The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

"Yes, you were next," Ryder repeated slowly. "He would have succeeded if you hadn't been there. You know that, don't you? I am not a particularly light sleeper."

She shrugged as if she didn't give a good damn and it infuriated him, this strength in her, this bra­vado, that was or wasn't real—he didn't know and wondered if he'd ever know. He rose quickly to his feet and stared down at her. He was shocked at his own behavior. Never before in his life had he come face to face with a dog-in-the-manger attitude in himself. It was too much. She'd turned the world and all his experiences and beliefs inside out. "I am pleased that I am someone dear to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Emile said you were ferocious when it came to protecting those dear to you."

"I told you, Ryder, he would have killed me after he'd taken care of you. I'm not stupid."

"How are your feet?"

"Fine. I'm nearly well."

"Good," he said, and jerked her to her feet. He pulled her against him before she had a chance to react. He grabbed her chin in his hand and held her still. He kissed her closed mouth, hard.

"I don't like this," he said against her mouth, his breath hot as the urgency that burned deep within him. "You are not as you should be. I cannot under­stand you. I won't put up with it anymore. Damn you, be a woman!"

He kissed her again. He felt her belly against him and his hands were wild down her back, caressing her, stroking down over her buttocks, pulling her upward hard against him.

She wrenched away from him. She didn't say a word. She just kept backing away from him, one step at a time, a single, small step, farther and farther away from him. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

He knew such fury he was shaking with it. "After all the damned men you've had, you dare to wipe the taste of me off your mouth?"

She dropped her hand to her side and took anoth­er step backward.

"You go much farther and you'll end up in Samuel's bedchamber. You'll have to kick his housekeeper out of his bed, but I'm certain he'd be more than pleased to have you instead of Mary."

She shook her head, still silent.

"Damn you, say something!"

She turned on her heel and ran.

CHAP

TER

10

THOMAS ESCAPED. No one was precisely certain how he'd managed to free himself from the icehouse, but there were two Kimberly slaves unconscious and bound in the bushes nearby. They'd been clobbered, but not killed, and that surprised Ryder. They hadn't seen a thing. Ryder suspected that some of Thomas's cohorts from Camille Hall had rescued him, and per­haps it was these cohorts who had kept him from kill­ing the guards like one would swat flies. He was long gone, dammit. No crocodiles for him, dammit even more. Ryder sent out search parties. He sent word to Sherman Cole. Then he brooded about Sophie.

Ryder hated to brood. He'd done very little of it in his life for the very simple reason that he'd never felt the need to take himself apart from his fellow man and commit himself to brooding. It had always seemed to him to be a singularly boring way to pass the time. But now he felt the need and it was sharp and deep inside him. It was also unexpected and unwelcome and made him uncomfortable; nor did he particularly know how to do it properly.

Damn her for making him ponder and muse and agonize and absorb thoughts and feelings he didn't want or need.

He jumped to his feet, furious with himself and with her, and determined to end it once and for all.

She wasn't in her bedchamber—his former bed­chamber, rather. She was dressed and sitting qui­etly in a chair on the balcony. Her eyes were closed, her hands folded in her lap. She looked to be asleep. She was wearing one of the pale blue muslin gowns he'd brought back from Camille Hall for her, a high-necked affair with lace that nearly touched her chin. He paused, just looking down at her for a very long time. Her hair was clean and pulled back with a pale blue ribbon at the nape of her neck. There were only the faintest bruises on her face now. She looked scrubbed, fresh, and immensely innocent, and too young.

Innocent, ha. But that was the crux of the matter, indeed it was, and he wouldn't stand for it anymore. He lightly touched his hand to her shoulder.

She opened her eyes slowly and stared up at him, her expression not changing. She didn't jump or exclaim.

She said only, "Ryder."

"Hello," he said, and he felt something odd and sweet touch him as she spoke his name. It made him angry and she felt it. She tensed beneath his hand. He pulled back, his hand dropping to his side, and took the chair opposite her.

"This is the second time we've sat here on this balcony like an old married couple reviewing the events of the day."