The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

Her eyes narrowed. Her hands fisted at her sides. Then she smiled at him, one of those drowsy-eyed smiles, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and mocking, and his body reacted before he could stop it. "Ah, Ryder, certainly they're from before. Boring little confections, aren't they? Could you ever doubt it? But what was I to do? You left all my other gowns at Camille Hall. Why don't you pretend that I'm wearing a bright scarlet satin cut nearly to my waist and come here and fondle me again? Be bold, Ryder, be a man and rip the gown right off me. Wouldn't you enjoy that? A real man asserting his strength and power. Goodness, it makes me shudder just to think about it. You could bend me back over your right arm. Really, don't I deserve a reward for saving your poor Mr. Grayson from a fate worse than death?"

He didn't move. Then he cursed. Then he shouted at her, "Stop that damned act!"

"Act? You mean you don't think I'm a harlot any­more?"

"Yes, no. I don't know, curse you."

"Did dear Samuel begin to change your mind?"

"No."

Just as suddenly as she'd assumed the polished harlot role, she became more vulnerable than he could bear. Because she couldn't control it, and she didn't want him to see that vulnerability, she whirled about and walked quickly to the veranda. But he had seen it and followed on her heels. She was wringing her hands as she said in a terrified whisper he barely heard, "What if I am pregnant?"

He did not pretend to misunderstand her. "Did you never think of that with all the other men? Did you always take precautions with them?"

"No."

More of her verbal confusion. He should have told her that if she were pregnant, it certainly wasn't with his seed. And if she were, just by chance, as innocent as she claimed to be, why then, they should be speaking of a possible religious birth.

He should tell her that he hadn't taken her. He should, really, but he didn't. Because if he did tell her she just might marry Samuel Grayson, and he knew he couldn't allow that to happen.

"When was your last monthly flow?"

She jerked with shock. He watched, fascinated, as she forced herself back into control. She looked him straight in the face, didn't say a word, then turned and walked quickly away.

He frowned after her. Her look had been one of utter scorn; she'd needed no words, for her expres­sion had been quite enough. He should teach her how to sneer. She would do it well.

When Samuel Grayson returned to Kimberly four hours later, he was sweating profusely and he looked frantic. He said to both Emile and Ryder without preamble, "Sherman Cole is digging up Burgess's body tomorrow morning. It's the talk of Montego Bay. Thomas is still at large. Cole says that after he arrests Sophia, he will offer money to Thomas to come out of hiding and testify against her. He says he doesn't believe the story of Thomas coming here to murder you, Ryder. He also claims you were lying about Burgess being shot. I heard he is paying a lot of money to three men to dig Burgess up and examine him. He says he will arrest her immediately, try her, and hang her, all within the week. He says that none of us can stop it."

"So," Emile said, "the end is near. No matter what I think of her personally, I don't wish to see her hung."

His father snorted in disgust. "You blind young puppy! Well, Ryder, soon you won't have to worry about her. Soon it will be just Jeremy." He turned to his son. "I need you to be at Camille Hall when Cole goes there tomorrow morning. We must have warning. Go tell Sophie to stay close to the house."

After Emile had left the salon, Samuel said, "Now there is no choice. I will tell you, Ryder. There is the Harbinger, a big stout barkentine, in port right now. It is returning to England with the morning tide. Sophia and Jeremy must be on that ship."

"Yes," Ryder said. "They must." He grinned, splay­ing his hands in front of him. "I know, I know. I cannot send her to England with no protection. No money. No one to look after her."

"You cannot as yet leave Jamaica."

"I know, not until all this guardianship business is completed. There's Sherman Cole to be dealt with, of course, as well as that mangy bastard, Thomas, to be found."

"Then what will you do?"

"It appears my choices have just dwindled alarm­ingly. Get the vicar over here and I will wed her. She and Jeremy will be aboard that ship even as Sherman Cole is over digging at Camille Hall. Once they reach England, she and Jeremy will go to Northcliffe Hall, to my family. They will take care of them."

"And when you return to England, Ryder?"

"Don't push, old man. You've got your way. You've saved the girl, using me to do it."

"She will make you a fine wife."

Ryder cursed him and left to go find his soon-to-be bride.

Marriage! It was a truly appalling thought, but there was no hope for it. He thought of his broth­er, the earl, and prayed that his own recent mar­riage was shaping up, but in truth he'd had grave doubts when he'd left England, despite the plucki-ness of Douglas's new bride. All because he'd come to Jamaica he would find himself leg-shackled. His life had been progressing just as he'd ordered it up.

He sighed. He might as well get it over with. He found her in the late afternoon at Monmouth Beach. Her mare, Opal, was grazing nearby on swamp grass. She was seated in the shade of an Indian almond tree, staring out over the water, her legs crossed, tomboy style.

He loosed his own horse, then strode to her, stood over her, his hands on his hips, and said, "I rode to Camille Hall. They said you had been there, oversee­ing the indoor work. You shouldn't have gone back there yet. You're not well enough."