The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

He supposed it was later that night when she was snuggled against him, both of them naked and warm, that he considered accepting her. It would please her, no doubt about that. It would make her deliriously happy, no doubt about that either. After all, she’d tried to seduce him. She was a lady, a young lady of impeccable breeding and upbringing who had, nevertheless, stripped off her clothes in front of him. Well, he just might keep her. Perhaps she would come to suit him as well as any other young lady. The good Lord knew that her father would fall on his knees with prayers of thanksgiving to heaven. Everyone would be delighted, except perhaps him. Ah, but she would probably come to suit him as well as any other female.

It was a pity that she wasn’t as beautiful as Melissande.

But no young lady on the face of the earth was as beautiful as Melissande.

There was no point in trying to locate another female to match her beauty. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have to watch every man who came in sight of Alexandra for signs of complete besottedness. Nor would he have to worry that she would flirt with the men she’d rendered besotted. He frowned at that thought, for Melissande didn’t just flirt; she flirted outrageously. She basked in the flow of compliments men rained upon her beautiful head. He wondered then, for the first time, if Tony hated the effect she had on every nondead male between the ages of ten and eighty who saw her. He wondered if some day he would ask his cousin.

He doubted it. He still wanted to kill Tony.

Alexandra cried out softly beside him. Without conscious thought Douglas kissed her forehead and drew her closer.

What to do?

He would think about it. He imagined the relief, the joy on her face were he to tell her that he had decided to keep her.

Why not make her deliriously happy?

CHAPTER

11

IT FELT REALLY rather good. She was alive, truly, honestly alive.

Alexandra took a deep breath and was relieved that it didn’t hurt too much. She felt absurdly weak, so weak in fact that when she spotted the glass of water on the small table beside the bed, she didn’t have the strength to get to it, and oh, did she ever want it.

She did manage to turn onto her side and raise her arm toward the glass. She was near to tears of frustration when the bedchamber door opened and Douglas looked in.

“You’re awake. How do you feel?”

She stared at the water, saying in a low hoarse voice, “Thirsty. Please, I’m so thirsty.”

He was there in but a moment. He sa

t beside her, brought her head against his shoulder, picked up the glass, and efficiently put it to her lips. “Why didn’t you call me? I wasn’t all that far away, no more than twelve feet.”

She closed her eyes in bliss. The water tasted wonderful. Douglas allowed only a trickle but it was just fine with her. To swallow was a chore.

When she finished nearly half the glass, he set it down, but continued to hold her. He repeated, “Why didn’t you call me? Tom’s cottage isn’t all that large, you know. I would have heard you.”

“I didn’t think about it.”

“Why not? You haven’t been taking care of yourself. I have been taking care of you and I’ve done a rather good job of it. You do remember that, don’t you?”

“What day is it?”

He frowned down at her, but said, “It’s Wednesday, early afternoon. You were very ill for only a day and a half. With my good doctoring, you’ll be just fine now.”

“How is your head?”

“My head is filled with its own importance again.”

“Are we still in Tom O’Malley’s cottage?”

“Yes, as I said, you should have called me if you needed anything. Finkle has returned to Northcliffe Hall to fetch a carriage. You’ll be in your own bed soon.”

“I don’t have any clothes on.”

“I know.”