The Sherbrooke Bride (25 page)

“Ha! You want me to look like a nun and Madame disagrees, as do I. Give in, Douglas, and stop being strange about it. I am a woman like every other woman on the face of this earth, and all women are built just like me. No one will care, no one. If you insist that I be covered to my chin, why everyone will wonder if I have some sort of horrible deformity!”

“I agree with the countess,” said Madame Jordan in perfect English. “Come, my lord, you are too possessive of your bride. It isn't at all fashionable to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“I'm not,” Douglas roared, slamming his fist on the glossy painting of a woman at least seven feet tall draped in willowy garments, as wispy and insubstantial as the ghost's had been. “It's just that she's too innocent and doesn't realize what men want and—” He ground to a stop. He was furious and felt impotent. He was outnumbered and outgunned and he knew it. Both women were regarding him with tolerant scorn. He had reason on his side, surely he did, only he sounded ridiculous. “Blessed hell! Do as you wish!” And he stomped out, saying over his shoulder, “I will await you in the carriage. Lower every bloody neckline to your bloody waist, I don't care!”

“Ah, I love a passionate man, don't you?” said Madame Jordan fondly, smiling after the earl.

“Oh yes,” Alexandra agreed. “Your English is superb, Madame.”

Madame nodded, not one whit affected by the contretemps. “I also speak German and Italian and a bit of Russian. I have a Russian count who is my lover, you know? He is probably as wild and possessive a
lover as your husband, a wild man and he keeps my heart racing.”

That sounded wonderful to Alexandra.

Before the afternoon was over, Alexandra was so weary she could scarce stand. She was also the proud owner of six new gowns, two riding habits, nightgowns, chemises. Goodness, the list went on and on. Douglas regained a proper mood after they left Madame Jordan's. Then he bought her bonnets and shoes and handkerchiefs and stockings and reticules, even an umbrella.

He was still a fount of energy when at last he handed her into the carriage. He shoved a stack of boxes away on the seat. Alexandra was so tired she didn't care if she was in London or in the Hebrides. Her head fell against his shoulder and he squeezed her against him, dropping a kiss on top of her head.

“It has been a long day. You did well. I was proud of you. For the most part anyway. I still am displeased by your necklines.”

Alexandra wasn't about to touch that topic again. She chewed her bottom lip, then burst out, “You know everything about clothes. You and Madame Jordan were obviously well acquainted. Have you bought clothing for many women?”

D
OUGLAS LOOKED AT
her thoughtfully, then shrugged. “It's really none of a wife's affair what a husband does, but I see no harm in educating you. Yes, it's something all females appreciate. I realized when I was no more than a very charming lad of nineteen years that I should gain expertise in the area of fashion and so I did. If a man wishes to maintain a constant supply of women, why then, he must adapt himself to their little vagaries.”

“It sounds rather cold-blooded to me.”

“Aren't you the least bit grateful for my generosity today? Six new gowns . . . two new riding habits. In addition, I even allowed you and Madame to have your own way. Won't you reward me suitably?”

It was very strange, she thought, and rather predictable that men always seemed to remember things differently. Alexandra sighed. “I am perfectly willing, but you never give me the chance to reward you, Douglas. You are all over me before I have a chance to do anything, and thus it is I who get all the rewards, and I never buy you anything.”

“That is an interesting way of looking at it. Most women and men would consider you an oddity, that or a woman of immense guile.” He frowned at her, as
if uncertain of something, then said, “You still have the thirty pounds?”

“Yes. You mean, to have a constant supply of men I need to adapt myself to their little vagaries?”

“It doesn't work that way. Men are always in constant supply. Men are excessively easy to attach. Men won't ever simper or play the tease or make excuses.”

“Come, Douglas, I may not have much experience, but what experience I have convinces me that the goose and gander apply here. The thirty pounds won't go very far. It wouldn't do for the mythical men to feel slighted, no matter how eager they are. Perhaps I could purchase several dozen of a single item and give them out as I go along. What do you think?”

“I think you're pushing me and it isn't wise. I think you need to be beaten. I think your humor needs silence and reflection. You are being impertinent and I won't allow it. Be quiet, Alexandra.”

“Perhaps watch fobs,” she said in an idle voice against his shoulder. “And I could have my initials engraved next to theirs on each one. Personalized, you know.”

He said calmly, his voice controlled and cold, “If you provide me quickly with an heir, all the money I have spent on you will have been worth it.”

Oh dear, she thought. She had pushed him and his retaliation was swift and rather brutal.

