The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

Damned twit. Lust, good full-powered bone-deep lust, and like every other female in the history of the world, she had to make it into something more grand, more elevated than it really was. Doubtless if he encouraged her, she would begin to wax eloquent about a spiritual joining, a mating of their very souls. It wasn’t to be borne.

His shirt stuck to his sweaty back. The afternoon sun was grueling. Another quarter of a mile and he spotted his coat flying from the lower branch of a maple tree.

When he finally stomped up the wide front steps of Northcliffe Hall, he was ready to kill.

Hollis greeted him, looking as bland as a bowl of broth. “Ah, Your Lordship is back from your nature walk. Her Ladyship told us how you lauded the lovely tulip trees that were bowed so gracefully over the stream; she said you strained your neck to see to the top of the poplar trees alongside the trails. She said you were humming with the lovely song thrushes and smelling the lilac flowers. She said you then wished to commune with the fishes and thus swam in the stream. She said how very kind you were to allow her to continue back here since she had the headache. You look a bit hot, my lord. Should you like a lemonade, perhaps?”

Douglas knew that Hollis was lying and he knew that Hollis knew that he knew. Why did everyone insist upon protecting her? What about him? He’d been the one to have to leap into the stream and pull his boots from bottom silt. He’d been the one to trudge three miles back to the Hall. Lemonade?

“Where is Her Ladyship?”

“Why, she is communing with the nature that’s confined here at Northcliffe, my lord. She is in the gardens.”

“I thought you said she had a bloody headache.”

“I fancy she cured that.”

“Just so,” Douglas said. The thought of her sitting at her ease on a chaise longue, cool and sweat-free, would have sent him into a rage. Douglas drew himself up. He shook his head at himself. All of this, it was ridiculous.

A month ago he’d been a free man.

Two weeks ago and he’d thought himself married to the most beautiful woman in England.

And now he was shackled to a twit he’d never seen before and who tortured him. She also turned him into a wild man. She tortured him very well.

In the east gardens, Tony leaned negligently against the skinny trunk of a larch, his eyes on his sister-in-law. She was filthy, sweat darkening her hair, her hands were black with dirt. She was murdering a weed, her movements jerky, and she was muttering to herself.

“I think things march along just fine,” he said.

Alexandra paused and raised her face to Tony’s. “Nothing is marching anywhere, Tony. He doesn’t like me, truly.”

“You mistake the matter, my dear. He’s accepted you as his wife. Too, I’ve seen him look at you. I’ve seen him look violent with need and replete with pleasure.”

“He hates that. Until today, he blamed me for his loss of control whenever he touched me. Just two hours ago, he decided to blame the bedchambers and the beds. He planned to discuss philosophy or war or something whilst he loved me.” She sighed. “When that failed, he . . . well, now he is probably intent on finding me and wringing my neck.”

“What you did to him was splendid, Alex. I wish I could have seen him dash naked into the stream to save his pants and boots. As I recall there are many rocks to trip the naked foot.”

“I know it isn’t proper to speak like this, Tony, but I have no one else. I was a fool. I told him that I loved him. I couldn’t help it, it just came out of my mouth. He told me that all I feel, that all he feels is just lust. He said that love is nonsense and that the notion of a spiritual joining makes him physically ill.”

“He really said that?”

“Not exactly. I am simply making the words fit his feelings more precisely. Actually what he said was worse—more insulting, more cynical.”

“But now he is your husband and I swear to you, Alex, where a man finds pleasure, other pleasures usually follow, if the man and woman are at all reasonable. You love Douglas. Half the battle is won. More than half, for he goes crazy whenever he touches you. You will see. The soirée is tomorrow night. Melissande and I will leave the next day. You won’t have to worry about my lovely witch any longer. Be

sides, I do believe that Douglas is already beginning to wonder how he would have dealt with her.”

“I can’t believe she allows you to call her Mellie.”

“I dislike the name immensely. Mellie, bah! It sounds like an overweight girl with spots on her face. However, it is important that she bend to me completely. If I wish to call her pug, why then, she must accept it since it comes from me, her husband, her master.”

Alexandra could but stare at him. “You are terrifying, Tony.”

He grinned down at her. “No, not really. As much as I love your sister, I will not allow her to have the upper hand. Ah, I believe I see your errant husband striding this way. Normally a man will pause—just a moment, you understand—to look at the Greek statues, but not Douglas. He looks fit to kill. This should be interesting. Should you like me to draw him off?”

“No, he would challenge you to a duel or assault you right here.” She shook her head. “Then I should have to attack you again, Tony.”

“Very true. Ah, we are saved. Here is Melissande, carrying her watercolors. Now she is pausing to look at the statues and not with an eye to painting them either, I vow. She and Douglas are now met up and speaking. He must control his bile. He must be charming, no matter he wants to kill you. Yes, he appears to have stopped gnashing his teeth. You know, Alex, I have an idea, a thoroughly reprehensible idea.”