The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (78 page)

“Like hell!” Douglas shouted.

Sinjun wasn’t aware that Colin was now standing behind her until he said, “He’s right, Joan. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away, here, in his house. Forgive me. However, my lord, I can’t allow you to hit me again.”

Douglas was beside himself. “You have won yourself a beating for that, you damned bastard.”

He flung Sinjun aside and hurled himself at Colin. The two men grappled, pushing and pulling and grunting, fairly evenly matched. Sinjun heard one groan from a fist to someone’s stomach. It was
enough. She heard a cry from Alex, who was now dashing down the stairs. The servants were gathering, wide-eyed, huddled beneath the stairs and in the doorway to the dining room.

“Stop it!”

Sinjun’s voice didn’t result in a truce. If anything, they went at it all the harder. She was furious, at her brother and at Colin. Men! Couldn’t they just talk things out? Why did they have to revert to being little boys? She yelled at Alex, “Just stay there, I’ll handle this. Oh my, yes, and with great pleasure.”

She pulled a long, stout walking stick from the rosewood stand in the corner next to the front door, lifted it, and struck Douglas hard on his shoulder. Then she brought it down equally hard on Colin’s right arm.

“That’s enough, you bloody fools!”

The two men fell apart from each other, panting. Douglas was holding his shoulder, Colin his right arm.

“How dare you, Sinjun!”

But Douglas didn’t wait for an answer, just growled and turned back to the man who’d had the damned gall to caress his little sister’s buttocks in the middle of the entrance hall. And to stick his tongue in her mouth, the damned bastard. In her mouth!

Sinjun just started swinging. Not hard, just enough to get their attention. She heard Alex yelling, “Just stop it, Douglas!” Then Alex struck her husband with her own walking stick hard against his back.

Just as suddenly, Douglas realized what he was doing. He stopped cold. There was his small wife and his flushed sister whirling walking sticks about like mad dervishes.

He drew a deep breath, looked over at the damned Scottish ravisher, and said, “They’ll kill us. We have to either go to a boxing saloon or put our fists in our pockets.”

Colin was looking at the tall young lady who had proposed marriage to him. She’d struck her brother to protect him. It was amazing. Now she had moved toward him so that she was standing between them, that walking stick held firmly in her strong hands. It was more than amazing. It was also humiliating.

“Fists in pockets, if you please, my lord,” Colin said.

“Good,” Sinjun said. “Alex, what do you think? Shall we put the sticks away or keep them just in case the gentlemen here lose their breeding and tempers again?”

Alex, frowning ferociously, didn’t answer. She dropped the stick and sent her fist into her husband’s belly. Douglas, too surprised to do anything but grunt, looked at his wife, then over at Sinjun, and sighed. “All right, fists in pockets.”

“Civilization is not a bad thing,” Sinjun said. “To cement the truce, we’ll have some tea. But first, Colin, you must come with me for a moment. There is blood on your lip. I will clean it off for you.”

Alex said, “And you’re a mess, Douglas. Your knuckles are raw and you’ve ripped your shirt, the one I made especially for you on your birthday. But you didn’t think of that, did you, when you dove headfirst into these absurd fisticuffs? Oh goodness, there’s some of Colin’s blood on the collar. I doubt even Mrs. Jarvis’s best potions will get that out. Sinjun, we will all meet in ten minutes in the drawing room.” She looked around, saw Drinnen standing there looking drawn and white, and said calmly, “If you please, disperse the staff, Drinnen.
And bring tea and scones to the drawing room. His lordship here is Scottish and doubtless will be very critical. Be certain the scones are up to snuff.”

And it was done. By two women. Colin followed Joan Sherbrooke without a word. From the corner of his eye, he saw the earl likewise trailing in the wake of his very small wife, that lady’s shoulders back, her chin high as a general’s.

Colin Kinross, seventh earl of Ashburnham, felt as if he’d been trapped in a bizarre dream. It wasn’t a nightmare, but it was beyond passing strange. He looked at the mass of loose brownish-blond hair that streamed down her back, pulled loose of pins during their skirmish. He didn’t know what had happened to her riding hat. Thick hair, quite lovely really. She was toothsome, no doubt about that, and kissing her had been more enjoyable than anything he could remember.

