The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

Douglas pulled a sheet of foolscap out of the draw­er of his desk. "Your most recent tally is seven chil­dren." He stopped, and stared at his brother. "You know all that. You've evidently decided what you will do about it."

"Yes, I have. I'm a married man now. There will be no other women."

The earl sat back in his chair. "I'm pleased you've decided to be faithful to your wife. Keeping a herd this size content would tax even the strongest man. Fidelity does have its advantages."

"I agree," Ryder said, then appeared startled at what he'd said. "I can't believe that I agree, but I do. Wanting only one woman is a startling revelation. But I want Sophie and only Sophie. Good Lord, it's rather unbelievable, I know, but there it is."

"For what it's worth, I've also discovered that a wife is very precious. A wife is beyond anything I had ever imagined in my life."

"Alex is a good sort. I'm relieved you worked things out."

"Oh, we did and therein lies a tale. Some long night this winter I'll tell you about it. It certainly would be more enlivening than writing about that damned ghost, the Virgin Bride." The earl rose. "I would say, old man, that you have quite a task ahead of you. On the other hand, nothing of true importance should come easily."

"I already appreciate her, if that's what you're getting at. It's odd but I truly do. She's important to me, more important than you can begin to imagine. You told me once that I thrived on challenges, the higher the stakes, the better I did. I won't lose this one, Douglas. I can't."

"You love her, then."

'You spout nonsense, Douglas. Love—a notion that makes me want to puke. No, pray don't go on and on about how much you adore and worship Alex—I see quite clearly that you're besotted with her. But love? Don't get me wrong. I like Sophie, certainly. I want her and she makes me feel things I've never felt before. I want her to be happy. I want her to realize that for whatever reason, she is important to me. There's nothing more to it than that and, indeed, that's quite enough. She's got me for life."

Douglas simply looked at his brother, a very black eyebrow arched upward a good inch.

"You haven't seen her as I did on Jamaica. You think her unhappy, a quiet mouse, no doubt. She's a hellion, Douglas. I wanted to tame her, wanted to make her submit to me." He shook his head and began pacing again. "I wish the hellion would come back." He grinned. "She was a handful and a more mouthy chit you'd never meet."

Douglas still just looked at his brother.

Sophie was smiling like an idiot, she couldn't help it. Her own mare, Opal, was here at Northcliffe, brought back from Jamaica by Ryder. She leaned over and patted her mare's long neck.

"Ah, I have missed you," she said, and threw back her head, letting her mare gallop ahead. She'd thanked Ryder, too shocked at what he'd done to really show him how much she appreciated it. He wa

sn't acting like himself again. It was disturbing, this kindness of his, this seemingly endless under­standing and gentleness.

Ryder had shrugged and said only, "She would have eaten her head off if I'd left her at Camille Hall. She was fat and lazy and gave me these woeful looks every time I saw her. She neighed all the time I was around and soon it sounded remarkably like your name. What was I to do?"

And she'd said only, once again, "Thank you."

Ryder rode beside her, pleased at her pleasure, knowing that he'd surprised her but good. She owed him. He wondered how she would proceed to repay him, for repay him she would. He knew her well enough to know that she'd see this as a debt.

When she sent her mare into a gallop, he let her go ahead of him down the narrow country lane that bordered the northern boundaries of Northcliffe land. He slowed his own stallion, Genesis, a raw-boned barb who was black as sin and had the endurance of twenty Portuguese mules.

He began whistling. He was home, the day was glorious, warm, the sun bright overhead, and he'd pleased his wife. Things were looking up. He knew what he was going to do about his women and the solution was sound. As for his children, it was sim­ply a matter of telling Sophie about them at the right time. He missed them. He would go see them all tomorrow. He'd brought back gifts for all of them.

Sophie rounded a narrow bend in the road and pulled over under the shade of an immense oak tree, old as the chalk cliffs just some miles to the south. She drew in a deep breath and realized she felt good. Ryder was behaving in a very civilized manner. Except for the previous night. That was reminiscent of the arrogant, utterly ruthless man she'd known on Jamaica. Perhaps today he'd real­ize that she didn't want him to touch her again, perhaps he'd simply be nice to her and remain civi­lized. She frowned.

She waited for him for some ten minutes, then turned to see if he were coming around the curve. There was no sign of him.

She fidgeted a moment longer, then wheeled Opal around and urged her back down the road. She felt a spurt of alarm. Could he have been hurt?

She saw Ryder. He wasn't at all hurt. There was a woman on a bay mare pulled to a halt next to him. They were in the middle of the road and they looked to be in intimate conversation. She saw the woman stretch out her hand and lightly touch Ryder's sleeve. She saw Ryder smile, even from here, she saw his white teeth in that utterly devastating smile of his. He then leaned closer to the woman.

Something in her moved and twisted. Something in her rebelled and boiled. Her jaw clenched. Her gloved hands fisted on Opal's reins.

Without thought, she jabbed her boots into Opal's fat sides and sent her straight toward her husband and the hussy who looked ready to leap onto his horse's back and onto his lap.

Ryder looked up and saw Sophie galloping ventre a terre straight at him. The look on her face was grim and pale. Jesus, she looked fit to kill. He grinned like a fool. He'd at first been uneasy when Sara had flagged him down. Now, seeing his wife ride toward him angry as a wasp, he was glad Sara had come. Anger bespoke feelings other than indifference.

Sara was speaking to him. She hadn't yet seen the madwoman bearing down on them. She was asking in that soft, gentle way of hers if he wouldn't like to kiss her. She leaned toward him and he felt her sweet mouth on his cheek, her gloved hand on his chin, trying to turn him toward her. He opened his mouth to tell her to stop, then shut it again. No, let Sophie see another lady kissing him. Her mouth was smooth and fresh but he felt nothing but anticipa­tion to see what Sophie would do. His wife was on them then, and he had to jerk his stallion back so she wouldn't slam into them. As for Sara, she looked at the woman and actually paled.

"Just who the devil are you?"