The Sherbrooke Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 1)

“The woman’s mad!” Tony said. “Why should she serve you such a turn, Douglas? Good God, you saved her!”

Douglas toyed with a limp slice of bacon, memory ebbing and flowing in his mind. “It’s quite simple, really, from her point of view. I rejected her.”

“I don’t understand any of this. What the devil are you talking about?”

But Douglas had pushed back his chair and stood. “I will tell you on the way to Eastbourne.”

The air was crisp and cool and a slight breeze blew in their faces. Garth was full of energy and spirits and Douglas had his hands full controlling him. Both men carried pistols and knives. They both wore tall boots and buckskins and capes.

Douglas said finally to Tony, “She believed I didn’t want to take her to bed because she’d been turned into a whore by General Belesain. It wasn’t true, of course. As for the general, it’s quite possible he used her as his own private whore, for visitors, for friends, whoever. He gave her to me for my enjoyment, no reason to believe that he hadn’t given her to other men before I arrived. In any case, she was furious and hurt because I wouldn’t bed her and she dished me up when she realized she was pregnant.”

Tony shook his head. He cursed. Then he frowned, musing aloud, “I wonder why Cadoudal sent you a note. If he wanted retribution why wouldn’t he simply take Alexandra and say nothing? He wants money?”

“No. He wants something else.”

Tony started to ask what it was the man wanted, saw the closed look on Douglas’s face, and held his counsel.

They arrived in Eastbourne in good time. Douglas had hired a weathered but worthy sloop. Their captain cursed the air blue. The crew didn’t seem to mind, just went efficiently about their business. They were on the

ir way within two hours. The tide was strong and swift.

They arrived in Calais seven and a half hours later.

She’d fought and struggled when he’d held her in front of him on his horse. He’d struck her with his pistol to keep her quiet. He’d struck her hard so that when she finally came to herself again, she had a deep pounding headache that made her want to retch. She was lying propped up against an oak tree. Since her hands were bound, she determined not to retch. She would be strong; she would control her body. She had scarce time to gather her wits when he was there, beside her, and he was forcing liquid down her throat. Before she lost consciousness she knew she smelled the sea.

She realized once she’d awakened that he’d drugged her. But how long ago? Where had he brought her now? She had no idea where she was, in a small house somewhere, since she was lying on a bed, securely bound, feeling dirty, hungry, and quite thirsty, but where?

She was alone. Any guards he’d left were outside the single door. Her thoughts were muzzy and she closed her eyes to try to regain clarity.

“So, you’re awake. I’d hoped I hadn’t killed you. I have never been any good guessing at amounts of laudanum. Of course,” he added quickly, “I am good at everything else.”

She opened her eyes. He was standing beside the bed, looking down at her. How had he come into the room so quietly? He looked tired, his flesh drawn more tightly over his cheekbones, his eyes more heavily lidded. His black hair was long and needed some soap and water. His clothing was that of an English gentleman, of good quality, but wrinkled and soiled. His expression was chilling. Still, oddly enough, she wasn’t afraid, at least not at that moment, for Douglas was safe.

“I’m glad you didn’t kill me too. I didn’t hear you. You must have cat’s feet.”

He started, then shrugged. “Yes, I have many talents, and revenge is one that I take very seriously. I have perfected it to a fine art. I am a genius. It is unfortunate that you will never know of my fame, for I am also discreet. I leave nothing to chance, nothing to find, nothing to lead your damned husband to me. Your husband won’t find you so you may quash your silly hopes that he will.”

Still the fear simply wasn’t upon her even though she was flat on her back, lying on a bed, bound. “I will tell you the truth, monsieur. I want only that my husband be safe. He is all that is important to me.”

Georges laughed, a mean laugh that made his eyes look as black as satan’s. “How very affecting! What a romantic child you are. Well, I imagine that this childish devotion of yours gratifies Lord Northcliffe at the moment. I also imagine that you are pleasing enough to his eye and young enough to give him passing pleasure. Men of his stamp aren’t ever satisfied though, even with a little virgin with hero worship in her eyes. He would have played you false, probably by the end of summer.”

Alexandra frowned at him. Because she loved her husband he believed her to feel hero worship for him? She wanted to inform him that she wasn’t such a silly twit, but she said instead, “You are thinking of Janine.”

Again, Georges Cadoudal started. “How do you know of Janine? Did he actually have the arrogance to tell you what he did to her? Did he boast about it? To you? His wife?”

“He told me that he rescued her in France and brought her to England.”

“Ha! I trust Douglas Sherbrooke as much as I can trust any ruthless Englishman. He betrayed me. He raped her. That animal who was holding her prisoner gave her to Douglas because he’d won a card game, and he raped her repeatedly, hurting her, ripping her. Then he demanded her cooperation for she is strong, my Janine, and not easily subdued. It was his price for bringing her to safety in England, to me.”

“Oh no, Douglas would never do that. He is a gentleman, a man of honor. You are wrong. This Janine lied to you. I wish I knew why she lied, but I don’t speak French so I couldn’t understand what she was saying to Douglas. I did ask him but he told me it was none of my business.”

Georges Cadoudal had planned to ravish this little pullet, then send her back pregnant to Douglas. He didn’t doubt his own virility for a moment. It would not take long. It would be an eye for an eye and then he would continue with his plan to kidnap Napoleon. But she wasn’t at all what he expected. He shook his head, remembering how she’d reacted in that damned bookshop, screeching like a banshee in her absurd French. She’d even struck him in the nose with that book of hers. His nose hadn’t been broken, but he hadn’t liked the humiliation of it nor the pain. He looked at her now, brooding. Why wasn’t she crying? Why wasn’t she pleading with him to spare her, begging him not to hurt her?

“Just what do you mean you heard her speaking to Douglas?”

“It was at the Ranleaghs’ ball. I saw her clutching at Douglas’s sleeve. She looked as if she were trying to seduce him. I tried to listen, to eavesdrop if you will, but as I told you, I don’t speak French. It was so provoking. I tried to get Douglas to tell me, but he wouldn’t. He has too much honor to break a promise. I am very thirsty. May I have some water?”

He did as she wished, simply because she took him so utterly off guard. After he’d unbound her hands, watched her rub feeling back into them, he handed her the mug. He realized what he had done, but it was too late to jerk the mug of water from her hands. It was proof that he’d temporarily lost his control and his dignity and hadn’t even realized it until it was too late. She finished it quickly, taking great gulps, so thirsty that water dribbled down her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, then closed her eyes in bliss.