The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

She opened her mouth to yell again at him, then realized the driver would probably hear her. She felt sunk with embarrassment, so mortified she held herself quiet until his fingers began to caress her in that very private place he’d touched the previous night. She hadn’t protested much then for she’d still been feeling wicked, and it was dark in the bedchamber, and truth be told, she’d felt very powerful—ah, she’d eloped to Gretna Green!—so she hadn’t fully realized . . . simply hadn’t known that he would want . . . but now, now it was different. It wasn’t black as pitch. It was daylight. They were in a carriage. He had actually looked at her, spoken easily as he’d looked, and she’d been naked and he’d touched her belly and other lower parts. It wasn’t to be borne. Suddenly, she felt a deep piercing sensation that made her hips jerk upward against his fingers.

She stared up at him, not understanding, and saw that the damned sod was smiling at her, a knowing smile, a master’s smile, so smug and satisfied that it was more than she could stand. She threw back her head and screamed at the top of her lungs.

The carriage jerked to a sudden halt.

Tony’s smile didn’t slip. He eased her up, helped her straighten her clothes, and waited for their coachman to appear at the window, which he did almost immediately. His eyes went at once to Melissande, and she realized that he must

know what her husband had been attempting to do to her.

“Go away!” she yelled at the hapless man. “Ah, just go away!”

“Yes,” Tony said easily, sitting back against the squabs, his arms folded over his chest. “Forgive my wife for disturbing you. Sometimes ladies, well, they forget themselves . . . you understand.”

The coachman was very afraid he did understand, and, flushing, hurried to climb back to his perch. The carriage jerked forward.

Tony was quiet.

Melissande arranged herself with quick clumsy movements, so furious and embarrassed and disconcerted she wanted to shriek at him until she was hoarse. But it was difficult with him just sitting there, looking out the windows, saying nothing, looking bored. Bored!

She smashed her bonnet back onto her head, not caring that her lovely coiffure would suffer irreparable damage from her show of rage. She pulled on her pelisse and refastened the buttons, putting the wrong ones in the wrong holes and not caring.

He looked at her then and the smile was still on his lips. “You know, Mellie—”

“Mellie! What a horrid nickname! I hate it, it is perfectly dreadful and I—”

“Shut up, my dear.”

“But, I—” She saw something in his eyes that she’d never encountered before in her twenty-one years. She closed her mouth and turned away, momentarily routed.

“As I was saying, Mellie, for you I betrayed my cousin. However, it isn’t the sort of betrayal that destroys the soul. You don’t really know Douglas nor does he know you. Lord, were he to have seen your games during the past few days, he would have been utterly disillusioned. He probably would have snuck out in the dark of night to escape you. He wouldn’t have taken you to Gretna Green. Indeed, three years ago, I doubt you even saw him beyond a handsome man who praised your immense beauty. He left you because of his honor, because he felt he had to place his duty above matters of the heart. I will tell you truthfully, my dear, he doesn’t love you. He remembered that he had desired you, had admired you, had laughed and been entranced by your carelessness, your seeming guilelessness. He remembered your beauty, nothing more.

“But he doesn’t love you nor did he then. His family has been ruthless in their attempts to get him wedded so that there will be a Sherbrooke heir within the year. He saw you as a way to batten down his family, to wed himself to a beautiful creature, and save himself from having to travel to London to see the crop of available debutantes.

“Even as I knew I would have you, I was thinking of all the pros and cons of what I was doing. One thing I’m quite certain of though, Douglas will come to realize what a favor I did for him by removing you from the scene. One day he will thank me. You would have driven him mad, utterly mad.” Tony now turned to his wife. He was looking very serious. “He is much more the gentleman than I am, you know. He would never have beaten you, no matter the provocation. He would have withdrawn from you, not at all what would bring you into line.”

She said slowly, “I don’t believe you. Douglas Sherbrooke does love me. He loved me then, he loved me for three years, and he still loves me. He will mourn me the rest of his life. I will be his lost love. Aye, I have broken his heart by wedding you. He will hate you forever for what you have done. He will never forgive you.”

Tony said quietly, “I hope it will not be so. I believe that only Douglas’s pride will be a bit bruised. Then he will recover with alacrity when he sees what I must do to keep you under control. He will pump my hand in his gratitude. He will blubber all over me with thankfulness.”

Melissande looked down at her gloved hands. “You speak as though you do not hold me in esteem. You speak as though I am not a person to be admired or loved. You speak as though you took me away only to save your cousin. I thought you adored me, wanted me desperately.”

“Ah, that is true enough. Understand, just because I adore and want you doesn’t mean that I am blind to your character. However, it isn’t at all to the point. You see, what I have done demands retribution. I owe Douglas payment, of sorts, so that he won’t have to start again at the beginning in his quest for a wife. Indeed, in my letter to your father I hinted as much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t believe I will tell you, Mellie, not yet, because I have yet to be certain whether my notions are accurate.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You see, I was thinking too much about you, about having you naked beneath me, to keep an excellent mental accounting of what I hoped would be true. Well, hopefully your father will have determined the accuracy by the time we return to Claybourn. Now, my dear, your bonnet looks quite dowdy. I suggest you endeavor to make yourself look a bit more charming, for we are nearing Claybourn.”

He’d silenced her questions for the moment by appealing to her vanity. He watched her pull a small mirror from her reticule. She was efficient in her efforts, from long practice. She was so beautiful it made him shake. Her body was undoubtedly lovely—at least the parts he’d just managed to uncover and see and touch. He’d wanted to see her face when he took her virginity the previous night, but she’d been so frightened, so embarrassed, that he hadn’t the heart to insist upon the lamp being lit. But what really shook him and surprised him as well was that no woman had ever affected him as she had. He had also known instantly that she was utterly impossible, spoiled, vain, as arrogant as he was, but it hadn’t mattered. He’d wanted her. Despite Douglas, despite everything, he’d wanted her and he’d taken her.

Now the trick would be to live with her.

Another trick would be to bring her pleasure. The thought of a frigid wife was intolerable. It was nauseating.

The most important trick would be to pay Douglas back.

Odd, Tony thought, as the carriage bowled onto the long narrow drive of Claybourn Hall, but he hadn’t given Teresa, his perfidious former betrothed, a thought since he’d met Melissande. He looked at his wife, saw that she was pale and that she was wringing her hands.

He rather hoped her father would yell at her. Then he, Tony, would step in. He was her protector, her master, her husband. Then, he prayed, he and the duke would come to another agreement.