“If you tell me you don't mean that, I will be quiet and forget about the watch fobs and the humor.”

“I won't tell you anything. Now, London is thin of company this time of year. However, there are still adequate amusements. The Ranleaghs' ball is tonight and it will suffice for your debut. You will
wear the ball gown you wore at Northcliffe Hall. I have asked Mrs. Goodgame to assist you.”

That evening, just after eleven o'clock, at the Ranleaghs' magnificent mansion on Carlisle Street, Alexandra came face to face with a woman who obviously knew Douglas well and wanted him still.

She was eavesdropping and she felt only a dollop of guilt. But in matter of fact, she was far more furious than guilty. They were speaking French and she couldn't understand a bloody word.

The woman was too pretty for her own good, slight, very feminine with her large eyes, in her mid-twenties, Alexandra thought, and her white hand was on Douglas's sleeve. She was standing very close to him, and leaning even closer, her breath doubtless warm on his cheek, the way Alexandra's was when she was kissing his face. Her voice was low and vibrant with feeling. Douglas was patting her hand, speaking very quietly, his French as smooth and fluent as could be.

Why had her father insisted she learn Italian? It was worthless. Ah, the woman looked so serious, so intent, so interested in Douglas. Who was she? Had Douglas bought her clothes? Was she offering him a reward?

Douglas turned at that moment and Alexandra pulled back behind a curtain that gave into a small alcove. A couple were there, passionately kissing, and Alexandra blurted out, “Oh, do excuse me!” She fled.

Since she had met nearly fifty people and remembered no one's name, she was quite alone. She saw Lady Ranleagh but that good lady was in close conversation with a bewigged gentleman who looked very important and somewhat drunk.

Since she had no choice, Alexandra stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching the couples dance a charming minuet. They performed flawlessly; they were all beautiful and rich and sophisticated and she felt like an interloper, a provincial with her gown a half-inch too high. At any moment, they would turn and point at her and yell, “She doesn't belong here! Get her out!”

“Dare I believe you are a lost lamb in search of an amiable shepherd?”

That was an interesting approach, Alexandra thought as she turned to look at the gentleman who'd spoken it. He was tall, and well built, his linen immaculate, and very fair-haired. He was probably not more than twenty-five years old, but his eyes, a very dark blue, were so filled with unhappy wisdom and weary cynicism that he gave the impression of being older. He was handsome, she'd give him that, and he did indeed look dazzling in his evening wear, but that glint of too much knowledge in his eyes was disconcerting. And now he was offering to be her amiable shepherd?

“I'm not at all lost, sir, but it is kind of you to inquire.”

“You are Melissande's little sister, aren't you? One of the ladies pointed you out to me.”

“Yes. You know my sister?”

“Oh yes. She is most charming, a glorious creature. Is it true that she married Tony Parrish, Lord Rathmore?”

Alexandra nodded. “It was love at first sight. They will be coming to London soon.”

“I fancy Teresa Carleton won't be overpleased to hear who snapped him up. Ah, you don't know, do you? Tony was engaged to her, then suddenly, the
engagement was no more. He didn't say a word, just left London. Teresa let it about that she didn't want him for a husband for he was proving to be unfashionably priggish in his notions. Ah, forgive me, my dear. I am Heatherington, you know.”

“No, I didn't know. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. What this lady said about Tony—if you are acquainted with him, you must know it is a clanker. Tony, priggish? It is too absurd. You know my husband, Douglas Sherbrooke?”

“So that is true as well. All know Sherbrooke, or North, as many of his army friends call him. He is a man not easily dismissed. I shouldn't like him for an enemy. And no one really believed Teresa. No, Tony is no prig.”

“He is a great deal of fun and he and my sister deal well together. They are much in love.”

He shrugged, staring at her intently. “What I find odd is you, my dear. You married to Douglas Sherbrooke. You appear warm and quite joyous, really, whilst your husband is a cold man, hard and severe, truth be told.”

“My husband cold? Are we speaking of the same man, sir?
Cold?
It is too funny,” and Alexandra laughed.

“Beecham, a surprise to see you.” Douglas neatly inserted himself between the man and Alexandra. She said, frowning at her husband, “I thought he was Heatherington.”

Douglas was infuriated with the young man who was nevertheless a seasoned roué. The dog had the gall to flirt with his wife. He said, “It is Lord Beecham.”

