The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

“Why would he care whether or not I was happy? Ah, Douglas, that is very nice.”

His fingers stopped but the warmth of his flesh was still there, settled against her flesh, and she shifted slightly. “You will make me forget what I was saying, Douglas, if you continue doing that.”

“Accustom yourself for I will touch you whenever and however I please. Now, heed me well, Alexandra. I am a cold man, you could say, if you spoke starkly. By that I mean that I am a man who endeavors not to be overly fooled by artifice or guile. I am a man who lives by logic and reason and not by—” He broke off, his fingers moving over her again, and then he cursed even as he kissed her, rolling over onto her and sliding into her. It was as it always was: fast and hard and deep and she fell into the pleasure of it, crying out and holding him, burrowing into him, wanting him more than she could imagine and the feelings were deeper than he was inside her, so deep she couldn’t remember how it had been before he had been with her. But she didn’t whisper the words to him. She moaned when she found her release, biting into his shoulder with the power of it. And Douglas, he simply took her pleasure into himself and gave her his own, holding her tightly to him after his release and into sleep.

Alexandra came into the drawing room to see a slight, balding, middle-aged gentleman standing in front of the bow windows, rocking back and forth on his heels, staring at his watch, not across the street at the beautiful park. When he saw her he quickly put the watch back into his vest pocket and gave her a slight bow. She said, her head cocked to one side in question, “Our butler told me there was a gentleman to see me. It is odd since I don’t know many gentlemen yet in London. For a moment I thought it must be Beecham, but no, I vow he would not be so indiscreet. It would not be his style. Who are you, sir?”

“I?” He stared at her, unblinking. “I? Surely, His Lordship said I was coming. Surely you must know who I am.”

His astonishment at her ignorance was genuine and she smiled. “No, Burgess merely said there was a gentleman in here. Are you perhaps a playwright or an actor who seeks patronage? Perhaps a vicar who needs a living? If that is so, I regret to tell you that His Lordship’s young brother will doubtless—”

“No! I am Dr. John Mortimer! I am a physician! I am one of the premier physicians in all of London! His Lordship asked me to visit you. As you know, he is concerned that you will bear his heir and that you are perhaps too small to complete the task successfully. He wished me to ascertain if this is true.”

She stared at him, disbelieving. Douglas, curse his black eyes and hair, had been called out earlier in the morning and had not returned. So, he’d arranged for this man to come. Well, at least he hadn’t yet returned, so that meant she wouldn’t have to argue with him in front of Dr. Mortimer.

“Dr. Mortimer,” she said, still smiling, but it was difficult, “I fear you have come for nothing. My husband worries overly. Besides, if I am already with child, then there is nothing to be done if I am too small, is that not true?”

Dr. Mortimer, a man who knew his own worth, which was great, and a man unused to a lady speaking so forwardly, a lady who treated him with such presumption, drew himself up and smiled kindly down at her. She was embarrassed, that was it. It was the only explanation for her odd behavior, though she didn’t seem to be at all. Still, he chose his avuncular voice, one that always soothed nervous ladies, chuckled slightly at her foray into wit, and said, “My dear Lady Northcliffe, ladies, no matter their beliefs or what they think they believe—undoubtedly provided with good intent by their older female relations—don’t have the ability to discern what is or is not appropriate for them. It is why they have husbands, you know. I am here to examine you, my lady, as requested by your husband. I will then tell your husband what is best for you when you conceive his heir. His concern for your size is laudable. As a physician, I take all factors into consideration and then guide you into the proper steps during the months until the child is born. Now, my lady—”

Alexandra couldn’t quite believe that this pretentious, thoroughly irritating man, physician or no, had walked into her drawing room and was treating her like a half-wit stray. But it was Douglas she wanted to cosh, not this specimen.

She smiled sweetly. “Would you like a cup of tea, sir?”

