The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

The next instant he was groaning and rubbing his arm. “Giving and noble and mean,” he said. “Why did you hit me?”

“You lied to me, you damned man. No, damn you, don’t raise one of your supercilious eyebrows at me. You lied to me. You agreed with me that the pain was horrible. You were laughing at me, knowing, and I hate you!”

He laughed aloud now, and felt himself coming out of her. He shut his mouth. He didn’t want to leave her. Just thinking of himself in her, just feeling the softness of her, the heat of her, he swelled and eased more deeply.

“No, that was your nonsensical idea. Don’t rewrite the past, Joan. I know our first time—”

“First time! You ravaged me three times!”

“Very well. It wasn’t well done of me and I did apologize to you if you’ll recall. Also, if your memory wasn’t completely burned out in your recent pleasure storm, I told you that it wouldn’t ever hurt again, but you refused to believe me. Now you know that I was telling you the truth. I told you this morning that men are useful creatures. We’re good for protection—if you allow us to protect you—and we’re useful at giving you pleasure. Now that you know all about pleasure, why then, should you like to do it again?”

She looked up at him. She looked ready to spit in his face. Her blue eyes were narrowed to slits. She said, “All right.”

He loved her slowly and it lasted longer than three minutes this time, which pleased him. When she twisted and moaned, he closed his eyes against the soul-deep pleasure of it and let his own release take him.

“Admit it, Colin, you have been laughing at me, haven’t you?” she said later as she shifted herself to her side.

“A bit, perhaps. Up my sleeve, for the most part. You were so sincere, so convinced that my body couldn’t possibly fit with yours. Yes, it was amusing, when it wasn’t painful. You see, I wanted you very much. Ah, perhaps I want you again. What do you think? No, wait, it will be the infamous three times again. Think carefully before you answer, Joan.”

“All right,” she said immediately, and arched up to kiss him.

They were late to dinner. They were more than late. Philpot and Rory were serving blueberry-and-currant tarts when they arrived. Philip and Dahling had already eaten and been duly removed by Dulcie back to the nursery.

Serena, the brothers, and the wives were there. Aunt Arleth was in her room and would remain there until her brother sent a carriage to fetch her home.

Douglas raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut. Sinjun wondered at his discretion until she saw his mouth was full with tart.

Ryder’s mouth was full only of wickedness. He sat back in his chair, his hands clasped over his lean belly. His blue eyes gleamed with devilment. “Sinjun, I think you have a look on your pretty face that makes me want to kill Colin. You’re my baby sister. You have no right to look that way, no right to do what you’ve quite obviously done with great abandon.”

“Be quiet,” Sophie said, and stuck the tines of her fork into the back of his hand.

“It’s true,” Douglas said, once he’d swallowed the tart, and prepared to launch his own salvo.

“Don’t you get into it,” Alex said. “She’s a married lady. She’s no longer ten years old.”

“That’s a fact,” Colin said, grinning at his new relatives, kissed his wife’s nose, and seated her in the countess’s chair. “Actually that’s two facts.”

He strode to the head of the table, eased himself down, raised his wineglass, and said, “A toast. To my wife, a beautiful, quite challenging lady who’s been mired in female confusion and wrong thinking to the point that—”

“Colin! You will be quiet!” Sinjun heaved her soup spoon at him. It fell short since the table was twelve feet long, clattering against a vase of daffodils.

Philpot cleared his throat loudly but no one paid him any heed.

Serena sighed, looked from Colin to Sinjun, and said, “Colin never looked at Fiona or at me like that. It’s not just a man’s lust he’s taken care of, no, it’s something beyond that. He looks like a cat who’s eaten more cream than he deserves. I think he’s very selfish. I hope he vomits up all that cream. I think you’ve quite ruined him, Joan. Philpot, would you please give me some tarts?”

Philpot, poker-faced, gently placed the plate of tarts in front of her.

“I’m relieved he’s beyond lust now,” Ryder said in great good humor to his sister. “You have a witches’ brew, little sister? Perhaps you’ve been sharing that recipe with Sophie here? She is so greedy, so without pity for me, that it requires all my nobility to remain bravely standing in the face of her demands. Regard a man who’s striving with all his might to provide her with another child. She won’t leave me alone. She’s after me constantly. I am safe from her only at the dinner table.”

“Surely she will stab you again if you don’t close your mouth,” Alex said. “I just hope, Sophie, that when you’re with child again, you will turn green and lose your breakfast just once.”

“Oh no,” Sophie said. “Not that, never that. Besides, I’m much too nice a person to have that happen. I think it’s your husband, Alex. It’s he who makes you sick.”

All three wives were laughing.

Douglas was frowning at his sister-in-law.

Ryder puffed out his chest. “No, Sophie will never know a day’s illness. I will simply forbid her to.”