Sherbrooke Twins (Sherbrooke Brides 8)

“Why would Devlin do that?” Douglas said. “It makes no sense.”

Jason said, shrugging, “She is an original. Devlin likes originals.”

“She can’t marry him,” James said, “even though she does amuse him. She would kill him when she discovered that he still had mistresses waiting in the wings. She would run a pitchfork through his belly, then she would hang for it. I don’t want to marry her, but I also don’t want her hung.”

Jason said, “Maybe I should speak to Devlin. Tell him what’s what here.”

“Yes, do that, Jason. Cut him off at the knees. The last thing I want is for her to marry him to save me. That’s what she’s doing, of course. She thinks it isn’t fair that I have to marry her because of what happened.”

“I’m off, then,” Jason said, and his eyes darkened to near purple. And he smiled.

James said, “You know, with Corrie as my wife, I’ll never have to worry about boring her with talk of silver cascades through the ring of Titan. I remember when I told her about my discovery-her eyes sparkled. Yes, sparkled, that was exactly what her eyes did. She listened to me, you know how she is-sits there, her eyes glued to your face, like she wants to grab the words right out of your mouth. She then told me to tell her about it again so she would be certain she understood everything.” And suddenly, James remembered her eyes sparkling like that when he’d given her a doll on her sixth birthday. He’d happened to be buying a gift for his mother when he saw the doll propped up against a bolt of material. Pale white face, big red lips, and eyes that reminded him of Corrie’s. He’d been embarrassed to buy it, even more embarrassed to give it to her, but she’d pulled it out of the paper, pressed it to her skinny little chest and looked up at him, eyes sparkling. With more, of course. With love. With adoration. He’d wanted to run then; he wanted to run now.

“As I recall,” Jason said, “you and Corrie used to spend a lot of time lying outside looking up at the stars, you telling her everything you knew.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“It was two months ago. I remember because you were excited about Mercury coming so close to the earth.”

It was true, dammit. So many evenings she’d sneaked out of her uncle’s house and they’d lain on their backs, looking up into the heavens.

“She always wanted to talk about the moon; she’s always been fascinated with the moon. And you know, she doesn’t need to talk, like most girls do. She’s perfectly fine with blessed silence.”

James wondered if Juliette Lorimer’s eyes would sparkle if she’d attended his talk at the Astrological Society meeting.

Marriage to the brat. Dear God, how could such a thing be possible?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, James had drunk some tea and eaten two slices of toast when Corrie suddenly appeared in the doorway of his bedchamber. She walked in, dressed quite nicely in a morning gown of pale golden brown, with a lovely matching wrap of darker brown that added a touch of gold to her eyes.

He raised a supercilious eyebrow at her. “Hello, Corrie. Did you ever leave?”

“Whatever do you mean? Of course I left.”

“It seems that you’re nearly living here now. In and out, in my bedchamber, in the estate room drinking my father’s Florentine brandy, you’re everywhere, including in the kitchen to steal biscuits, Willicombe told me. When we’re married, there’ll be little change.”

Not a word came out of her mouth, not even a curse.

“Did my father select that gown for you?”

“What? My gown? Well, yes, he did.” She fidgeted a moment. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, it’s lovely.”

She waved that away. “Listen, James, your mother paid my Aunt Maybella a visit. It was just the two of them, and they had their heads together for a full hour. Since you’re still on the weedy side, I had to come here to see you. I want to know why your mother was with my aunt.”

She’d begun pacing, and he liked the way she looked, thank God. Then she tossed her wrap to a chair along with her reticule, turned to say something else and he saw that that damned gown she was wearing was nearly falling off her shoulders.

“Put your damned wrap back on. Your gown is cut far too low. I cannot believe that my father ordered up a gown that leaves you nearly naked to the waist.”

To his surprise, she grinned at him. She shrugged her shoulders, slipped her fingers beneath the gown and tugged it down a bit more. “Actually, your father didn’t know that Madame Jourdan winked at me when he ordered her to cut the bodice nearly to my chin.” She actually leaned toward him and poked out her breasts. “It looks perfect, so you will hold your tongue.”

James, without thinking, with no consideration at all, bounded from the bed and stomped over to her, so angry he was panting.

He grabbed her bodice and jerked it up to her chin. And heard a rip. Corrie didn’t say a word, just stood there, staring at him.

He was naked.