The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

It was a warm evening, the air heavy with impending rain. Alexandra went onto the balcony and leaned over the stone balustrade to peer down into the gardens below. There were lanterns hung at romantic intervals, but still there were many shadows, many dark places, and she felt a gnawing of fear.

She called out softly, “Douglas?”

There was no response. She thought she heard a rustle in the bushes to her left but couldn’t be certain. She called his name again, then quickly skipped down the deep-set stone steps to the garden. Again she called his name. Then she fell silent. She quickly walked along one of the narrow stone paths, her ears on full alert. Nothing. Then, suddenly, she heard a man’s deep voice that sounded like a low hissing, but she didn’t understand what he was saying. Damnation, it was French he was speaking. She wanted to scream with vexation until she heard Douglas reply, in French, and he sounded both cold and remarkably angry.

Suddenly there came the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle. She didn’t wait but ran full-tilt toward the fray. She ran into the bushes to see two men attacking Douglas. She watched with astonishment when he whirled about on the balls of his feet and struck one of the men hard in his belly with his fist, then as he turned, faster than the wind, his elbow struck the other man in his throat. It was all done so quickly she just stood there, frozen like a rabbit. The one man, rubbing his throat, yelled something in French at Douglas; in the next instant, both he and his henchman had melted into the shadows.

Douglas stood there motionless, rubbing the knuckles of his left hand, staring off into the darkness. She ran to him then, her hand on his arms, his shoulders, finally to cup his face. “Are you all right? You were so fine, Douglas. You moved so quickly. I couldn’t believe it. You didn’t need my help at all. Are you all right? Can you not speak? Please, Douglas, speak to me.” As she spoke, her hands continued to caress him, to feel him, and still he stood motionless, his breathing deep and steady.

Finally, he raised his arms, grasped her hands in his, and lowered his face to within an inch of hers. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

Her hands stilled, but she didn’t flinch away from him. “I was worried about you. I couldn’t find you. I thought perhaps you would need me.”

“Need you? Good Lord, madam, spare me your assistance! Now, we’re leaving.”

“But who were those men? Why did they attack you? I heard all of you arguing but I couldn’t understand. It was in French, blast it. Why—”

He shook her, saying nothing, and dragged her back along the path to the town house. He was terrified for her, for the last thing Georges Cadoudal had shouted at him was a threat against her. Just as he’d destroyed Janine, he, Georges, would destroy Douglas’s new wife.

He said nothing in the carriage, until she asked, “I’ve never seen anyone hit another like that. You didn’t fight Tony like that.”

“I wanted to thrash Tony, not kill him.”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

He turned to look at her in the dim light of the carriage. He smiled just a bit, remembering. “I was in Portugal and I got to know some members in this gang of bandits in Oporto who were the foulest, meanest, dirtiest fighters I’ve ever seen in my life. They taught me and I managed to live through it.”

“Oh. Who were those men who tried to hurt you?”

He took her left hand in his and held it firm. “Listen to me, Alexandra. You are to go nowhere without me, do you understand? Don’t look at me like that, just trust me. Tell me you understand.”

?

??Yes, I understand.”

“Of course you don’t, but it doesn’t matter. The day after tomorrow, we are returning to Northcliffe.”

“Why?”

“You will do as I tell you and ask no more questions.”

She decided to let the matter rest. She knew him well enough to recognize that once he’d shut off the valve to his meager supply of information, it wouldn’t again be opened. He was the most stubborn man she’d ever known. She leaned back her head against the soft leather squabs, closed her eyes, and began to snore.

She thought he chuckled, but she couldn’t be certain. She now had a plan; not much of one, but at least it was a start; it was something.

The following day at just after eleven o’clock in the morning, Douglas returned to the town house. His meeting with Lord Avery had been short and to the point. Yes, Georges Cadoudal was here in London, not in Paris, where he should be with all the English government’s groats and apparently he was out for blood, Douglas’s blood.

Douglas sighed, handed Burgess his cane, and asked, “Where is Her Ladyship?”

Burgess looked pained but brave. “She is with a person, my lord.”

“A person, you say? Is this person male?”

“Yes, my lord. It is a French male person.”

He immediately thought of Georges Cadoudal and paled. But no, Georges wouldn’t come here. Damn her eyes. Was she trying to spy on him by bribing some Frenchman she’d picked up off the street? “I see. And just where is she with this French male person?”

“In the morning room, my lord.”