The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

“It would appear that I didn’t have to wheedle even a tiny bit.”

“Since it was somewhat my fault—your fall, that is—I shall make reparations. Still, you should have been more alert, more prepared for the unexpected.”

Alex was mild-tempered. She was patient and long-suffering; she knew how to endure; she knew how to hold her tongue to avoid distasteful scenes. She was never reckless. Even when her mother was at her pickiest, Melissande at her most demanding, she’d merely smiled and gone about her business. But with Douglas, her husband . . . how dare he continue to insult her riding ability? She simply couldn’t help herself. She twisted against his arm, pushing at him with her entire weight. Caught unawares, Douglas went over the other side. He would have saved himself had Garth not decided that

the extra weight on his back demanded that he make his master realize he wasn’t to be treated like a common hack. Garth reared and twisted in the air. Alex managed to retain her balance, clutching wildly at Garth’s mane. Douglas lost everything. He hit the road with a loud thunk, landing on his back, winding himself. The reins were dragging the ground and Garth immediately sidestepped away from his master.

Like Alex, Douglas just lay there, waiting to see if anything was broken, if anything had shaken itself loose.

He opened his eyes, still not moving, and said, “I will beat you for that.”

“Tony said that you were a gentleman. Gentlemen do not beat ladies nor do they make such bullying threats.”

“Being a gentleman pales when one is confronted with a wife one doesn’t know, doesn’t want, never did want, never even knew existed, a wife who is violent, heedless, without control.” He drew breath to continue on this fine monologue when the ground shook and he watched, speechless, dust flying into his open mouth, as the female rode Garth—his stallion—away from him.

He nearly forgot to whistle.

Garth, thank heavens, heard him, stopped dead in his tracks, whipped about and trotted back to his prone master.

Alex was grinding her teeth. She stared down at Douglas, who was now sitting up in the middle of the road.

“I believe,” she said clearly, “that you, my lord, are also in need of new riding clothes.”

“These aren’t really riding clothes. They’re morning garb. Are you ignorant as well as a sham?”

“Sham? I am not!”

“Then why did you do it?”

Both Alex and Garth were motionless. She opened her mouth, then closed it. It was obvious that Tony had failed utterly to bring the earl around. She could repeat that her father had been in horrible financial difficulties, repeat that all the Chambers holdings would have been lost, that the heir had fled to America, that her father would have been disgraced, perhaps had to blow his brains out with the shame of it. She shuddered with the thought of how those offerings would be received. Then there was the other truth, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, tell him that.

“No answer, hm? Well, I’m not surprised, particularly after all the drivel Tony was feeding me last night.” Douglas got to his feet, queried his body, was satisfied with the response, and walked to his stallion. He picked up the reins, stroked the stallion’s nose, and said slowly, “I am to believe that you were willing to sacrifice yourself on the marital altar because your beloved father was going to lose everything if you didn’t? That you and your father convinced dear Tony—that traitorous sod—that it would save me having to find myself a proper female amongst the current batch of debutantes in London? That all of this was done for my benefit? But then you, honorable to your female toes, told your father you couldn’t do it? Because of your nobility of spirit? Then he forced you?”

How could Tony have said that? It was ludicrous! Certainly she’d refused, at least at first she had. Before she could say anything, Douglas snorted, just like his horse. “Sorry, but I don’t believe that. In this day and age, fathers cannot coerce their children to do anything against their will.” Even as he spoke the words, they rang false and he knew it. Actually Tony had said nothing of the like but Douglas was probing, and the chit wasn’t telling him anything that sounded reasonable.

Alex said quietly, “No, Papa didn’t force me. He loves me, but I had to—”

“Yes, I know. You had to save him and sacrifice yourself. I hope you’re pleased with my purchase, since I have paid dearly to have a stranger for a wife.”

Alex straightened as tall as she could in the saddle. “I would that you would give me a chance, my lord, that you not despise me out of hand. I will make you a good wife.”

He looked up at the disheveled female atop Garth. She was pale now and he wondered momentarily if she had been hurt in her fall, but then she added, “Tony said you would rather have a tooth extracted than spend a Season in London. He said the last thing you wanted to do was be forced to attend all the routs and balls and parties and sniff out available young ladies for your consideration. He said you felt like a plump partridge in the midst of well-armed hunters. He said you hated it.”

“He did? And you believed him? I don’t suppose it occurred to you during your spate of nobility that Tony would have said anything to try to find excuses for himself? To justify what he did to me?”

“I am sure that he still feels immense guilt. He is very fond of you.”

“But more fond of your sister!”

“Yes, he loves her.”

“He’s a Judas and I should blow his brains out.”

“He did not intend for it to happen. Surely you don’t believe he married Melissande to thwart you? To somehow spite you? No, even in your foulest mood, you wouldn’t believe that. Did he lie about your feelings toward going to London?”

Douglas looked down at his scuffed Hessians. Finkle would have a fit when he saw it. “No, but it wasn’t up to him to make that decision for me. It is all a part of his justification, nothing more.”

“I’m sorry.”