The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

She frowned at the back of his head. They were cantering sedately in Rotten Row. Douglas had decided they didn’t have time to go to Richmond maze. It was too early by far for all the fashionable to be in attendance, which pleased Alexandra. It was a pleasant early afternoon, a light breeze ruffling the loose curls around her face. She said again, this time more than random interest in her voice, “Who wanted you so badly this morning? No one in your family is ill? Everyone is all right?”

“My family is now your family. Contrive to remember that, please. Also, it is none of your business where I go or what I do. A wife shouldn’t meddle in her husband’s affairs. Pay attention to your mount and—”

“Douglas,” she said in what she believed a most reasonable tone of voice, “you are sulking because I didn’t take that wretched doctor up to my bedchamber. I will continue not to take him anywhere, and unless you want to create a god-awful scene, you won’t force me to. Now, what was all the urgency? I am your wife. Please tell me what is happening.”

He remained mulish and silent and her imagination flowed into dramatic channels. “It isn’t anything to do with an invasion, is it? Oh dear, the ministry doesn’t want you back in the army, do they? You won’t go, will you? Please consider well, Douglas. There is so much at Northcliffe Hall that requires your constant attention. So I don’t think—”

“Be quiet! It has nothing to do with that, dammit! It has to do with a brilliant madman named Georges Cadoudal.”

“Who is he?”

How had she managed to get him to spit out the name, he wondered, staring between his horse’s ears. “It is none of your affair. Be quiet. Leave me alone. I won’t tell you anything more.”

“All right,” she said. Georges Cadoudal. He was French and Douglas spoke French as if he’d been nursed on it at his mother’s breast. She remembered the intensity of that French woman—that hussy he’d rescued, Janine—the previous night at the Ranleaghs’ ball and said, “Is he involved somehow with that bawd who was trying to seduce you last night?”

Douglas simply stared at her. She couldn’t know. It was just a guess and he was a fool. The last thing he wanted to do was worry her, to scare her. The absolute last thing he wanted was for her to pry into the absurd business. He dug his heels into Prince’s sides and the stallion shot forward.

Alexandra wished she had a rock; she would surely throw it at the back of his head. But more than that, she was worried. How to find out who this Georges Cadoudal was and how it affected Douglas? She remembered the note brought to him by his valet, Finkle, who had come to London with

them. Perhaps the note was still about somewhere. She resolved to find it. He’d said that his was now her family as well. Very well. She was his wife; it was time he realized that having a wife meant an end to his own counsels. She could be of help to him; he had to learn that.

She found the note. Finkle had deposited it carefully with His Lordship’s other missives on his massive desk in the library. Alexandra frowned as she read it. It was from a Lord Avery. The scrawl, which was large and black, simply informed Douglas that this Georges Cadoudal was, it appeared, not in Paris where he was supposed to be, but rather back in England. Lord Avery was worried; he needed to speak with Douglas immediately.

Alexandra scrupulously refolded the letter, placing it back into the pile, giving no visual hint it had been moved. Douglas came unexpectedly into the room just as she finished. She flushed to the top of her forehead and quickly pushed away from the desk.

“Good day, my lord,” she said and gave him an airy wave.

He was frowning; he blocked her escape. “What are you doing in here, Alexandra?”

She sent her chin upward. “Isn’t this my house as well? Are there some rooms that I’m not allowed to visit? If that is so, it is only fair that you tell me where I am not to go and I will, naturally, obey you.”

Douglas looked toward his desk, his frown still in place. “Your efforts to distract me have never worked. And, you have never obeyed me. Now, what is on my desk that was of such interest to you?”

As he took a step forward, she tried to duck around him. He caught her wrist in his hand. She felt his thumb gently caress the soft flesh and knew that if he continued, she would be on her back on the floor, or perhaps the sofa, and she would enjoy herself most thoroughly.

It was as if Douglas realized the same thing. He dropped her wrist. “Don’t move,” he said, “or I will see to it that you pay for your interest in my affairs.” She wondered if he knew what he would do were she to duck out of the room. She decided the threat wasn’t specific enough and was out of the room in an instant.

Douglas let her go. He’d find her quickly enough; he went to his desk and thumbed through the papers. When he found the note from Lord Avery, he cursed. Damn Finkle, why did he have to be so fastidious? Well, she knew very little more now than she had before. Still, he was worried. Georges Cadoudal wasn’t predictable. From experience, Douglas knew that once Georges got a particular idea in his brain, he couldn’t be budged from it. It was both an asset and a terrible drawback. Like now.

Douglas cursed. What to do?

His course of action was decided that very evening. He took Alexandra to a small soirée at the home of Lord and Lady Marchpane, a delightful older couple who were very fond of Douglas for he’d looked after their grandson in the army. They greeted him and Alexandra warmly.

As for Alexandra, she was wary, though Douglas had said naught to her of retribution or punishment. He’d appeared rather preoccupied, even when she’d presented herself in a new gown whose neckline wasn’t all that high. He’d merely nodded at her and that had been that. She watched him from the corner of her eye. She would have preferred to have remained at the town house, with him. Perhaps she should apologize for her nosiness. She touched her fingertips to his sleeve. He looked down at her, saying nothing, his face expressionless.

“I’m sorry, Douglas.”

“For what specifically?”

“For prying, but you made me so angry, not telling me what is happening. I am your wife, you know. I can be of assistance to you if you would but allow me.”

His look was, if nothing, more remote. “I accept your apology though it is sparse as a gorse heath. As for the other, I cannot help but be aware that you are my wife. You are with me every blessed moment. I doubt I could relieve myself without you demanding where it is I went to and what it is I did. Ah, here is Teddy Summerton. He dances well. I will give you over to him. No, don’t argue with me. You will do as I bid you. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” she said.

And she dutifully danced the next country dance with Teddy Summerton, a very nice young gentleman with a pallid complexion and large ears who appeared to worship her husband. When the dance was over, Douglas was nowhere to be seen.

Alexandra wondered if he were once again with that French hussy. She wandered slowly around the perimeter of the ballroom; some of the people recognized her and nodded. She nodded back, smiling. Where was Douglas?