Sherbrooke Twins (Sherbrooke Brides 8)

At least she’d

been far too young to have a clue what he’d been doing with Betsy Hooper in that cozy back corner of the barn. He looked up to see the bedchamber door open; he was more than relieved to see his brother.

Jason was shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe what Petrie is saying about all this, James.”

“Oh yes I would. He just unburdened himself to me after eavesdropping on my conversation with Corrie. I had not realized that he was such a misogynist.”

Jason sighed. “It could be worse.”

“How?”

“Corrie could be like Melinda Bassett.”

James moaned. That she-wolf had decided she’d wanted either him or Jason, it didn’t matter, and when she’d not gained her wish, she claimed they’d both raped her. It had happened seven years ago, yet he could still remember the awful impotence he’d felt at her accusations.

“Corrie saved us,” Jason said. “She told everyone the truth. You’ll have to say one thing about her-no one would ever think she’d lie about anything.”

“Yes, she saved us, saved me again, dammit.”

“You see? There are many more worse things in the world than Corrie. In fact, she’s a heroine, only no one will admit it as long as she’s not married to you. At least you won’t have to worry about unexpected bad habits in your wife.”

“That’s true. I already know all her habits, bad and worse. Damnation, Jason, how could this have happened? I’ve never been sick in my bloody life. Why did it have to happen at this particular time?”

“When I think of what led up to it, I thank God you’re not dead. Corrie’s a good sort, James. Beneath that disreputable old hat of hers, a lady was hidden. You must admit you’ve been surprised with her transformation.”

James looked glum.

“He’s right, James. More to the point, you’ve no choice in the matter, none at all.”

Douglas Sherbrooke walked to his son’s bedside, lightly touched his palm to his forehead, nodded, and sat down in the big chair beside the bed. “Corrie came flying into the library to ask me very nicely if I chanced to have some brandy that wouldn’t make her sick.”

“Did you give her any?”

“Yes. I gave her my special Florentine brandy guaranteed not to disrupt the innards.”

“There is no such thing,” Jason said.

“True.”

“Where is she, sir? Did she leave? Is she hiding in your library? Did she tell you why she wanted the brandy?”

Douglas nodded slowly. “After a bit of prodding. Blackmail, actually. I wouldn’t give her any of my special brandy unless she told me everything. She folded, said that you felt responsible for what had happened and told her that you two had to get married. She then tossed back the watered-down brandy, burped, if I’m not mistaken, and left without another word.”

“I didn’t do it well,” James said. “I mean I started out well, with a lovely sort of future metaphor about our children and grandchildren.”

“Now there’s an image to give me pause,” Douglas said.

James waved that away. “Sir, surely she must realize that there is no other course for us to follow. I don’t want to marry, at least right now, but there is simply no choice.”

Douglas was tapping his fingertips together, looking fixedly at the painting on the opposite wall that James had bought in Honfleur three years before. A young girl was sitting on a rock, her skirts spread around her, looking over a green valley stretching below her. Douglas found himself smiling. The girl looked remarkably like Corrie.

Jason said, “I’m having our friends over this evening to report on what they’ve discovered, though I doubt it’s much, else wise they would have come raging over here immediately. Shall we meet here in your bedchamber?”

James nodded. He suddenly felt so weary his bones ached. He closed his eyes. His father’s voice, warm and deep, said close to his ear, “You’re safe and you will get well, James. As for all the rest of it, things will work out.”

“I think Devlin Monroe is going to propose to her.”

That announcement brought two pair of startled eyes to his face.