But this interference, he couldn’t tolerate it. The fight was between two men. Ladies had no say. No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, tolerate such interference from her again.

“E
NOUGH OF THIS
, Joan. I will not be led around like a damned goat.”

Sinjun turned at the irritated voice of the man she had decided irrevocably she would marry and smiled. She patted his arm. “I myself don’t like to be led around, either, particularly in a strange house. I don’t mean that the house is strange, just that it is unknown to you. Walk beside me, then we’ll both be leading.”

“It has nothing to do with the strangeness of the damned house. Or my strangeness or anyone else’s strangeness.” But nonetheless, he fell into step beside her, feeling like an idiot.

She led him into the nether regions of the large house, down a passageway and through a door into a huge kitchen that was cozy and warm and smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg and sweet bread baking in old stone ovens. He sniffed scones and his mouth watered. He’d been too long from home. “Sit down here at the table, my lord.”

He gave her a very irritated look. “For God’s sake, with all that’s happened in less than twenty-four hours, I think you can call me Colin.”

She gave him a dazzling smile. If he hadn’t felt so irritated he might have grabbed her and kissed her
again. As it was, he just sat in that damned wooden chair like a docile dog and let her dab a damp cloth against his mouth. It burned like the devil but he kept still.

“I would have preferred to take you to my bedchamber,” Sinjun said, pausing a moment to view her handiwork, “but Douglas would probably have immediately canceled the truce. He is, at times, unaccountable.”

He grunted.

“As it is, you get to meet Cook, Mrs. Potter by name, and she makes the best scones you will ever eat in England. Dear Mrs. Potter, this is Lord Ashburnham.”

Colin nodded to the immense woman all garbed in white, including her apron, holding a long-handled bread paddle. She gave him a suspicious stare. He stared at the paddle and the meaty hand holding it.

“Who was that small woman?”

“Douglas’s wife, Alexandra. She loves him dearly and would give her life for him.”

Colin grew very still. An odd concept that, and he wasn’t certain he could even begin to believe it. He reached up his hand and grabbed her wrist, drawing it down. He pulled slightly and soon she was leaning down to him, not three inches from his face. “Do you believe in such loyalty?”

“Yes.”

“You struck your brother, true, but then you turned and struck me harder.”

“I did try to be fair, but in the heat of battle, so to speak, it’s difficult to mete out an exact equality of blows.”

He had to smile, which he did.

“If you don’t release me, I think Mrs. Potter is going to hit you with the bread paddle.”

He let her go. She finished patting the cut on his lip. “Hot tea will burn a bit, but it will taste good, too. Now, onward to the drawing room. You must deal with Douglas, since he is the head of the Sherbrooke family.”

I don’t believe this is happening to me, Colin thought as he strode beside the tall girl with her coltish walk and her tumbled hair. She began to whistle, just like a boy. He started, then just shook his head. He said aloud, “This really isn’t what I expected. I didn’t know you existed until last night, and now here I am in your house and your brother attacked me and I’ve even been in your kitchen.”

“Douglas firmly believed you deserved it. He didn’t know you then. All he saw was this very handsome man holding me up with his hands.”

“That’s not all I was doing with my hands.”

Instead of blushing like an English heiress maiden should, she stared at his mouth and said in a very wistful voice, “I know. It was very nice, although it was startling. No one has ever done that to me before. I quite liked it.”

“You must keep your mouth shut, Joan. The guile I spoke of, it’s a useful thing. You must protect yourself.”

“I can and I do, though there is seldom the need. How old are you, Colin?”

He sighed and let it go. “I’m twenty-seven. My birthday is in August.”

