The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

There wasn’t a soul to be seen, for it was three o’clock in the morning. Still, Sinjun was far too excited to be tired. She’d managed to escape her brother, and that was no mean feat. Sinjun was out of the carriage in a trice, giving orders to the driver, a man of few words, bless him, and big pockets to hold more guineas than she’d planned to pay him. But she wasn’t at all worried. If she ran out of money, she’d simply sell her pearl necklace. Nothing was more important than Colin and getting herself safely wedded to him. She turned to help him down from the carriage.

“You’ll be in bed in a trice. I’ll go in if you’d like to wait here, Colin, and—”

“Hush,” he said. “I will deal with our ostler. He’s a dirty old lecher, and I don’t want him getting the wrong idea. Damn, I wish you had a wedding ring. Keep your gloves on. You are my wife and I will see to things.”

“All right.” She beamed at him, then frowned. “Oh dear, do you need money?”

“I have money.”

Nevertheless, Sinjun dug into her reticule and pulled out a sheaf of pound notes. “Here. I would feel better if you keep it.” She gave him a sunny smile.

“Let’s get this over with before I fall on my face. Oh yes, keep your mouth shut.”

It was as they walked across the quiet, dark courtyard that Sinjun noticed how badly he was limping. She opened her mouth and then closed it again.

Ten minutes later Sinjun opened the door to a small bedchamber set under the dark eaves and stepped back for Colin to enter first. “I think the ostler believes we lied,” she said, not at all concerned. “But you did very well with him. I think he’s afraid of you. You’re a nobleman, and thus quite unpredictable.”

“Aye, he probably did think I lied, the fat old carp.” Colin looked toward the bed and nearly moaned with the pleasure that awaited him. He felt her hands on his cloak and stilled. “I doubt he’d recognize a husband and wife if he attended their wedding.”

“Let me help you.” She did, efficient as a nanny, and it irritated him, but he held still, just looking at that bed. He wanted to sleep for a week.

“If you will sit down I’ll pull off your boots.”

That was soon done. She’d had enough practice with her brothers. Sinjun stepped back. “Shall I do more?”

“No,” he said. “Just turn your back.”

She obligingly did as he bade, removing her own shoes and stockings, hanging up her cloak and his in the small armoire provided. She turned back when she heard the bed creak. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed, the covers drawn up to his bare chest. His arms were at his sides, on top of the blanket.

“This is all very odd,” she said, chagrined that her voice sounded so much like a maiden’s, all skinny and scared.

He didn’t answer her and she was emboldened to continue. “You see,” she said slowly, “it’s true that I am rather outspoken, I guess you’d say, but my brothers have always encouraged me to speak my mind. So it was the same with you. But now, well, it feels strange, being in this room with you, and I know you don’t have your clothes on and I’m supposed to climb in on the other side of that bed and—”

Her monologue was interrupted by a low rumbling snore.

Sinjun had to laugh at herself. All her soulful meanderings, only for her and the armoire and a sleeping man. She walked quietly to the bedside and looked down at him. He was hers, she thought, all hers, and no one would take him away from her, not even Douglas, no one. Murdered his wife! What arrant nonsense. Lightly, she stroked her fingertips over his brow. He was cool to the touch. The fever was long gone but he was still so very weak. She frowned, then leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Sinjun had never slept with anyone before in her nineteen years, particularly a man who was large and snoring, a man who was so perfect to her that she wanted to spend the rest of the night looking at him and kissing him and touching him. Still, it was strange. Well, she would get used to it. Douglas and Alex always slept in the same bed, as did Ryder and Sophie. It was the way married people did things. Well, except perhaps for her parents; and truth be told, she wouldn’t have wanted to sleep in the same bed with her mother, either. She crawled in next to him, and even from nearly a foot away, she could feel the heat from his body.

She lay on her back and stretched out her hand to find his. Instead her hand found his side. He was naked, his flesh smooth and warm. She didn’t want to leave that part of him, but she did. It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of him when he was asleep. She laced her fingers through his. Surprisingly, she was asleep very shortly.

Sinjun awoke with a start. Sunlight was pouring through the narrow diamond-paned window. It certainly wasn’t the crack of dawn. On the other hand, to get strong again, Colin had to sleep, and a bed was preferable to the jostling he got in the carriage. She lay there a moment, aware that he was beside her, still sleeping soundly. He hadn’t moved, but then neither had she. She realized then that the covers weren’t tucked up about his neck, where they were supposed to be. Slowly, knowing she shouldn’t but unable not to, she turned and looked at him. He’d kicked the covers off and they were tangled around his feet. As for the rest of him, he was there in the bright sunlight for her to see. She’d never before seen a naked man, and she found him as beautiful as she thought she would. But too thin. She stared at his belly and his groin, and at his sex nestled in the thick hair. His legs were long and thick and covered with black hair. He was beyond beautiful; he was magnificent, even his feet. When she finally forced her eyes away from his groin—a difficult task, for she was frankly fascinated—she blinked at the white bandage around his right thigh.

Of course the fever alone hadn’t been responsible for his continued illness. She remembered that damned limp of his the previous night. He’d been hurt somehow.

Anger and worry flooded her. She’d been a fool not to suspect that some other injury was at work here. Why the devil hadn’t he told her?

Damnation. She scrambled off the bed and pulled on her dressing gown.

“You wretched man,” she said under her breath, but it wasn’t under enough. “I’m your wife and you should trust me.”

“You’re not my wife yet and why are you bleating at me?”

His jaw was a stubble of black whiskers, his hair was mussed, but his eyes were alert, such a deep blue that she forgot to speak for a moment, content just to stare at him.

Colin realized that he was naked and said calmly, “Please pull the covers over me, Joan.”

“Not until you tell me what happened to you. What is this bandage for?”