Mad Jack (Sherbrooke Brides 4)

Gray said to Jack, “Ryder Sherbrooke rescues children from appalling situations and takes them to Brandon House, a beautiful brand-new house that sits very close to his own in the Cotswolds. He takes care of them, sees to their futures. He usually has about fifteen children there at any one time.”

Sinjun interrupted him. “Who’s this? Goodness, Gray, is this the young lady who isn’t really the valet Jack? She looks all green about the gills. What have you done to her? Move aside and I’ll see to her.”

Gray moved aside. Sinjun was only four years his junior and a major force of nature.

“Where is Colin?” Gray asked, trailing Sinjun into the bedchamber and closing the door.

“He was being a perfect pain in the—well, never mind that. He’s more nervous than the chickens get when I’m practicing with my bow and arrow in the apple orchard. It’s absurd, Gray. I’m just pregnant—a very common thing, particularly among women—and you’d think I was afflicted with some strange and nasty disease. I left him in London to drive himself mad for a change.”

Gray closed his eyes. “You mean you simply walked out on Colin? You didn’t say anything at all to him?”

“I left him a very sweet letter,” she said. “Now, enough of that. Let me see to Jack.”

“You’re pregnant? That’s wonderful, Sinjun! Congratulations.” Gray hugged her, then lightly tapped his fingertips on her chin. “You didn’t ride like a bedlamite to get here, did you?”

“Not at all. I brought a carriage.” She just smiled up at him, then moved to the bed. She stared down at Jack the valet for a long moment, then sat on the edge of the bed.

She leaned forward and peered very closely into Jack’s eyes.

“I’m really all right.”

“You’re less green now than you were a minute ago. Yes, you’re going to be fine, thank God. Did Gray nurse you? Of course he did, there’s no one else. I’ve known Gray forever. He’s never nursed me, but I would imagine he’s quite capable.”

“It’s his fault that I got sick. He wouldn’t let me take Durban.”

“What a selfish lout. Shame on him. Who’s Durban?”

“I’m not a lout,” Gray said. “Durban’s my horse, not hers.”

“Believe me,” Sinjun said to Jack, ignoring him. “Gray’s not at all selfish. He must have had an excellent reason not to lend Durban to you. He is wonderful, you know. You can believe me about this.” She lightly laid her palm on Jack’s forehead. “You feel nice and cool. When did you last drink some water? It doesn’t matter. Here, drink some more. You’re also clean. Did Gray bathe you? He never bathed me either, but again I’ll wager he’s quite good at it. Gray is thorough. He’s conscientious.”

“Don’t forget to repeat how wonderful I am,” Gray said, torn between amusement and irritation and, yes, a dollop of embarrassment as well.

“Your skin also feels healthy and soft. Hmmm, that’s lucky for you.”

“Gray rubbed cream all over me.”

“He noticed your skin was dry? He rubbed you with cream? What a thoughtful thing for him to do.”

He saw that Jack didn’t stand a chance. No one did with Sinjun. Jack drank the entire glass of water that Sinjun held for her. Gray wanted to laugh. While Ryder would have coddled Jack and let her complain and whine, Sinjun simply rolled over her. Was he really wonderful? And thoughtful?

“Sinjun,” he said to a bewildered, silent Jack, “is but one of the Sherbrooke siblings. Just wait until you meet Ryder and Douglas. Incidentally, Sinjun, how is Vicar Tysen?”

“He and that appallingly proper Melinda Beatrice—that’s his wife”—she added to Jack—“are working on their third child. Three! They’ve only been married just three years. Can you believe that? Douglas and Ryder torment him, tell him that God surely can’t approve of all the carnal appetite he’s displaying.” Sinjun Kinross paused a moment, her brow furrowed, her Sherbrooke blue eyes gone dark with intensity.

“As I told you, I brought a carriage, Gray. Actually, it’s your town carriage. When Jack is strong enough, we’ll go back to London.”

“I’m strong enough right now. This very minute. I’ve never been called Jack before a week and a half ago.”

“What’s your name?” Sinjun asked.

“Winifrede.”

“You don’t look like a Winifrede,” Gray said. “Thank God.”

“No, you don’t,” Sinjun said. “Gray’s right. I like ‘Jack.’ It has grit. My mother wouldn’t like it; she’d claim it would wither a female’s charms and shrivel a man’s interest, but I disagree. Yes, ‘Jack’ has fortitude.”

Gray laughed at the look of complete bafflement on her face. “All right. Let me wrap you up and Sinjun here will take us back to London.”