“I thought you were about Ryder’s age. He’s one of my brothers. You will meet him soon. He’s quite outrageous and funny and charming and quite the philanthropist. He used to hate anyone knowing how kind and good he was because he liked his wicked rake’s image. As to my youngest brother, Tysen the Holiness we call him, I will protect you from his vicaring, which is what Douglas calls his
prosing on and on about good deeds and the many paths to hell and such. But he is my brother and I love him despite his narrow vision of things; and then there is his wife, Melinda Beatrice. Ryder said two names were too many, and besides she has no bosom.”

Colin could only stare at this outpouring. “I’ve never met a family like yours before.”

“No,” Sinjun said comfortably, “I expect not. My brothers and sisters-in-law are wonderful. All except Melinda Beatrice, and she’s really a bore, to peel the bark off the tree. Do you know they’ve been married four years and have three children? My brothers are forever twitting Tysen about unvicarlike potency and lack of control and overloading Noah’s ark with all his offspring.”

They had reached the drawing room. Colin turned to her and smiled. “I won’t attack your brother, I promise. Hands in pockets.”

“Thank you. I also hope that my mother keeps herself absent until after you’ve left. I must deal with her gently but firmly, and that will require having Douglas on my side first.”

When he remained quiet, Sinjun turned and asked, “Do you want to marry me, Colin?”

He looked thoughtful. “I want to meet your mother first. It is said that daughters become the very image of their mothers.”

Sinjun, aghast, poked him in the arm. “Oh dear,” she said. “Oh dear.” When he laughed, she poked him again and dragged him into the drawing room.

She said to her grim-faced brother and a smiling Alex, “Now we shall do things properly. This is Colin Kinross, the earl of Ashburnham. He is twenty-seven years old and he is considering marrying me, Douglas, so you see it was all right for him to take, er, liberties with my person.”

“He was caressing your bottom, dammit! A man only does that to his wife.”

“Douglas!”

“Well, he was caressing her, Alex. Was I to stand there watching the bounder seduce my little sister?”

“No, of course not. I apologize for not quite understanding the situation. Drubbing him was exactly the proper thing to do. Ah, here’s Drinnen with tea. Do come in. Sinjun, you and Colin please sit over here on the sofa.”

Colin Kinross looked at the earl of Northcliffe. He saw a man some five or so years older than he was, an athlete, no dandied-up fop like many of their contemporaries. “I apologize for taking liberties with Joan. I suppose that since I have, it would only be honorable for me to marry her.”

“I don’t believe any of this,” Douglas said. “And you call her Joan! Only Mother calls her that. It’s repellent.”

“I don’t care for the mannish nickname.”

Douglas just stared at him.

“I assure you I don’t care,” Sinjun said, then smiled grandly. “He can call me anything he wishes to. Now, I thought if one put one’s mind to it, this courtship and marriage business wouldn’t be all that difficult. You see, I was right. It’s grand to get things moving properly. What would you like in your tea, Colin?”

“Just a moment,” Douglas said. “There is nothing simple about any of this, Sinjun. I want you to listen to me.” But he turned to Colin. “I have found out, sir, that you are on the hunt for an heiress. You haven’t been at all discreet about it. You doubtless know very well that Sinjun here will be quite rich upon her marriage.”

“So she tells me. She came up to me and
announced she was an heiress. She wanted me to speak to you to find out exactly what she’s worth.”

“She
what?
”

Sinjun only smiled at her brother. “It’s true, Douglas. I knew he needed a wife with money, and so I told him I was perfect for him. Groats and toothsomeness all in one female person. To make it even grander, he catches all the other Sherbrookes in the family net as well as me.”

Alex laughed, she couldn’t help it. “I hope, Colin, that you can control this minx. She tackled me once in the immense entranceway of Northcliffe Hall, in front of everyone, and held me down until Douglas could be released from the room I’d locked him in. You must be careful, for she’s really quite determined once she sets her course.”

She went into peals of laughter, and Sinjun grinned. Douglas looked wooden as a church pew, and Colin looked as if he were indeed in Bedlam and the inmates were ganging up on him.

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” Sinjun said, and lightly patted his biscuit-colored coat sleeve. She made the mistake of looking at his face and felt her own color rise at her very interesting thoughts.

“Stop it, Joan,” he said low, through his teeth. “You’re a danger to yourself. Just stop it. Do you want your brother to attack me again?”

