The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (74 page)

In that moment, Lord David raised his chin and whistled. In the next instant, an older man came up behind Sophie, grabbed her arms, and wrested the derringer from her.

“Ah, Charles, your timing is of the best, as usual.”

“Yes,” said Charles. “I’ve got you, Sophie. You’re beautiful. I’d forgotten, but now that I’ve got you again, why David and I will share you, just as before.”

Sophie turned and screamed in his face, “You fool! You idiot! Don’t believe David, he’s a fraud, a bounder, he fleeced you out of all your money so that you lost your plantation on Jamaica!”

Good Lord, Ryder thought, staring at the man. It was Charles Grammond, one of Sophie’s other lovers. Still he didn’t move. He would have time to act. Besides, Sophie deserved to be frightened, just for a bit, for her perfidy.

But he realized he couldn’t let her be frightened, not for an instant, not if he were there and could put an end to all of it. He stepped forward, but was forestalled by that other woman.

She came stomping forward around the side of the shack, there was no other way to describe it. Her cheeks were red, her bosom heaving. She was very angry.

“You let her go, Charles!”

The man stared at the vision coming toward him. He said in the most pitiful voice Ryder had ever heard, “Ah, Almeria. How come you to be here?”

“Let her go, you old fool. Are you all right, Sophia?”

“Yes, ma‘am,” Sophie said, staring at Almeria Grammond. Charles released her and she took two quick steps away from him. She was rubbing her arms.

 

Lord David looked flummoxed when Almeria Grammond turned on him. “As for you, you wretched cheat, I personally will see to it that this poor girl you intend to marry cries off. I will not have you for a neighbor!”

Ryder laughed, he couldn’t help it. His excitement, his anticipation of at the very least breaking David Lochridge’s face, had degenerated into farce, worthy of Nell Gwen and the Restoration stage.

He stepped forward. All eyes turned toward him. “A full complement now,” he said, his voice as bland as the goat weed his stallion was reluctantly chewing. “Save, perhaps, for Lord David’s betrothed.”

“This is impossible,” Lord David said. He was markedly pale and his long thin fingers were clenching and unclenching. “This should not be happening.”

“One would think so,” Ryder agreed easily. “You are Mrs. Grammond, I take it. I’m Ryder Sherbrooke, Sophia’s husband. How do you do, ma‘am?”

She gave him a slight curtsy, then looked at him more closely. Sophie watched, fascinated, as Mrs. Grammond’s color rose again, only this time it was from the pleasure of Ryder’s attention. Goodness, it appeared that a woman had to be on death’s door before she was immune to him. Then she actually stammered. “A—a pleasure, Mr. Sherbrooke. Do forgive my husband. He is a nodcock. He has never had much sense, else Lord David wouldn’t have ruined him. He won’t bother your poor wife further.”

“But how did you know?” Charles Grammond finally said, staring in utter horror at his wife.

She bestowed upon him a look of tolerant scorn. “I always read any letters you receive. Most of them are from tradesmen and you have no notion of how to deal with tradesmen. I do. Your aunt and I have discussed this in great detail and have come to an understanding. However, when I found this letter from the little lordling here, the cheating weasel who ruined us, I realized what had happened. Naturally, he couldn’t prevent telling you all about the supposedly nonsensical tale Sophia had told him about her innocence and her uncle’s guilt.

“I knew Theo Burgess when he was young. Even as a young man, he was a pious little fake. He was the kind of man who preaches goodness to all mankind on Sunday and cheats his bookkeeper out of a groat on Monday. Goodness, it was all very clear to me. In addition, of course, I followed you one night to that cottage and saw this other girl. You are such a fool, Charles. I won’t allow your stupidity to prevent me and the children from living as we ought. You will now apologize to Mrs. Sherbrooke and to Mr. Sherbrooke and take yourself home. I will deal fully with you later.”

Charles Grammond said, “I apologize, Sophia, Mr. Sherbrooke.” He then looked at Lord David and frowned. “Surely you will no longer insist that she’s a whore.”

“She is, damn her!”

Ah, at last, Ryder thought, rubbed his hands together, and strode to Lord David, who had put up his hands in the stance of a prizefighter. Ryder laughed for the sheer joy of it, and knocked him flat.

