The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

Douglas cursed. They should have skirted Etaples but no, he’d thought he’d take a good look around in case they needed to hide here. How could he have forgotten the utter confusion and madness of market day?

It took twenty minutes and by the end of it, Tony was chewing on an apple and Douglas was eating a carrot.

“Well, we did need to eat,” Tony said.

Douglas cursed again.

“Not long now. Er, Douglas, you’re certain she will be here at this farmhouse?”

“She will be there.”

Douglas dismounted and purchased apples from a farmer. He threw one to Tony. “Eat your fill, cousin.”

They continued on their way.

“You will take off those clothes or I will rip them off you.”

She didn’t disbelieve him, but neither could she imagine simply stripping down to her skin in front of him. He wasn’t Douglas. No one was Douglas.

The tub of water was behind her, steam rising because he’d heated the water. It had taken a good half-hour but she hadn’t managed to come up with a plan to escape him.

“Your face is filthy.”

“I landed on my nose when I wriggled out of that window.”

“Take off your damned clothes.”

She was mute; she just shook her head.

He actually sighed. He looked unhappy. He looked uncertain. Then, he was on her and she fought him, indeed she fought him, kicking his shin and making him grunt in pain, but in but a few minutes she was naked and trembling, her clothing shredded and strewn on the floor around her.

“There.” He lifted her under her arms and set her down into the tub of water. He handed her a cloth and a bar of soap. “Bathe. Do a good job of it.”

He seemed completely disinterested in her. She was so relieved, so surprised, she said nothing, merely stared at him. After all, hadn’t her mother assured her that once men saw a female form, they went berserk? Douglas had, but it had required several viewings before he had succumbed. Perhaps it took men time to get used to her before their animal urges consumed them. She prayed it would take Georges Cadoudal much, much longer. A decade perhaps.

“Wash your hair as well. It looks hellish. I don’t like red hair on a woman.”

Good, she thought and said, “All right.”

He looked at her, that brooding look that raised more questions in her mind than answered them, then left her, cursing under his breath.

Alexandra bathed.

Unfortunately she was so exhausted, she fell asleep. She awoke with a start when Georges Cadoudal said from above her, “Damn you, the water’s nearly cold. You fell asleep? That isn’t normal, by God. You should be scheming something, you should be terrified of me, you should be screaming, piercing screams for help. Are you finished?”

She shook her head and pressed herself deeper into the water.

He frowned down at her as one would to a child. He grabbed the wet cloth, soaped it thoroughly, flattened it against her face, and rubbed vigorously.

She tried to yell but only got soap in her mouth for her efforts. Then she felt his hands on her breasts and froze.

CHAPTER

23

“LO AND BEHOLD,” Georges said, staring down at her breasts. He shook his head even as she was trying to shrink away from his hands, but yet he was scowling. It was as if he were forcing himself to look at her. “You are well endowed. It is amazing. I should have remarked these breasts of yours before. I am disturbed that I didn’t, but I am too tired, too concerned with all my future plans, and you have been naught but a vexing burden, but still—” He shook his head, frowning at himself.

Then he appeared to get himself well in hand. He rose and tossed her the cloth.