The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

"Oh no. He just told Thomas to lock me in my bedchamber. He said he'd take care of me later. He didn't hurt me like he did you. But he was very angry and he was calling you a liar and a slut and a whore and other words I didn't understand. He said I was nothing but a crippled little bastard and he'd see to it that I never, ever inherited Camille Hall or got control of our home in Fowey. He said he'd see you in hell where you belonged."

Oh God, Sophie thought, wishing she could reach out and fold Jeremy in her arms. Yet he sounded very calm, detached, as he spoke, and that fright­ened her even more.

"I was going to climb down the trellis off my balco­ny when the door burst open and Ryder came in. He said we were leaving. He said you were here and he was bringing me to you. He said everything would be all right."

"Uncle Theo?"

"He wasn't there. I guess he went off with Thomas to see to his shoulder. Did you hit him, Sophie?"

"Yes, I stabbed him with a letter opener."

He seemed to take her bald words quite in stride. "I was afraid, Sophie," Jeremy said after a moment. "I was afraid that he would send in Thomas with his whip and he would whip me like he does the slaves. And I didn't know where you were or what he'd done to you."

She felt such relief that for an instant, the pain faded into near insignificance. She didn't hear the door open, but suddenly Jeremy turned and his face lit up.

"Is she all right?" It was Ryder's voice, low and deep.

"Yes, sir. I told her to be quiet, just as you told me to, and just let me talk. She's been pretty good. She tried, sir. She did stab him."

"Yes, I know. Now, my boy, would you like some pineapple betty? Cook said every young man she knows loves her pineapple betty."

Jeremy shot a look back at his sister.

"No, it's all right. I'll be here. Go ahead, Jeremy."

Ryder didn't say anything until Jeremy had left the room.

"Are you ready for some more laudanum?"

"No, please, it makes my mind fuzzy."

"It's better than the pain. Jeremy is safe and I swear to you he will remain under my protection. There is no reason for you to be a martyr. No, keep quiet, Sophia. Here, drink this."

She did and within minutes her eyes were closed and her breathing had deepened.

Then she said in a soft, slurred voice, "My name is Sophie. I've always hated Sophia."

"I prefer Sophie as well," Ryder said, but she was asleep.

He placed fresh ice packs over her face then set­tled back in a chair. He stretched out his legs, cross­ing them at the ankles. He steepled his fingers and lightly tapped his fingertips to his chin. His eyes never left her. What the hell was he to do now?

He thought fondly of home, of his brothers and Sinjun, his sister. He thought of his brother's new wife, Alex, and wondered how she was faring with the earl, a very stubborn man.

If Samuel Grayson hadn't written all in a dither about strange happenings here, why then he would still be in England, enjoying his children, enjoying his mistresses, riding the southern cliffs, the wind whipping his hair in his eyes, without a worry in the world.

Now he had two big human worries. He realized that his life to this point had been exactly as he'd ordered it up. He'd done precisely what he'd pleased because providence had made him the second son, and thus his brother was the Earl of Northcliffe. An equal share of good fortune was the immense wealth left to him by his uncle Brandon. He realized with a start of self-contempt that he'd played with his life, taking what he wanted, never really thinking about consequences because he'd even managed to control those quite well. Most who knew him liked him, he knew that. He was charming, he brought laughter into a room with him, he was honorable in his deal­ings. He shook his head, seeing himself clearly. He was honorable for the simple reason that there was never any reason for him not to be honorable, no challenges to his honor, to his integrity; he'd never really had to prove himself. One could praise him about the children, perhaps, but that was different, that was something deep within him that he had to do. It was a pleasure to do; it was easy to do; they made him feel blessed, not put upon.

But now things had spun quite beyond his control. He didn't want to be involved in this mess, but he was. He stared over at the beaten girl on his bed. She'd managed to stab the bastard. She had guts. He couldn't walk away from this. He couldn't walk away from her. He cursed quietly, with great fluency.

There was nothing for it.

CHAPTER

7

SUNLIGHT POURED IN the bedchamber, warming Sophie's face. She opened her eyes and queried her body. The pain was less than it had been yesterday. Two days now, two days of lying here and wondering what had happened and what would happen now. She hated the helplessness. She had to get up; she had to do something, what she didn't know, but she knew the first step was to get her feet on the floor. She managed to pull herself upright, groaned with the rush of pain in her ribs and fell back again, panting. She closed her eyes and waited, counting slowly to ten. At least she could close her eyes, even blink, without pain. The ice Ryder had kept on her eyes for the past two days had markedly reduced the swelling. Ah, but her ribs. She tasted blood and knew she'd bitten her lower lip. But it didn't matter. Who cared? She got control

of the pain, finally. Still, she didn't move. She was afraid to move, it was that simple. When she finally opened her eyes again, Ryder was standing beside the bed, looking down at her.