Mrs. Grammond clapped her plump hands together.

 

Sophie, still stunned, simply stood there like a mute idiot.

Lord David came up on his elbows and shook his head. “I’m quite good at fighting. You knocked me down. It shouldn’t have happened. Who taught you?”

“Stand up and we’ll see if you can’t improve,” Ryder said and offered him a hand.

Lord David wasn‘t, however, a complete fool. He stayed on the ground. He said to Charles Grammond even as he was turning to leave as his wife had told him to, “You can’t allow your wife to tell Agnes—the heiress’s bloody name is Agnes!—about all this! Her father would ruin me. He would see that I was run out of the county.”

Charles Grammond never slowed. He disappeared into the elm trees. His wife, however, turned to the felled Lord David.

“You’re a poltroon, sir. However, I will make you a bargain. I won’t say a word to your betrothed’s father if you return all the money you cheated my husband out of on Jamaica.”

Lord David turned white. “Madam, I haven’t a sou. Why do you think I’m marrying this awful female named Agnes?”

“That, my lord, is your affair,” said Mrs. Grammond, and she actually sniffed. “I expect to hear from you within three days, no more, else you will surely regret it. And don’t think you can threaten to ruin the Sherbrookes with your nasty little stories. Both my husband and I will make certain everyone knows you’re a liar.

“Now, Mr. Sherbrooke, Mrs. Sherbrooke, I do hope these two fools haven’t overly upset you. There will be no more threats or problems from either of them. Good day to you both.” She gave Ryder the sweetest smile imaginable, nodded briskly to Sophie, kicked dust in Lord David’s face, and marched around the shack to where her gig was stationed like a waiting army.

Ryder laughed. He couldn’t help it.

Sophia said in a wondering voice, “The Virgin Bride was right. She said when they came it would work out all right.”

“There is no bloody ghost,” Ryder said. “Just stop it. It was a lurid excuse for a nightmare that you hadn’t yet had.” He turned to Lord David, who was now sitting cross-legged in the dirt, shaking his head as he stared at his dusty boots. “As for you, you will keep your mouth shut. Unlike Mrs. Grammond, I won’t content myself with ruining you. I’ll kill you. Do you understand me?”

Lord David sighed deeply, and nodded. He was clearly distracted. He said on another deep sigh, “I wonder if I can convince the chit to elope with me. It’s the only way I can get the money in three days.”

Sophie and Ryder just looked at each other.

 

RYDER LEANED DOWN and kissed the nape of her neck, her flesh warm and soft against his mouth. She sighed and said nothing, merely leaned her head back against his belly. He kissed her forehead, then moved to her ears, his hands lightly encircling her throat, caressing her jawline with his thumbs. She sighed again and tried to turn to face him, but he held her still.

“You taste so bloody good,” he said, and kissed her neck one more time. He ran his hands down her arms, then sighed himself, and released her. “No time, dammit, to show you what other uses one can make of a desktop.” He eyed the very feminine writing desk, adding, “We will take great care if ever we make use of this feeble-looking thing. Perhaps I could simply have you lean against it—”

“Ryder!”

He gave another long-suffering sigh and came over to repose himself against the writing table, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m testing its strength,” he said. “For future reference.” He looked down at the list of numbers. “What are you doing?”

“Adding up the accounts for Brandon House. Soon, my dear, next week, I think, we will have an exodus. Jane and I are planning a party. Jane’s impatient.”

“It’s not that Jane complains, exactly,” he said. “But she is looking forward to moving into her new house. The children as well.”

“I will miss them.”

“The little heathens will be only a hundred yards distant. Whenever you want madness, it’s just a short walk away.”

“How is little Garrick?”

Ryder immediately sobered. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. Sophie patted his fisted hand. “He’s safe now.”

“Yes, he is. Dammit, Sophie, how could that bastard treat a four-year-old child like that?”

“There are many more like him, more’s the pity, children sold as apprentices to such brutes as that chimney cleaner, Mr. Ducking. But you saved Garrick, and now he will learn that life can be more than pain and tears. He smiled at me this morning. He and Jenny are becoming great friends. I love you, Ryder.”

His jaw loosened, and he smiled. “Yes, and well you should love me very much, woman, since I give you my poor man’s body every night for your diversions.”