“Listen, all of you just cease and desist for a minute.” Douglas rose and began pacing the drawing room. He was also carrying his teacup and sloshed tea onto his hand. He grimaced, set the cup down, and resumed his pacing. “You saw him for the first time five days ago, Sinjun.
Five days!
You can’t possibly know that you’d be content with this man—he’s a bloody stranger.”

“He said he wouldn’t beat me. He said he was kind and felt responsible for his dependents. When
it’s really cold he lets his cats sleep with him. What else should I know, Douglas?”

“You might want to know if he cares for anything other than your money, my girl!”

“If he doesn’t now, he will come to care for me. I’m not a bad person, Douglas. You like me.”

Colin rose to stand his full height. “Joan, you will cease to answer for me as if I were a half-wit and not even here.”

“Very well,” Sinjun said, and primly folded her hands in her lap.

“Damnation, my lord, I don’t have a bloody word to say to you! This isn’t . . .” Words failed Douglas. He stomped to the door and turned to say over his shoulder, “I will speak to you again, Colin Kinross, this time next week.
Seven days!
Seven additional days, do you understand me? You’re to keep away from my sister. One week, mind, no sooner. And keep your damned hands off my sister before you leave her in ten minutes!”

He slammed the door shut behind him. Alex rose then and grinned at them. “I fancy I will anoint his troubled brow with rosewater. It will soothe him.” She giggled and followed her husband from the salon. She said at the door, not turning, “Keep your hands off him, Sinjun, do you hear me? Men have no tolerance in matters of affection. You mustn’t drive him over the brink. Even in only ten minutes, gentlemen can forget every proper behavior they ever learned.”

Were all the Sherbrookes—even those not born Sherbrookes—quite mad?

“I am pleased to have accorded your sister-in-law so much amusement,” Colin said, and there was more irritation in his voice than there was tea in his cup. “If you want me to keep my hands off you, then stop staring at my mouth.”

“I can’t help it. You’re so very beautiful. Oh dear, all we have are ten minutes.”

Colin jumped to his feet, and he took up Douglas’s pacing. “This is all immensely unlikely, Joan,” he said, pivoting to walk toward the marble fireplace. “And in the future I will speak for myself.” And just what would he say? Damnation. He paused, looking down into the empty grate. It was pale pink Italian marble, expensive and fashioned by masters. Then he pictured in his mind the huge blackened fireplace in the great hall of Vere Castle that could hold an entire cow. Old and filthy, the bricks cracking, the mortar falling out in chunks. Jesus, even the magnificent painting of a pastoral scene over the Italian marble mantel was old and reeked of solid wealth and an acceptance of great privilege. Wealth and privilege of many generations. He thought of the winding narrow stairs that climbed to the second-floor north tower, so dangerous now because of wood rot from the cold wind seeping through the gaps in the outer stone. He drew a deep breath. He could save Vere Castle. He could save his people. He could replenish the sheep. He could even plant crops, since he’d learned all about crop rotation. He could buy grain. He turned to his future wife and said, “I will accept your belief that I’m beautiful. A man, I suppose, wants to be thought reasonably acceptable to the woman he marries.”

“More than acceptable,” Sinjun said, and felt her heart thump wildly in her breast. He’d accepted her. Finally. She wanted to kick her heels in the air.

He sighed then and plowed his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. He stopped cold when she said in a marveling voice, “I didn’t ever think I would fall in love. No gentleman has ever
made me think there was anything to this love business. I found some of them amusing, but nothing more than that. Others were stupid and rude and had no chins. Some thought me a bluestocking, and all because I’m not ignorant. I couldn’t imagine having any of them kissing me. Goodness, if any of them had even touched my bottom, I should have shrieked and killed them. But with you . . . it’s different. I understand that you don’t love me. Please believe me that it doesn’t matter. I will do my best to make you care for me. Now, there is nothing more I can say other than I will try to make you a good wife. Would you like to eat one of Mrs. Potter’s scones, or would you like to leave and go somewhere private to brood?”