Wizard's Daughter (Sherbrooke Brides 10)

re one of Amy's first efforts to church. A bunch of grapes were hanging down over her fore­head, but she never took it off."

"And she protected you?"

"Jane was very smart. I soon forgot about the monster, since I was so worried about Amy's nightmares. She never had a single nightmare, as I recall. Now that I'm grown, the monster is flesh and blood, and whoever he is, wherever he is, he brims with malevolence. Whenever I remember wak­ing up to see Ryder Sherbrooke holding me, whenever I re­member the black nights, I can still feel the fright of the child, but it's vague now. Now it doesn't raise any horror or terror in me."

He took her hand, looked her directly in her eyes. "No one will ever hurt you again, Rosalind. I swear it to you. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, I believe you. But what if someday I remember and I know who tried to kill me?"

"If that day comes, we will deal with it. I promise you that as well."

The carriage hit a brick in the roadway and she was nearly thrown into his lap. A nice thing, she thought as she regretfully settled herself back against her seat. "Where will we go on our honeymoon?"

He hadn't given it a thought, and she saw it on his face.

She punched her fist into his arm. "What is wrong with you, Nicholas? Surely you must have given at least a small passing thought to our honeymoon, since it will be the official place where you may indulge yourself with my fair person."

Just saying those words made her cheeks flush, and he saw she was both excited and embarrassed. He smiled at her, which was difficult, since he wanted to indulge himself now. But of course he didn't. "It's not that I haven't thought about it, precisely." He gave her a look that made her feel ab­solutely naked. She didn't know what to do, what to say. He continued easily, "However, I sincerely doubt we will reach a destination before I indulge both of us."

He nearly leapt upon her when she looked about the car­riage, obviously eyeing the cushions with lovemaking in mind, something, he imagined, she knew very little about. But she loved the forbidden wickedness of it. He wondered what she'd think when he had her naked, what she'd do when he kissed her white belly, pulled her equally white legs over his shoulders.

"I heard Aunt Sophie say to Aunt Alexandra that she feared all of society will believe I'm increasing since we are marrying so quickly. Although now that I think of it, we are wedding too quickly for me to even realize I'm pregnant, if, naturally, we'd been wicked immediately upon our acquain­tance, say within a half hour of meeting."

In that moment, Nicholas actually saw himself coming into her. He cleared his throat. "I imagine you will be soon enough."

Rosalind fell back as if he'd shot her. Gone was the look of wickedness. He saw she was shocked and appalled.

Rosalind thought, Soon enough? SOON ENOUGH? It boggled her mind. It was the same when he'd spoken about their daughter. No, this "soon enough" business wasn't go­ing to happen. She wasn't ready to stop running across the fields, leaping ditches, tying her skirts around her waist so she could shimmy up the apple trees in Uncle Ryder's fruit orchard. She saw herself fat, waddling about, her belly huge, and made a grab for the carriage door handle.

He grabbed her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed her palm. "Don't worry, Rosalind. I will take very good care of you."

"I know, of course," she said slowly, voice as thin as Cook's ham slices, "that lust leads one to make love, which then leads to babies."

"That is the normal way of things, yes. What's wrong, Rosalind ?" He kissed her palm again. "Why is the light of exploration gone from your eyes?"

"I don't think I wish to have any more lust for a while, Nicholas. I am eighteen. I am too young. So please do not kiss my palm again, it makes me want to hurl myself into all sorts of wicked experiments that might lead to my own un­doing." She pulled her hand away from his, clenched it into a fist, and began to hit it against her leg.

He stared at her fist. "You're trying to erase the wicked feelings?"

"Yes, and they are very nearly gone now."

"Rosalind , if you do not wish to have a child immediately I will take steps to prevent conception."

"You can do that? It is possible?"

He nodded. "It is not always successful, but I will try."

"Well, that is good . Yes , that is very good. I'm pleased you're a reasonable man. It greatly relieves my mind. I like to race, you know, both on my own feet and atop a horse's back. I want to continue racing for perhaps another five or so years."

Was he a reasonable man? "Fine," he said, knowing he had to calm her, reassure her, give her no reason to doubt him, "we will speak of my heir again when I am thirty."

"Now that we have solved that small problem"—she beamed at him—"let me tell you again that it is your duty to select our honeymoon, Nicholas. Apply yourself to the task."

He grinned easily at her, a grin he'd known for many years usually gained him his way with women. He saw her ease. She smiled back at him, a blinding smile that made him stare at her. Potent, that smile of hers. He wondered if she knew how effective her smile was.

When they arrived at Madame Fouquet's, the Earl of Northcliffe showed Nicholas a dozen drawings of desper­ately elongated females who looked to weigh no more than the feathers that adorned their gowns, and more bolts of different-colored materials than Nicholas would have dreamed existed, and asked at least two dozen questions. Everyone else stood about, paying close attention. Finally, Nicholas was pronounced to have satisfactory taste. "Rosalind," the earl said to her, lightly patting her cheek, "you are blessed. Nicholas has sufficient taste at the present time. I am certain it will improve even more as the years pass. I don't mind telling you I was worried. I find it odd that so many ladies in my life select colors that make their complexions look like oatmeal.

"But no matter, you needn't worry about looking like your breakfast since Nicholas has presented himself. All will be well." The earl pointed down to a drawing of a willowy lady who seemed to be floating at least three inches off the floor. "You won't embarrass yourself wearing that hideous shade of green with those ridiculous rows of flounces at the hem. Would you look at this? It fair to shrivels my liver."