The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

“Ah, what would you call it? You’re shouting your head off, yelling like a bloody fishwife.”

“All right! Take me to London, take me to see this Madame Jordan, spend all your groats on my back!”

“Ha! Don’t you mean your front?”

“Oh goodness. Douglas, please.”

He grinned then.

“Blessed hell, you’re as evil as Sinjun, damn you!”

“Not entirely. I see you’ve appropriated one of the favored Sherbrooke curses. I’ve tried to curb my tongue around you but you’ve learned it nonetheless. From whom, I won’t demand to know. We will leave for London after the soirée, all right? No, don’t argue with me. You’ve already agreed and I hold you to it. Also, by then, that traitorous sod will have left with Melissande.”

“And there’s no reason for you to remain here if she isn’t.”

“Your syntax is nothing short of spectacular and you don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, if you continue to stand there, thrusting your breasts toward me, I will rip off that gown and then you will be late to meet with the seamstress.”

He left her standing in the middle of her bedchamber, staring at nothing in particular, saying toward the armoire, “He is a strange man.”

If Alexandra fancied Douglas would relent and allow her to be alone with Mrs. Plack, the seamstress from Rye, she was soon to see her grievous error. Sinjun lounged on a chaise longue and Douglas very calmly sat in the wing chair, crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms over his chest and said, “Pray begin, Mrs. Plack.”

She wanted to order both of them out of her bedchamber but she knew from short but powerful experience that when Douglas had made up his mind, he couldn’t be budged. She stood stiff as a stone while Mrs. Plack measured her. She raised her arms, stretched her full height; then she tried to slump just a bit so her breasts would not poke out so much, which made Douglas say sharply, “No, straighten your back!”

She did. Then she was allowed to remain while Douglas perused fashion plates until he found a gown that pleased him. “Except,” he said, stroking his jaw, “remove that flounce at the hemline. It’s too much. Ah, yes, the smooth lines and the raised waist will make her appear taller. Oh, and hoist up the neckline at least an inch.”

“But, my lord, it will make Her Ladyship look provincial! This is the latest fashion from Paris!”

“An inch,” His Lordship said again. “Raise it an inch.”

“May I see?” Alexandra asked sweetly.

“Certainly,” Douglas said and took her arm, drawing her to his side. “Do you agree that this will become you vastly?”

She stared down at the gown and swallowed. It was exquisite. “What color did you have in mind?”

“A soft pomona green with a dark green overskirt.”

“I do not wish to look provincial.”

Mrs. Plack heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. I shall leave the neckline where it is then.”

“No,” said Douglas. “I want her to be admired but I don’t want her to be stared at.”

Alexandra grinned up at him, saying nothing. She looked at his mouth and her eyes darkened. She loved his mouth, the feel of his mouth on her own; she saw his hands clench. She loved the strength of his hands, the frenzy of his mouth and his hands when he touched her, when he turned wild and savage and uncivilized, when she became the most important thing in the world to him.

“Stop it,” he said beneath his breath.

“Hi ho,” Sinjun said, yawning hugely. “I think you have chosen wisely, brother. Now, don’t you think we can go buy Alexandra that mare?”

“You will remain and be measured for your own gown, Sinjun. I’ve selected it and Mother has given her approval. No, don’t try to thank me—”

“I was going to take you to task for being so high-handed! I should like to choose my own gown.”

“No, you’re too young, too green. Don’t argue with me. Alexandra and I will see you later. Thank you, Mrs. Plack. Don’t forget, an inch.”

“You were high-handed, you know,” Alexandra said to her husband as they walked toward the stables.

He brushed a fly from his buckskin thigh. “You need it as does my impertinent sister.” He kept walking, speaking quietly now, not looking at her as he said, “On your return to the Hall, I will take you back to that charming stream. I have decided that it is bedchambers with those big beds that make me lose my rationality and my perspective. Yes, it is the place rather than you that is responsible for turning me into a man with absolutely no finesse or savoir-faire.