The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

as snowflakes, that is his metaphor, you know. That is the correct term, I believe. But I have no doubt at all that your compliment is terribly sincere and, after all, you're not a gentleman, thus it can be accepted gracefully, don't you agree, Tony?"

Tony Parrish, Viscount Rathmore, looked perfect­ly serious. "Such logic is irrefutable, my love." He said to Ryder, "All right, tell me what I can do. Incidentally, I brought six men over to help and four women."

Sophie felt like hugging her new cousin. More help, bless his kind heart. She gave him a dazzling smile that made him cock his head at her. "I see," he said slowly. "Yes, Ryder, perhaps I do see."

Four days later, Chadwyck House was spotlessly clean, and completely empty save for a big bed in the salon and the furnishings in the servants' quar­ters. Mrs. Smithers was cackling with pleasure, still eating like a stoat. She was delighted that the mas­ter had come home to stay and was cursing Allen Dubust for a bounder.

As for Allen Dubust, he'd been caught in a pub in Bristol, his pockets lined with the sale of all Chadwyck House furnishings, all ready to board a ship bound for America in a matter of hours. He had rent money as well from all the farming tenants. It was actually Uncle Albert Sherbrooke who saw him first and Aunt Mildred who screamed him down, offering three guineas to a group of young toughs to bring the lout down and hold him on the ground.

The furnishings were coming home. The rent mon­ey was coming home. Dubust was going to spend many years in Newgate, rotting. Mrs. Smithers cackled endlessly with that news. All would be well. Ryder felt profoundly lucky. He'd been stupid and irresponsible and he'd been saved despite it all. The wondrous Sherbrooke luck was with him still.

All the tenant farmers made their appearance and it was quite a surprise to Ryder that he actually enjoyed spending time with each of them, speaking of their needs, their profits, their willingness to set everything to rights again.

He realized with something of a start that he was a happy man, despite the havoc he himself had brought about because he'd been an absent land­lord. He was setting everything to rights. He wrote his brother, detailing all that had happened, and Sophie's first bout with Melissande, who was, truth be told, developing into a quite acceptable female. She had even offered to oversee the polishing of some new silverware that Tony had presented to them from Mr. Millsom's warehouse in Liverpool.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the sky overcast, the air chill. The gently rolling hills were serene and so lovely that Sophie wished she had more time simply to ride about and look. As it was, she had to ride into Lower Slaughter to the draperers. There was so much still to do and she loved it. She was humming to herself, thinking about Jeremy and wondering when he could come to live with them.

There, in the middle of the road, she came face to face with Lord David Lochridge. They stared at each other.

"Good God," he said. "It is you, Sophia Stanton-Greville. No, no, you married that Sherbrooke fel­low, didn't you?"

Sophie felt sick to her stomach. She could only nod at him.

Lord David's eyes narrowed. "You did marry him, didn't you? Or are you his current mistress?"

"No," she said.

He laughed, and it was a nasty sound. "Would you like to know something else, my dear Sophia? Charles Grammond lives very near to Upper Slaugh­ter. He'd gone to the colonies, to Virginia, I was told, but he hated it and moved here. He has a great-aunt who helps support him and that prune-faced wife of his and those four wretched children who are of no account at all. He's very much on the straight and narrow now, else the great-aunt will cut him out of her will. Isn't that a pleasant surprise for you? Two of your former lovers here, your neighbors."

"I must go," Sophie said, tightening her fists on Opal's reins.

"But not too far. We have much to discuss, don't we, Sophie? I will, of course, speak to Charles. I do wonder what he'll have to say. You see, I'm engaged to marry a local girl who's so rich it will take even me a good ten years to go through her fortune. Ah, yes, we must talk and make decisions. I do expect you to keep your mouth shut in the meanwhile, my girl, else you will be very sorry, both you and that husband of yours."

It was in that instant that Sophie remembered what the ghost had said—not really said, but told her so clearly in her mind—something about when they came it would be all right. Was this what the ghost meant? If so, how could it be all right? Nothing could ever again be all right.

She'd left the West Indies and come to a new life, a new life that had such promise until now.

She silently watched David Lochridge ride away from her. She did her errands. The draperer, Mr. Mulligan, shook his head when she left his shop. Poor Mr. Sherbrooke had wed himself to a half­witted female. It was a pity.

When she returned to Chadwyck House, she went upstairs to the master bedchamber that she and Ryder had changed completely. The walls were painted a soft pale yellow. There was a lovely pale cream and blue Aubusson carpet on the floor. She went to the now sparkling-clean window and stared out over the newly scythed east lawn. So beautiful. It looked like a Garden of Eden. It was her home. But not for much longer. Slowly, very slowly, she eased down to her knees. She bent over, her face in her hands, and she sobbed.

Mrs. Chivers, the newly installed housekeeper, saw her, managed to keep her mouth shut, and searched out the master. Ryder, not knowing what to expect, and firmly believing that Mrs. Chivers had misinterpreted Sophie's actions, still came to her immediately. He stopped cold in the door­way, staring at his wife. He felt a coursing of sheer fear.

He strode to her, nearly yelling, "Sophie, what the hell is wrong with you?"

She whipped about, staring at him. Oh God, what to tell him? That everything was over now? That the Sherbrooke name was on the verge of being ruined and that she was responsible? Oh God, Ryder had temporarily lost his furniture but she had brought utter devastation on his family.

She tried to get a hold of herself. He dropped to his haunches beside her and she felt his hands close over her upper arms. Slowly and very gently, he turned her to face him. Her face was without color, her eyes swollen from crying.

"No, no, don't cry," he said and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. "There is one very good thing about marriage, Sophie. You're not alone. There's another person to help you, no matter what the problem, no matter what the hurt. Talk to me, sweetheart, please."

She shook her head against his chest.

Ryder frowned over her head. It was she who had kept his spirits buoyed since they'd arrived here. It was she who'd directed the servants, who had over­seen the meals, who had herself swept and cleaned and dusted and smiled through it all. She'd been happy, dammit. He knew it. What the hell had hap­pened?

Her crying stopped. She hiccuped. He felt the soft movement of her breasts against his chest and felt instant and overwhelming lust. Her monthly flow had ended several days before but she'd been so tired, so utterly exhausted at the end of each day, that he'd simply held her at night.

But now, he wanted her. Very much.