The Hellion Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 2)

She fell into step beside him. She stared blind­ly ahead of her. She didn't believe that life could change so drastically and so very quickly.

She looked at his profile, pure and clean and strong. He would be her husband.

She shivered.

CHAPTER 11

THE VICAR, Mr. Jacob Mathers, was a wizened little man with a shock of white hair sticking up like a rooster's comb. He knew all the gossip, naturally, but to his credit he took no part in it. Truth be told, he was more a listening man, particularly if he had a glass of rum punch in his hand. He listened and listened even more, and then disregarded the most of it. He had been a close friend of Samuel Grayson's for over twenty years, and thus, when an invitation to dinner arrived, he accepted gladly. After dinner was over and he learned what his other duty was to be, he blinked once, looked at Samuel for guidance and received a smile and a nod. If this was what Samuel believed was right, then Jacob would do it.

He would marry these two disparate people. When Ryder Sherbrooke had told him with a smile that he also wanted him to accept Kimberly Hall hospitality until the following afternoon, he readily agreed. He knew all about Sophia Stanton-Greville's reputation and that Sherman Cole wanted to arrest her very badly, for what reason he imagined he already knew. Human failings were, after all, his primary business. However, he wasn't a stupid man nor an unkind one, and curiosity wasn't necessarily a good thing. In this instance, he didn't really want to know all the ins and outs.

Everyone arranged themselves. Mr. Mathers had a remarkably deep voice, mellifluous and soothing, perhaps more so than usual because of the three glasses of rum punch he'd drunk at dinner. Soon, he was near the end of the brief ceremony. He was relieved that the young lady hadn't fainted. She was very pale, her eyes dark and blank, and her responses were barely above a whisper. As for Ryder Sherbrooke, the young man looked every inch the English aristocrat. He stood tall and straight; his voice was strong and steady. If he felt the same terror his bride felt, he was hiding it very well.

Ryder was wondering what Sophie was thinking. He knew well enough that she hadn't wanted to marry him. It was only the thought of being hung that had turned the tide. Not a very enlivening judg­ment for the groom. He doubted now that even if she'd believed she was pregnant with his child, she would have accepted him. Well, it would soon be done. He realized with something of a shock that he wanted it to be done. He wanted her as his wife. He wanted her safe, her and Jeremy.

He squeezed her hand when she whispered a very faint, "I do." Her refusal, his thinking continued as he looked down at her, must denote some sort of honor, some sort of honesty. Nor did she seem to want him, but that made sense to him given her experiences. He would soon change her mind about that. He wasn't a clod and she would be his wife. He thought of all the women he'd enjoyed since he'd come to manhood, how he'd pleasured them and teased them and laughed with them. And now, he must tie himself to the one woman who didn't want him. She was marrying him because she had no choice. At least they were even on that, he thought. He would never have considered marriage with her, despite the fact that she did, on occasion, give as good as she got. No, his honor demanded it, nothing more.

Sophie was pleased that she'd gotten her response out of her mouth. However, she was disgusted that she had sounded like a bleating goat, but the truth of the matter was, even though he was saving her, and she was well aware of what he was saving her from, he scared her to death.

Once he had her as his wife, he would be free to do anything he pleased with her. She knew that; her uncle had told her that often enough. She didn't believe he would beat her, no, Ryder wasn't that kind of man. What scared her was having him take her body, have it as his right, however and whenever he pleased. On the other hand, he'd already had her, and thus he'd seen her body, just as she'd seen his. Surely he hadn't hurt her. She'd felt nothing the next morning, not a bit of pain or discomfort. No, he hadn't hurt her.

And it would just be for one night.

She was scared. She fingered the soft muslin gown Coco had sewn for her throughout the afternoon. It was lovely and it was snowy white. That made her smile. "You'll look like a virgin sacrifice," he'd said when she'd shown him the nearly completed gown.

She wished the vicar would just be done with it. She felt sick to her stomach. She was terrified, not only of Ryder, but of Sherman Cole. She wondered if she and Jeremy truly would be aboard the ship tomorrow and be safe, once and for all.

She remembered when Ryder had come to fetch her for dinner. He'd come into the room, all elegant and handsome as the devil's right h

and, and he'd just smiled at her.

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

She merely shrugged. "Passable, I would say."

"No, beautiful. Are you ready? The vicar is here. We'll have dinner first, then the ceremony. I'm sorry about you not having anyone from Camille Hall, but we can't risk it."

"You don't have to do this, Ryder."

"Be quiet," he said quite pleasantly, offered her his arm, and walked beside her down the wide stair­case.

Ryder felt her quiver when he said his vows. "Don't," Ryder said quietly. "Don't stiffen up on me. Trust me, Sophie. It will be over soon and then nothing bad will ever touch you again."

She didn't believe him but it didn't seem to be the thing to say to him now that he would be her husband. She saw Jeremy smiling just like he'd been offered the world. Ryder had won him over with an ease that astounded her.

It was over. There were congratulations. Samuel looked delighted and immensely relieved. Then he turned to Sophie, hugged her against him, and said quietly, "It will be fine for you now, my dear. I have always believed that things happen for a reason. You and Jeremy were meant to leave Jamaica and return to England. You will trust your new husband. Once he realizes the right way, he embraces it with­out hesitation. Yes, Sophia, trust him, for he's a very good man."

She looked over at her new husband. He was hug­ging Jeremy against him and the boy was chattering faster than a magpie and Ryder was laughing and nodding.

Suddenly, without warning, all the happy chatter began to die away. Ryder looked up to see Sherman Cole standing in the doorway of the salon.

Sophie wanted to sink into the mangrove swamp. She didn't move. She watched Ryder stride over to Cole.

"What a pleasure, Mr. Cole. However, you weren't invited. What do you want now?"

Sherman Cole looked around the room. He stared at Sophie, standing there like a pale statue, in her wedding gown, her white wedding gown. He saw Samuel standing there beside her, her arm in his, and he said, "Good God, you think to protect the little slut by marrying her off? Has that fool Grayson really married her? He actually married the little tart?"

Ryder sighed. "Did I not warn you before? You are slow of wit, sir, and an unspeakable embarrass­ment."