The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

The second letter was even dated and the date was yesterday. He read:

I have made up my mind. You will become my mistress again. Charles Grammond will deal with you himself. I intend to enjoy myself again as I did on Jamaica. Come to the old Tolliver shack on the north side of your husband's property at three o'clock Thursday or you will regret it.

Signed merely "DL."

The damned bastard.

And damn Sophie's beautiful gray eyes. She'd said nothing; he'd known something was wrong. Indeed the previous evening, she'd wanted him urgently, too urgently, as if she wanted to keep something unpleasant at bay. But he hadn't questioned her; he'd merely given her what she'd wanted, what she'd appeared to need; he'd allowed her to escape this for the time she'd exploded into her climax.

She'd unmanned him with her silence.

He crumpled the letter in his fist, unaware that he'd even done it.

"Papa."

He looked up blankly. There was Jenny, standing in the doorway, looking from his face to the wad of paper fisted tightly in his hand.

Ryder forced himself to toss the crumpled paper back onto Sophie's desk. "Hello, pumpkin. Come here and let me hug you. It's been more than an hour since I've seen you—far too long."

Jenny raced to him and he raised her high in his arms and kissed her nose. "What is it you wish, little love?"

"Can you teach me to shoot a bow and arrow like Sinjun so I can shoot that bad man?"

He froze tighter than a spigot in January.

"Certainly," he said. "Tell me about it, all right?"

And she did. He would have laughed at all the children playing at being wolves if he hadn't been so angry. God, but they'd done well. Routed the bas­tard. And Sinjun, shooting him through the upper arm. Well done of her.

He'd strangle his sister once he got his hands on her.

Then he'd strangle his wife.

"Jenny! Where are you, pumpkin? Jenn—" Sinjun came through the doorway, stopped short, and immediately said, "Oh dear. Hello, Ryder. Whatever are you doing here? This is Sophie's room and—"

Ryder merely stared at his sister, words, for the moment, failing him.

Sinjun sighed. "I suppose Jenny said something?"

"You're not stupid, Sinjun. You are very quick to perceive when your perfidy has been discovered. It's a relief. I detest boring explanations. Yes. Jenny wants me to teach her how to shoot a bow and arrow so that she can shoot the bad man."

"Oh dear. I'm sorry, Ryder, but—"

He was controlled now. He said to Jenny as he dis­engaged her thin arms from about his neck, "Now, love, I want you to go with Sinjun. She's going to give you a biscuit and some lemonade. Papa must do some work now. All right?"

"Papa," Jenny said, and went immediately to Sinjun.

"Go," Ryder said to his sister. "This time, you will keep your mouth shut—to my wife."

"All right," Sinjun said, and her voice was very small, so small in fact, so diffident and timorous, that Ryder nearly smiled.

At two-thirty on Thursday, Ryder calmly pulled his horse to a halt some thirty yards away from the Tolliver shack. He tethered him next to some goat weed to keep him quiet.

He felt a mix of anticipation, rage, and excitement all coming together inside him. He wanted to see David Lochridge. He wanted, quite simply, to pound him into the ground.

He waited in the thick elm trees that bordered the shack, whistling behind his teeth, his excitement building and building. He wondered when Sophie would arrive. He wondered when Lochridge would get here.

However, it simply never occurred to him that another person would put in an appearance here, of all places. He was frozen in silent shock when an older woman pulled an old-fashioned gig to a halt in front of the shack not five minutes later. She was plump, wearing a stylish gown, a bonnet far too young for her, for she was in her mid-forties, he guessed, and she looked somewhat familiar, but that couldn't be. Good God, was she here for some sort of tryst? Was this shack used for illicit affairs?