The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

"Thomas beats the Camille slaves."

"Thomas is a stupid man. Ryder will doubtless see to his education."

Ryder smiled in anticipation. He wished he'd spoken to Sophie but he hadn't wanted to awaken her. Well, doubtless Thomas was here because Uncle Theo still wasn't well yet. Good. It seemed that she'd plunged that letter opener nice and deep.

Sophie woke up just as the sun was lowering, splashing the sky with all shades of pinks and reds. She was alone. She rose and relieved herself, then found the man's nightshirt she'd been wearing and slipped it over her head. Her ribs ached and pulled but the awful tearing pain was now bearable.

She walked slowly to the balcony and raised her face to the still evening air. Soon she would be well enough to leave Kimberly. Soon she would have to leave Kimberly, she and Jeremy. But where would she go?

Ryder was right about that. She had nothing, no money, nothing except a harlot's reputation.

She stared blankly into the pink and golden twi­light, listening to turtledoves, frogs, crickets, and the myriad other night creatures that she normally didn't hear because she was so used to them.

Ryder paused in the doorway. He saw her stand­ing there in the ridiculous loose nightshirt, her hair thick and flowing down her back. She looked six­teen. But he knew when he saw her eyes there would be weary cynicism there.

"Come back to bed," he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned slowly. She was no longer weak and hurting. She was standing now, a grown woman, and she had to deal with him. She said calmly, "I'm tired of that damned bed. I wish to remain standing for a while. You said you wanted to speak to me. Let's do it."

She was back to normal. It pleased him enormous­ly. "As you will," he said easily. "Thomas was here."

Had he expected her to gasp? To shudder with fright? To totter toward him and beg for his pro­tection? She didn't do any of these things. Her expression was remote and remained remote. She looked calm and serene. She was really very good. He walked to her and stopped directly in front of her. He raised his fingertips and lightly touched her chin, the tip of her nose, ran his fingertips over her eyebrows. "The bruises are fading. By tomorrow you won't be such a fright."

She didn't move. "Then I won't request a mirror until the day after tomorrow."

"As I said, Thomas came here."

"I assume you handled him?"

He grinned. "No, I pleaded with him to allow you to remain here for a little while longer. He beat me into the floor but decided to let you stay. However, he said he'd come back and—"

She jerked. It was just a small sort of shiver real­ly, but he'd discovered that during the past few days he'd become attuned to her, noticing small move­ments, small reactions, that gave her away.

"Don't be a fool," he said. "Now, let me tell you about a very unmemorable meeting. Lord, the man's a villain and utterly without a conscience. I met him in the salon. Did you know that James, our footman, isn't fond of Thomas? Why, I do believe James's eyes got meaner than a snake's when he said the man's name."

"Thomas is an animal. James has a brother who is owned by my uncle. Mr. Grayson tried to buy him but my uncle refused. Yes, Thomas is a swine."

"Well, yes he is. Hush now and let me tell you of our rather boring conversation."

Ryder had walked into the salon in high good humor, nearly rubbing his hands together in antici­pation. He stopped, smiled, and said, "I believe your name is Thomas? Fancy seeing you here at Kimberly Hall without your bow and arrows and that very charming white sheet both you and your master enjoy wearing. I particularly applauded the white hoods. Ah, but my manners. Would you care for some coffee?"

"I have come for Mr. Burgess's niece and nephew."

"Oh?" Ryder smiled benignly at the overseer. He was tall, exceedingly thin, save for a belly that pro­truded between his vest and his breeches. His hair was grizzled and very short and there was beard stubble on his jaw. He looked as if he hadn't slept much or bathed or changed his clothes in sever­al days. His eyes were cold, very cold, and Ryder doubted if he'd ever been filled with the milk of human kindness.

"I do owe you for that arrow you put in my shoul­der."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Thomas said. "If you please, Mr. Sherbrooke, Mr. Burgess is anxious to see his niece and nephew. He is naturally concerned for their welfare."

"Ah, doubtless that is so. How could anyone ever question his feelings? However, whatever makes him think they could be here?"

"There is talk. Everyone knows. The gossip is that Miss Stanton-Greville is living here openly as your mistress, and in return for her favors, you also took in the boy. It distresses Mr. Burgess. Bring them down now and they won't bother you again."

"Why don't you sit down, Thomas."

"Damn you, Sherbrooke, you have no right—"

"No right to what? To rescue a girl who's been beaten senseless? To take a small boy out of a locked room?"