The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

“Well,” Alexandra said, shooting the love-slain Tysen a harassed look, “perhaps you and Mr. Sherbrooke can take a turn in the gardens. It’s warm tonight so your dear mama surely can’t object and there are so many adults just feet away to protect your reputation.”

“Yes, I should like that,” said Miss Hardesty. “If Mama won’t object.”

“What a twit,” Douglas remarked as he watched his brother lead Miss Hardesty away. “I do hope Tysen will outgrow her. He goes back to Oxford soon, thank God.” He looked back to his wife, whose bodice had been raised only a half-inch and frowned. He’d overheard Sinjun laughing about it. He’d said nothing, however, for when Alexandra had come earlier into the drawing room, looking toward him like a hopeful puppy, he was too busy thinking how lovely she looked to say anything. The green made her skin as creamy and white as her belly, and her hair, thick and redder than sin, was piled artfully atop her head, with several glossy tendrils trailing over her shoulder. He looked down at the expanse of rich white flesh and felt himself begin to shake. “Let’s dance, otherwise I might be tempted to thrust my hand down your bosom.”

“All right.”

“All right what?”

She gave him a siren’s smile. “Whichever you choose, Douglas.”

He struggled with himself. As for Alexandra, she tried to keep down the bubble of laughter. As he continued to struggle, she stared with no little pride and relief over the ballroom that was gaily festooned with hanging blue, white, and gold crepe. Potted plants and thick bouquets were in every corner and on every tabletop, their scent fragrant in the warm evening air. There were at least fifteen couples dancing and another thirty standing or seated about the perimeter of the dance floor. Every invitation had been accepted except for Sir James Evertson, who’d had the bad manners to die just that morning. Everything was perfect and she had helped organize all of it. There was plentiful food and the champagne punch had been pronounced fit even for the pickiest matrons by Aunt Mildred. For the first time, Alexandra truly felt like the mistress of Northcliffe Hall. It was a heady feeling and she loved it. Her mother-in-law had harumphed a bit at some of her orders, but hadn’t gainsaid her, at least to her face. Yes, she’d proved she could deal with her mother-in-law, at least in this.

She sought out Melissande, who looked like a princess, dancing with a young man who looked ready to collapse at her feet and pant.

Douglas, having finished his struggle, said finally, sounding just a bit shocked, “Are you trying to tease me, Alexandra?”

She smiled up at her husband. “What were we speaking about? You took so long to reply. Oh yes, it is your choice, Douglas. You insist that all I feel for you is lust. Well, then, since you’re older than I, and far more experienced, I expect you’re right. I accept that now. You’re staring down at my bosom and it is only lust you feel. Now I am staring at your mouth and you must know that I want to kiss you, to feel you with my hands, all of you, especially over your belly and down to touch you, you’re so hot and alive and smooth. All of it is lust. After all, you told me to be reasonable and that you are a man with vast experience in everything, so yes, lust it is.” She gave him a wicked smile and held out her hand. “Dance, my lord?”

He wanted to smack her.

He was breathing hard. He was seeing her white hands stroking down his chest, her fingers splayed on his belly, her fingers curling around him, caressing him, and his muscles spasmed. “I’m going to the cardroom,” he said and left her with a sharp nod.

Alexandra smiled. Let him taste his own turnips, she thought. Just let him believe that she felt nothing for him except his precious lust.

Lady Juliette seemed to enjoy herself, Alexandra saw. She’d established herself and her own court far away from Melissande. She laughed rather a lot and loudly, but Alexandra didn’t care. The chit would leave on the morrow.

When Hollis whispered in Alexandra’s ear that the dinner buffet was ready to be served, she was startled at how quickly the time had passed. It was Tony who led her into dinner and Douglas who escorted Melissande. Juliette was on the besotted arm of a local squire who had been complaining at great length about his gout until he had seen Juliette.

“Douglas is still in a snit,” Alexandra said to Tony as she forked down a bite of delicious salmon patty. “And all because I finall

y agreed with him about my feelings, rather my lack of them.”

“Just lust, hm?”

“Yes. He puffed up like a haughty cardinal and took himself off to the cardroom. His mother isn’t pleased with him. She blames me for his defection, of course. I am tempted to tell her exactly why he defected. I vow it would make her look at Douglas in a different light.”

“And you as well, hussy.”

Alex laughed. “True, but the look on her face would be worth it, almost.”

“Are you pregnant yet?”

She dropped her fork. “Goodness. I have no idea. Oh dear, Tony, I hadn’t thought about it. Pregnant. Why ever would you ask me that?”

“I heard the dowager speaking of it to Aunt Mildred. She just hopes you will do your duty before the year is out since that is the only reason Douglas was willing to marry in the first place. The precious heir, you know.”

She gave him a stark look. “I suppose if I do not produce the precious heir within a year, Douglas will toss me out on my ear and try to breed with another female?”

“You make it sound like livestock on a farm. And no, Douglas will keep on trying manfully, I doubt not.” Tony fiddled with a slice of bread, saying finally, “I know this is difficult for you to believe, but it’s true. I’ve never in my adult life seen Douglas lose his control. In battle he was a cold-blooded bastard, never faltering, never losing sight of his goals, never forgetting a detail that would make a possible difference in an outcome. He was good, Alex, very good; he never lost his head. His men worshiped him because they knew they could trust him. He would never let them down.

“I have seen him so angry that another man would have exploded with the pressure, but not Douglas. Obviously I haven’t observed him in bed with women in the past, but men being men, we do discuss things, and always, in the past, it’s been something of a game to him. He enjoys having a woman lose her head over what he’s doing to her; he enjoys controlling, setting the pace, deciding when and what will be done. You have shocked him to his Sherbrooke toes. He is reeling. I find it quite amusing. Also, Alex, I think your approach this evening was a master stroke. Ah, I wish I could stay and witness his downfall.”

“Downfall. I don’t like the sound of that.”

“His upfall, then, his acceptance that he is very fond of his wife both in and out of bed and that it isn’t at all a bad thing to be utterly mad about your wife.”

“Do you know, if anyone overheard us, they would ship us off to that horrible Botany Bay. I have never even thought in terms of what we now speak about openly.” She grinned. “As for Douglas, he knows no reticence, no shame—”