That, or he could simply wrap her up and take her back with him to Kimberly Hall.

She began to cry, low deep sobs that tore at him. Tears seeped from beneath her lashes. She was unconscious and still she was aware of the pain to such an extent that she was crying. Was she crying about all the rest of it as well? The months upon months of deception?

Ryder didn't hesitate. He wrapped her as gently as he could in a blanket and carried her out of the cottage. It was not easy to get her and himself onto his horse's back but he finally managed it. He prayed she would remain unconscious until he could get her back to Kimberly Hall.

When he arrived at Kimberly Hall, Emile was standing on the front steps, pulling on gloves. He started forward, eyes widening in surprise. "What the hell is this, Ryder?"

"Come with me and I'll explain what I can. First, Emile, get some laudanum, water, strips of cotton, cream, whatever. If I'm not mistaken, her dear uncle Theo beat the hell out of her."

"Jesus," Emile said and hurried away.

Ryder carried her to his bedchamber. It simply didn't occur to him to take her anywhere else.

He pulled back the mosquito netting and laid her as gently as he could upon her back. He covered her with the blanket. He didn't want Emile to see her naked.

When Emile came back into the room, he said, "My father wants to know what's going on. I put him off. You should tell him what you think appro­priate."

"Thank you, Emile. Just leave the things. I'll take care of her."

Emile hesitated. "Would you like Mary or Coco to help you?"

Ryder just shook his head. "No, I'll see to her. I don't suppose there's such a magical item as real ice here?"

"Of course. Ah, you want it for her face, to reduce the swelling. I'll fetch some immediately." Emile quietly shut the door on his way out.

Ryder peeled the; blanket off her and set to work. When he knotted the last of the strips of cotton over her ribs, having made certain they weren't broken, he rose slowly, studying his handiwork. She was still unconscious.