"Now," Ryder said grimly, "there are two of us. We'll catch the bastards who are doing this." He paused, feeling a burning sensation in his upper arm. "Why? Ah, that's the question, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Emile said. "I've thought and thought and I just don't know. No one has approached my father about selling the plantation, not a soul, nor is there any gossip, just that some voodoo priests or priestesses are displeased with us for some unknown reason. Please, Mr. Sherbrooke, come into the house because I want to clean the wound. We've got a good store of medicines and basilicum powder is just what we need."

"My name is Ryder."

Emile grinned. "Given the circumstances, all right, Ryder."

Ryder suddenly laughed. "Some guard I am," he said and laughed more. "I probably astonished our villain more than I frightened him. Jesus, I'm stark naked."

"Yes, you are, but I hesitated to point it out, par­ticularly when the bastard was so close."

"I know. It's also difficult to call a man Mr. Sher­brooke when he's wearing naught but his hide"

CHAPTER

2

Camille Hall

HE STRUCK HER ribs with his fist just below her right breast, hard enough to slam her against the wall. Her head snapped back and hit the top edge of the thick oak wainscoting.

Slowly, stunned, she slid down to the floor.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me, you stupid lit­tle fool?"

Sophie shook her head to clear it. She raised her hand and lightly touched her fingertips against the back of her head. A dizzying shaft of pain brought bile to her throat.

"Don't you dare tell me I hurt you. If it is so, it is your own fault."

It would naturally be her own fault. He was always careful never to strike her where it would show. Never. She moved her hand to her ribs. The pain made her suck in her breath, but that made it hurt even more. She took short, very shallow breaths and waited, praying that her ribs weren't broken, praying the nausea would sub­side. If he had broken some ribs she wondered how he would explain it. But he could come up with some plausible explanation. He always had in the past.

He was standing over her now, his hands on his hips. He was pale, his eyes narrowed with fury. "I asked you a question. Why didn't you tell me that Ryder Sherbrooke had arrived in Montego Bay?"

She opened her mouth to lie, but he forestalled her. "And don't tell me you didn't know. You were in town today, I saw you go myself. I gave you per­mission to go, damn you."

"I tell you I didn't—" She stopped, hating her cowardice, hating her voice that sounded thin as the batiste of her nightgown. She was silent a moment, feeding the rage that was bubbling up inside her. She looked at him squarely in his hated face. "I wanted him to be here, to catch you. I prayed he would come. He wouldn't believe any of that voodoo nonsense. I knew he could stop you."

He raised his fist. Then slowly, he lowered it.

He actually grinned at her and for a moment she saw what other people saw—a man with humor and wit, a gentle man, a somewhat diffident man of breed­ing and unquestioned gentility. In the next instant it was gone and he was back as she knew him to be. "If Thomas hadn't shot him with the arrow he might have. I was totally taken off guard. Certainly Grayson's son, Emile, has been something of a thorn in my flesh, but this young man, naked as a satyr, running at me yelling at the top of his lungs, came as quite a shock. Then Thomas got him."

Sophie paled. "You killed him? You killed the owner?"

"Oh no, Thomas shot him through his upper arm. Thomas is always careful. Strange thing, really, the fact that Sherbrooke was naked and carrying a rock, howling at me just like a damned Carib. Thomas says he was probably plowing one of the slaves when he came out to investigate the sulfur and the smoke and all those hideous moans we've perfected. I was relieved that Emile Grayson stopped and saw to Sherbrooke."

She said nothing. By keeping the information to herself, she had endangered a man's life. It hadn't occurred to her that he could be in any real danger. She'd been a fool and he'd been the one to pay for it. She'd paid too, but that was nothing new. At least he would be all right and she would be as well, eventually. She slowly deepened her breathing as the pain in her ribs eased a bit.

Uncle Theo moved away from her now. He pulled the chair away from his small writing desk and sat down in it, crossing his legs at the ankles and looking at her, his arms settled on his lean belly. "Stupidity doesn't suit you, Sophia," he said finally, shaking his head. "How many times do I have to tell you that obedience is the only choice you have? Loyalty to me is your only choice. You just might ask yourself what would happen to you and your precious Jeremy if I had been caught. You're under­age; you're the whore of the island; you would have no money, no place to live; you would end up selling your body on the streets and Jeremy would end up in some workhouse. Perhaps he could be someone's apprentice bookkeeper and spend all his time in the trashhouse.

No, miss, you will not try to do me in again or I swear to you—" He paused, rose quick­ly, and strode back over to her. She shrank back against the wall, she couldn't help it, as he came down on his haunches beside her. He grabbed her chin in his palm and jerked her head toward him. "I swear to you, Sophia, I will kill you if you try such a thing again. Do you understand me?"

She said nothing. He saw the hatred in her eyes and said more softly now, "No, I won't kill you, I'll kill that pathetic brother of yours. Oh yes, that's what I'll do. Now do you understand me?"

"Yes," she said finally. "Yes, I understand you well enough."

"Good." He rose then offered her a hand. She stared at his slender long fingers, the well-buffed nails, then looked him in the face. Very slowly, she pushed herself upright. He lowered his hand.

"You're stubborn but I don't dislike it in a woman. You hate me as well, and that is amusing. Now, if you were my mistress I would enjoy whipping that insolent look out of your eyes. Take yourself back to bed. I have plans to make. Ryder Sherbrooke is here finally. God, I waited a long time for Grayson to act, for the Earl of Northcliffe to react and send someone out here. And he sent his brother, just as I'd hoped. Now it is time to put my plan into motion.

Tags: Catherine Coulter Sherbrooke Brides Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net