Sherbrooke Twins (Sherbrooke Brides 8)

“That sounds more like it.”

“Don’t you slap me in the face with your insults, James Sherbrooke. You know my aunt, she’s a veritable mistress of understatement. What she really means is that I will knock them down in the street when I ride by in my very own curricle, holding, perhaps, a poodle on my lap.”

“The only way you would knock down gentlemen is if you were driving.”

It was a meaty insult. Shaking her fist in his face, she bellowed at him, “You listen to me, you codsbreath! I drive as well as you do, maybe better. I have heard it remarked many times-I have the better eye.”

That was so patently absurd that James just rolled his own eyes. “All right, name one person who remarked that.”

“Your father, for one.”

“Impossible. My father taught me to drive. My eye is as good as his, probably better now since he’s getting old.”

She gave him a beatific smile. “Your father taught me to drive as well. And he’s not old at all. What he is is very handsome and wicked-I heard Aunt Maybella saying that to her friend, Mrs. Hubbard.”

That nearly made him puke. As for her driving, James remembered seeing the girl sitting proudly beside his father, hanging on his every word. He remembered feeling a stab of jealousy. It was mean-spirited, particularly since both Corrie’s father and mother had been killed in a riot right after Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo. It was an unfortunate accident that happened during an official visit by Corrie’s father, diplomatic envoy Benjamin Tybourne-Barrett, Viscount Plessante, to Paris to discuss the second restoration of the Bourbons with Talleyrand and Fouché.

Talleyrand had seen to it that Corrie, not yet three years old, was returned to England to her mother’s sister in the company of her dead mother’s heartbroken maid, and six French soldiers, who were not warmly treated.

When James finally brought his brain back, it was to hear her say, “And my uncle will have fits trying to decide which gentleman is good enough for me. I shall have my pick, you know, and that immensely lucky man will be strong and handsome and very rich, and nothing like you, James.” Another sneer, this one very refined, meant to make him shake with rage. “Just look at your eyelashes, all thick and poking out a good inch, like a Spanish lady’s fan. Even a little curl on the ends. Yes, you’ve got a girl’s eyelashes.”

He’d only been ten years old when his mother had come up with the right answer for him, and so he smiled now and said easily, “You’re wrong about that. I’ve never met a girl who had eyelashes as long and as thick as mine.”

She was silent, her mouth open. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. He laughed. “Leave my face out of this, brat. It has nothing to do with your bosom. Bosom, for God’s sake. Men don’t say bosom.”

“What do men say?”

“Never you mind. You’re too young. And you’re a lady. Well, not really, but you should be since you’re eighteen. No, I can’t believe you’re eighteen. That means nearly twenty, which would place you in the same decade as I am. It’s just not possible.”

“You bought me a birthday present just two weeks ago.”

He gave her a perfectly blank look.

Corrie smacked her palm to her forehead. “Oh, I see now, your mother bought the present and put your name on it.”

“Well, that’s not really what happened, it’s-”

“All right. Then what did you get me?”

“Well, you know, Corrie, it’s been a long time.”

“Two weeks, you bloody sod.”

“Watch your mouth, my girl, or I’ll smack you again. You talk like a damned boy. I should have gotten a riding crop for your birthday so I could use it on you when the need arose. Like right now.”

He took a menacing step toward her, got hold of himself, and stopped. To his amazement, she walked right up to him, stood toe-to-toe, sneered up at him, and said in his face, “A riding crop? You just try it. I’ll take it away from you, rip off your shirt, and whip you with it.”

“Now that’s a sight I’d like to see.”

“Well, maybe I’d leave your shirt on you. After all, I’m a gently bred young lady and it wouldn’t do for me to see a half-naked man.”

He was laughing so hard he nearly fell backward off the damned cliff.

She wasn’t done, humiliation ripe in her voice. “You used your hand when you whipped me-your naked hand. I’ll wager I’m scarred for life, you bully.”

He grinned down at her. “Your bottom still smarting a bit?”