“You make me sound unnatural in my appetites.”

“Your appetites are wonderful. Have you yet started your monthly flow?”

His bald speech still could disconcert her, leaving her tongue-tied. She gave him a bemused smile and shook her head.

He leaned forward and caressed her belly with the palm of his hand. “Perhaps our son or daughter is beginning?”

“Perhaps,” she said, and she stared at his mouth. He’d taught her over the months to enjoy kissing as much as he did.

“Stop that, Sophie. There is no time, unfortunately.” Still, he leaned over and quickly kissed her soft mouth. He would never forget the night when he was nipping at her bottom lip as he was telling her the story of the farmer who fell in love with his prize pig, when all of a sudden, she giggled, and bit his chin, and said she fancied a prize bull.

It was the first time their lovemaking had been filled with laughter and silliness and nonsense. He looked fondly at her mouth, shrugged, and kissed her again.

“My brother, Alex, and Sinjun will be here very soon now.”

“Yes,” she said, breathless now.

“Damn him.”

She blinked. “Ah, this dog-in-the-manger attitude of yours, Ryder, you really must stop it. Allow poor Douglas to enjoy himself, to feel useful.”

“He doesn’t have to take my children away.”

“He has given Oliver a tremendous opportunity, admit it. Someday he will be the earl’s assistant steward, perhaps eventually even his steward or his secretary. Oliver will make something of himself. He will be properly educated. Douglas is very fond of him.”

“Damn him.”

Sophie just grinned at her husband. “I shall never forget when Douglas and Alex walked in, completely unexpected, and all the children were shrieking and playing and eating and yelling in the entrance hall because it was raining outside, and Douglas just stood there as calm as a preacher, and said, ‘I have surely come to the wrong house.’ ”

Ryder remained stubbornly silent. He tapped his fingertips on the desktop.

“Douglas did take your revelations well, Ryder. He accepted what he saw as your lack of confidence in him, though I know it hurt him. He didn’t yell at you, as I know he wanted to.”

“That was because Amy had climbed up his leg and he was forced to pick her up and she was telling him that he was pretty.”

“Your family is very proud of you.”

“I never wanted their pride. Don’t you understand? It’s something I just do because it’s important to me, it means something, and there’s nothing saintly about it, Sophie. It costs me nothing, really. I would that every Sherbrooke would shut his and her respective mouth. It becomes excessive, and downright embarrassing.”

“Your mother doesn’t embarrass you.”

“No, she refuses to speak to me for dirtying my hands with slum brats. It’s a refreshing attitude from a family member, and so I’ve told her. She didn’t laugh when I encouraged her to maintain her censure. Now, who is that letter from over there?”

“From Jeremy. It just arrived an hour ago. He is well and enjoying his studies.” She picked up the two pages to look at them again.

Ryder grabbed them and began to read. Soon he was nodding and smiling. “Good. He thrashed that wretched little bully, old Tommy Mullard’s son. Tommy was always a coward, big mouth and all threats, until one simply slammed one’s fist into his lard belly. You see, Sophie, I was right to teach Jeremy how to fight mean and dirty. I even taught him how to kick with his lame foot. Lord, did he ever become good. Sinjun even played his adversary, poor girl. She had many bruises on her shins before he left for school. And don’t be fooled, boys at school can be cruel. It’s encouraged, unfortunately, you know, the old theory of toughening up our young aristocrats, making real little stiff-lipped soldiers out of them. But Jeremy is holding his own. It helps that he’s the best rider at Eton.” Ryder rubbed his hands together, such was his pleasure.

Sophie thought she would burst with love for him at that moment. He was a remarkable man, but the hint of someone actually saying it, giving him even a modicum of praise, made him turn red with embarrassment, and defensive to the point of yelling. She said only, “It also helps that he’s part of the Sherbrooke family.”

“Of course,” Ryder said, and continued reading.

He had barely finished the letter when the door burst open and Sinjun came dashing in. The room seemed to lighten with her presence.

“My dear,” Sophie said and quickly rose to give her sister-in-law a hug.

“Ah, Douglas and Alex are right behind me. I raced ahead so I could see you first. You both look wonderful. Is that a letter from Jeremy? I got one three days ago. He told me all about how he beat the stuffing out of this dolt bully, and—”