The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (146 page)

BOOK: The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5
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The critics praise the novels of
New York Times
bestselling author
CATHERINE COULTER
THE WILD BARON
 
“Catherine Coulter has created some of the most memorable characters in romance.”
—Atlanta Constitution
 
 
ROSEHAVEN
 
“A hot-blooded medieval romp.”
—People
 
“Catherine Coulter delivers the kind of straightforward, fast-paced romance her readers expect in
Rosehaven.

—Minneapolis Star & Tribune
 
“Bawdy fare, Coulter-style . . . romance, humor, and spicy sex talk.”
—Kirkus Reviews
 
“A winner . . . Coulter expertly takes the reader beyond the simple romance of this medieval couple, showing the politics of the times, the attitudes of the people, and the characters’ daily struggle to simply keep on living. She delivers intrigues and plot twists as solid as the stone walls of Oxborough keep.”
—Tulsa World
 
“A witty, feisty heroine; sexy situations; and accurate historical settings.”
—Daily Oklahoman
 
 
THE BRIDE TRILOGY
The Sherbrooke Bride
·
The Hellion Bride
·
The Heiress Bride
“Coulter is excellent at portraying the romantic tension between her heroes and heroines and she manages to write explicitly but beautifully about sex as well as love.”
—Milwaukee Journal
 
 
THE VIKING TRILOGY
Lord of Hawkfell Island
·
Lord of Raven

s Peak
·
Lord of Falcon Ridge
“Coulter’s characters quickly come alive and draw the reader into the story. You root for the good guys and hiss for the bad guys. When you have to put the book down for a while, you can hardly wait to get back and see what’s going on.”
—The Sunday Oklahoman
 
 
THE LEGACY TRILOGY
The Wyndham Legacy
·
The Nightingale Legacy
·
The Valentine Legacy
“Delightful . . . brimming with drama, sex, and colorful characters . . . Her witty dialogue and bawdy, eccentric characters add up to an engaging, fan-pleasing story.”
—Publishers Weekly
 
“Marcus and the Duchess are sparring lovers worthy of Shakespeare’s Beatrice and Benedick, or at least TV’s Dave and Maddie; and their supporting cast is every bit as much fun.”
—Detroit Free Press
 
“Lively characters ... an exuberant adventure.”
—Booklist
“Old secrets, a pirate’s legacy, and a cast of wonderful characters are part of this funny, lively, and occasionally mysterious story.”
—Library Journal
 
“Strong characters . . . entertaining reading with interesting and varied characters, historical local color, and a well-paced plot.”
—Rocky Mountain News
 
“There is murder, mystery, and sex in this engaging story . . . It’s hilarious and in the usual good writing and intricate plotting style of Ms. Coulter.”
—The Chattanooga Times
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
 
THE COURTSHIP
 
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with
the author
 
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / January 2000
 
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2000 by Catherine Coulter.
Excerpt from
Stardoc
copyright © 2000 by Sheila Viehl.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part,
by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguinputnam.com
 
eISBN : 978-1-101-05281-5
 
A JOVE BOOK®
Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
JOVE and the “J” design
are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

http://us.penguingroup.com

To my very dear friend, Martha Walker,
Who’s finally home where she belongs.
And you were our first birthday celebration in
the
Pink Palace.
 
