The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

He didn't move. He watched the woman climb down from the gig, and lead the old cob around to the back of the cottage, out of sight.

What the devil was going on?

Sophie and Lord David Lochridge arrived at the same time, from different directions. Both Ryder and the other woman were well out of sight.

Ryder watched as Sophie dismounted Opal, turned and said very clearly, her voice as calm as the eye of a storm, "I am here to tell you one last time, Lord David, that I will have nothing to do with you."

"Ah, you're still being the tease," he said, but Ryder saw him looking around. For more wolves? His eyes fell on the riding crop she held in her right hand.

"No, I'm not teasing you. When I saw you last I told you the truth. All that happened on Jamaica was my uncle's doing and I was never with you intimately at the cottage, with you or with any of the other men. Now, if you don't choose to believe me, why then, I guess I will just have to shoot you."

Ryder's eyes widened. She drew a small derringer from her pocket and pointed it at his chest.

Lord David laughed. "Ah, a lady with a little gun. Come, my dear, we both know you haven't the nerve to do anything with that toy, much less pull the trigger."

"I thought you said I murdered my uncle. If you believe that then how can you possibly believe that I wouldn't or couldn't pull the trigger on you?"

Lord David was in a quandary. He eyed her close­ly. He fidgeted; he cursed. Finally, he said, "Come, let's talk about this. There's no reason for violence. I'm merely offering you my body. It is for your plea­sure, just as I pleasured you on Jamaica. Why are you being so unreasonable?"

"Unreasonable, am I? And what about dear Charles Grammond? Does he wish to continue your silly fictions as well? Will I have to face him down as I am you?"

"Charles isn't my problem. He will do what he wishes to do."

Sophie was now the one who looked thoughtful. "It would seem to me," she said at last, "that we are at something of an impasse. You wish to wed an heiress; Charles Grammond must be discreet or his aunt will kick him out and leave him no money in her will. That is what you told me, isn't it? All right, then, I won't kill you if you will cease all this damnable nonsense. Go away, David. Just go away and marry your poor heiress. I wish I could warn her about you but I realize that I can't, not without hurting my husband and his family. There will be no scandal for either of us. Do you agree?"

In that moment, Lord David raised his chin and whistled. In the next instant, an older man came up behind Sophie, grabbed her arms, and wrested the derringer from her.

"Ah, Charles, your timing is of the best, as usu­al."

"Yes," said Charles. "I've got you, Sophie. You're beautiful. I'd forgotten, but now that I've got you again, why David and I will share you, just as before."

Sophie turned and screamed in his face, "You fool! You idiot! Don't believe David, he's a fraud, a bound­er, he fleeced you out of all your money so that you lost your plantation on Jamaica!"

Good Lord, Ryder thought, staring at the man. It was Charles Grammond, one of Sophie's other lovers. Still he didn't move. He would have time to act. Besides, Sophie deserved to be frightened, just for a bit, for her perfidy.

But he realized he couldn't let her be frightened, not for an instant, not if he were there and could put an e

nd to all of it. He stepped forward, but was forestalled by that other woman.

She came stomping forward around the side of the shack, there was no other way to describe it. Her cheeks were red, her bosom heaving. She was very angry.

"You let her go, Charles!"

The man stared at the vision coming toward him. He said in the most pitiful voice Ryder had ever heard, "Ah, Almeria. How come you to be here?"

"Let her go, you old fool. Are you all right, Sophia?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sophie said, staring at Almeria Grammond. Charles released her and she took two quick steps away from him. She was rubbing her arms.

Lord David looked flummoxed when Almeria Grammond turned on him. "As for you, you wretch­ed cheat, I personally will see to it that this poor girl you intend to marry cries off. I will not have you for a neighbor!"

Ryder laughed, he couldn't help it. His excite­ment, his anticipation of at the very least breaking David Lochridge's face, had degenerated into farce, worthy of Nell Gwen and the Restoration stage.

He stepped forward. All eyes turned toward him. "A full complement now," he said, his voice as bland as the goat weed his stallion was reluctantly chew­ing. "Save, perhaps, for Lord David's betrothed."

"This is impossible," Lord David said. He was markedly pale and his long thin fingers were clenching and unclenching. "This should not be happening."

"One would think so," Ryder agreed easily. "You are Mrs. Grammond, I take it. I'm Ryder Sherbrooke, Sophia's husband. How do you do, ma'am?"