“Heatherington is my family name,” he said, giving her an intimate look. “I congratulate you, Northcliffe.
She is charming. Very different from her sister. An original, I should say. I see that a quadrille is forming itself and I am promised to Miss Danvers, who fancies herself the soul of charm and discretion. I doubt she is worth your time, Northcliffe.”

“No, she isn't,” Douglas said.

Heatherington managed a shadow of a grin. “I doubt she's worth my time either.”

“Keep away from that man,” he added to Alexandra as he stared after Baron Beecham, who was making languid progress toward Miss Danvers. “He's known to have a woman's skirts over her head before he even has learned her last name.”

“He is so young.”

“He is but two years my junior. But you're right. His is a strange past. Keep away from him.”

“He must have excellent fashion sense and a deep purse to have such success at such a tender age.”

“It isn't funny, Alexandra. I don't like the way he was looking at you. Keep away from him.”

“Very well, I shall, if you will keep away from that French hussy who had her hand on your sleeve and was practically speaking into your mouth.”

“What French—” He frowned ferociously down at her. “Don't gesticulate so wildly. I can see every white inch of you to your waist. I will have that damned bodice raised before you wear that gown again.”

“You will not distract me, Douglas! Who was that wretched hussy?”

He stared at her, surprise and satisfaction in his eyes, eyes that had grown darker if that were possible. “Good God, you're jealous.”

She was, and it was humiliating that he had caught her at it. “If I knew anyone, I would walk away from
you and go conduct a well-bred conversation with that person. But if I walk away, I will be alone and that isn't a good thing.”

“Her name is no concern of yours. She is simply someone I know, nothing more.”

“What was she telling you?”

He lied, but it wasn't clean and neat. “That her grandmother was ill.”

“Bosh,” Alexandra said.

“Very well. I went to France to rescue her and sent Tony to Claybourn Hall. The result wasn't quite what either of us had intended.”

“Ah, so that is that Janine person you told me about. She's that bloody woman who offered herself to you.”

“Your memory is beyond frightening. I won't say another word. I beg you to dismiss what I said that day. It makes no mind now. Stick to your own affairs, Alexandra.”

“Come along then and dance with me since I don't wish to force you to more confidences, though the ones you gave me were meager indeed.”

He danced with her, then took her into dinner, then introduced her to young matrons he hoped she would like. And he kept a wary eye open for Georges Cadoudal. Damnation, the last enemy he wanted on this earth was that maniac, Georges.

Why the hell wasn't the man in France where he was supposed to be? Maybe he was, maybe Janine was just hysterical. And that's who he'd been speaking to, Janine Daudet, the woman he'd rescued in France.

“I wish to meet Teresa Carleton.”

“So, Beecham told you about her, did he? He enjoys making mischief. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he
himself slept with the lady in question.”

“Did she break off the engagement with Tony?”

“She didn't. He discovered she was bedding a friend of his. He nearly collapsed from shock and outrage. He came to Northcliffe to regain his mental balance and I looked upon him as my savior. He then went to Claybourn Hall and married my wife.”

“Do you think, perhaps, Douglas, that you could rephrase that just a bit?”

“Why? It's the truth. Just because you pop out of the bottle doesn't change the facts.”

She sighed. “You're right, of course. However, if you will change your words just a bit, I will reward you when we return home, if you don't reward me first, which you always do. You don't give me a chance, Douglas.”

“Perhaps in fifty years I will.”

That sounded like a fine commitment to Alexandra and she gave him a brilliant smile. Douglas, on the other hand, rethought his words, and wanted to kick himself. He cursed, drank too much brandy, then brightened. Too much liquor and it just might slow him down a bit. He was fuzzyheaded in the carriage. He was whistling vacantly on the way upstairs. Yes, maybe the brandy would work.

It didn't, but it had been worth a try. When finally he pulled out of her and rolled over onto his back, he crossed his arms over his head and concentrated on calming his breathing. “You will kill me,” he said finally. “A man cannot continue like this. It isn't natural. It isn't healthy.”

“What about me?”

He lowered an arm and placed his hand over her breast. Her heart was galloping. He grinned. “We'll
be buried side by side in the Northcliffe family cemetery.”

“I don't like the sound of that.”

“You must give me an heir first.”

“I thought ladies were supposed to feel ill when they were pregnant.”

“Most do, so I've heard.”

“I feel wonderful.”

“When was your last monthly flow?”

It was dark and they had just made love and were now lying side by side on the large bed, naked and sated, but still it was embarrassing.

When her silence dragged out beyond his patience, Douglas said, “You haven't bled since we were married, have you?”

She shook her head and he felt the movement.