 
—Catherine
Table of Contents
 
 
1
London 1811
May 14
Just before midnight
L
ORD BEECHAM STOPPED dead in his tracks. He turned around so quickly that he nearly tripped over a huge potted palm.
He couldn’t believe it. He had to be wrong. She couldn’t have said that, could she? He looked for the woman he had just heard speaking.
He parted two huge palm fronds and peered into the Sanderling’s library, a long, narrow, shelf-lined room just off the ballroom. Where the library was filled with dark-bound tomes, cobwebs in gloomy corners, and just one small branch of candles casting shadows, the ballroom was overflowing with lit candles, plants, and at least two hundred guests, all of them laughing, dancing, and drinking too much of the potent champagne punch.
The woman he had heard before spoke again. He took a step closer to the dimly lit library. Her voice was rich, tantalizing, filled with laughter. “Really, Alexandra,” she said, “doesn’t just the simple thought of discipline, just hearing the word, saying it slowly to yourself and letting it caress your tongue as you say it, doesn’t it conjure up all sorts of delicious scenes of dominance? Can’t you just see yourself? You are completely at the mercy of another, that person is in total control, and there is nothing you can do about anything. You know something is going to happen, you’re dreading it, your heart is pounding, you’re afraid, so very afraid, yet it’s a delicious sort of fear you feel. You know, deep down, that you are anticipating what is to come. You can’t wait for it to come, but there is nothing you can do except imagine what will be done to you. Ah, yes, your skin is rippling with the excitement of it.”
There was dead silence. Wait, was that heavy breathing he heard?
Lord Beecham, whose very active imagination had conjured up a vision of himself standing over a beautiful woman, smiling down at her as he tied her hands over her head and her legs, spread, to the posts of his bed, knowing that in just a few minutes, he would remove her clothing, one lovely garment at a time, slowly, ever so slowly, and—
“Oh, goodness, Helen. I have to fan myself. I believe my bosom is palpitating. You are far too good at painting word pictures. What you describe—it sounds terrifying and wonderful. It rather makes my mouth water. It also sounds like a grand production that requires a lot of planning.”
“Oh, yes, but that is part of the ritual. It is very important that it be planned perfectly. You are part of the ritual, the most important part, if you are the one in control. It requires that you be constantly inventive, that you don’t continue to rely on the same old disciplines. Remember, anticipation of something unknown is a very powerful thing. To be effective, discipline must constantly grow and change. In most cases, it is effective to have other people nearby to witness the discipline. This makes the recipient all the more frightened, his senses more heightened, his thoughts more focused. It is an amazing process. You will have to try it. Both sides of it.”
More deep silence.
Try it? He wanted to run into that room this very instant and try everything he could possibly envision or dream about. His fingers were already on his cravat, ready to jerk it off so he could tie the wrists of the woman speaking, together over her head, so she would be helpless, her eyes large and frightened and excited as she stared up at him, her lips parted. Damnation, he had only one cravat, the one he was wearing. He needed at least two. He shuddered, imagining the smooth flesh of her wrists as he lightly wrapped the cravat around and around them, then pulled them bound, over her head—
He heard a deep sigh.
“All of that is well and good, Helen, but what I need are specific disciplines to try. A list of disciplines, if you will. From mild disciplines to the most rigorous.”
He realized suddenly that he knew that voice. Good God, it was Alexandra Sherbrooke. He couldn’t believe it. On second thought, he pictured Douglas Sherbrooke in his mind’s eye, that big, hard man who had reputedly kept his wife happy for eight whole years now. And Alexandra wanted to know about discipline? To try on her husband? What a delightfully wicked idea.
Who was the woman speaking to her, this Helen?
“On the other hand,” Alexandra said after a moment, “I would like to know how you know so very much about discipline.”
“I have read every book, every article, every paper—both scholarly and secular—ever penned on the subject. I have seen every painting, etching, and drawing of disciplines employed throughout the world and throughout the ages. Now, the disciplines in China—goodness, talk about inventive. The drawings show that the Chinese are exceedingly flexible.”
A bit more silence, then Alexandra said, her voice lowered a bit, as if she were leaning closer to this other woman, speaking in confidence, but he could still make out her words. “Helen, you are laughing at me. All right, I accept that you know all about discipline. Now, you must force yourself to come to my level. You have told me how you discipline your servants. You have told me about the ritual, how to build to a climax, how to squeeze out every tantalizing drop of fear and excitement during the discipline to achieve the result you wish.
“Now I want to go directly to the extreme pleasure end of things. I want specifics. I am talking about physical pleasure, Helen. I want to know exactly what you would do to a man to drive him to the brink of madness. Since you have read every tome written about the subject, you must know something that would help me.”
Lord Beecham would not have moved if a beautiful woman had stripped naked in front of him and started kissing him. Now this was a kicker. Alexandra Sherbrooke wanted to know how to drive Douglas to the brink of madness? That made no sense. Driving a man like Douglas to the brink would require very little effort on her part. It would probably require an effort of ten seconds, no more. Actually, any man who was still breathing was a suitable candidate. He himself, for example.

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