He smiled back at her, showing teeth. “No, thank you, my lady.” He fanned his hands in a gesture of spurious modesty. “My time isn’t always my own, you know. Why, in an hour, I must be off to see Lady Abercrombie. She is a cousin to the queen, you know, and I am her private physician. It was difficult for me to come and see you this quickly, but your husband is well-known to me and I decided to oblige him in this. Now, my lady, it is time for us to go upstairs to your bedchamber. If you would like to have your maid present, that is certainly fine.”

“Sir, we will not continue anywhere. I am sorry that you made this wasted trip. As I said, my husband worries overly.” With that, Alexandra walked to the bell cord and gave it a healthy jerk. Her heart was pounding, she knew her face was flushed. Oddly, she still wasn’t particularly angry at this condescending little man, for he was what he was. Ah, but Douglas, he was another matter entirely.

“My lady, really—”

She raised her hand to cut him off. “No, sir, please don’t apologize. Do go along to Lady Abercrombie, the queen’s cousin, who doubtless is on her toes in anticipation of your coming, and as a result her heart is beating much too quickly for her good health awaiting you.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize! Your husband pleaded with me to come here and—”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but my husband wouldn’t plead with the king himself. It’s obvious you don’t know him well at all. Ah, Burgess, please see the good doctor out. He is in quite a hurry. He must see the queen, you know.”

“No, no, it is Lady Abercrombie, the queen’s cousin. Surely you can’t wish me to leave!”

“I am certain the queen would swoon to see you as well, Dr. Mortimer. Now, good sir, if you would excuse me—”

Burgess was in an unenviable quandary. The earl had informed him of the physician’s impending visit. He knew the countess hadn’t been informed and that had bothered him. Knowing her just briefly, he still knew she wouldn’t be pleased with what His Lordship had done. And now Her Ladyship was evidently booting out th

e good doctor. Burgess knew his duty. He also knew what was good for him. He drew himself up to his full five feet four inches and said calmly, “Dr. Mortimer, if you could come this way if you please.”

“Good-bye, sir. How very amiable of you to call.”

Mortimer wanted to be insulted; however, he was more confused by what had passed. He didn’t understand how the young lady, countess or not, had managed to rout him, and thus allowed himself to be led out without a word by a butler who looked more like an ostler, bald, round of belly, needing only a large apron about his middle. He was also very short, not at all what Mortimer would have deemed proper in an earl’s household. He stood for a moment on the front steps, staring back at the front door of the town house.

Douglas had hurried as quickly as he could to be here when the physician arrived. He imagined that Alexandra wouldn’t be too pleased to see the man, but he was concerned and he’d wanted the physician to see her immediately. He wanted the man’s word that she would be all right. The fact that he had no idea whether or not she was indeed pregnant didn’t matter. If she wasn’t now, she would be sooner or later. No, he was worried and he wanted his worries allayed by a man who should know what was what and Mortimer had been recommended by his own physician who’d tended him three years before when he’d been wounded.

Thus, when he saw the physician, standing outside his town house, staring foolishly back at the closed door, his greeting stilled in his mouth, and he frowned. Oh God, something was wrong. She was too small, he knew it; she was with child now and she would die and it would be all his fault. His voice was hoarse and urgent, but he didn’t question it, saying, “Dr. Mortimer. Is my wife all right?”

“Oh, my lord! Your wife? She offered me tea, you know. Your wife is fine. She is not at all what I expected. She isn’t as I am used to seeing in a lady. She is young, perhaps that is at the root of it. Most strange. I must go now, my lord. Ah, your wife, yes, my lord, your wife. I wish you all the best, my lord. Good luck. I dare say you will need it.”

Mortimer continued in that vein as he walked quickly down the steps and into his waiting carriage.

Douglas stood, his hand on the front doorknob, staring after the doctor. He appeared vague; he appeared to ramble; he appeared not at all the way he’d appeared early that morning when Douglas had called upon him. Still, he would have said something if Alexandra wasn’t all right. Wouldn’t he?

He found her in the drawing room, standing by the bowed front windows, holding back the heavy draperies, staring out at the street and the park just beyond.