Sophie heard him. She stared some more, she couldn’t help it. This stern man Ryder said would destroy her before breakfast was teasing his wife about her bosom? Perhaps, just perhaps, she didn’t know men as well as she believed she did.
The earl straightened, gently ran his knuckles down his wife’s cheek, then said to Sophie, “We will leave her to her misery for a while. You can return to take care of clothing in an hour, all right?”
Sophie nodded. There was nothing else to do.
CHAPTER 13
“WHAT IS GOING on here, Alexandra? I was told by Jerkins, who was told by Dora, who had overheard Mrs. Peacham talking to Hollis, that Ryder had married. Married! It is absurd. It can’t, simply can’t be true. It’s one of his floozy women trying to pass herself off as a decent person and fool us. She wants money, her sort always does. I even heard there is a child involved. This is outside of too much. I’m here to assist you in removing her, Alexandra. You’re sick and thus I am not surprised that the girl has taken you in. Good grief, is this she? She’s in your bedchamber? She looks just as I thought she would—a slut, a fright, a sham. Get out, young woman, get out!”
The woman was actually shooing at her with her hands. Sophia stood still as the wing chair in front of the fireplace, staring at the woman, the distinctly unfriendly voice sounding in her ears, loud and imperious. She didn’t have time to gather a response; she felt paralyzed.
“Oh dear,” Alex said, and she suddenly looked very ill indeed. She even closed her eyes a moment.
Sophie stood in the middle of the room, wearing one of Alex’s gowns. The gown came only to her ankles and it was frankly loose on the bosom, for Sophie didn’t have Alex’s magnificent endowment, as the earl had pointed out. What had the woman meant—one of Ryder’s women?
Alex girded her mental loins and scooted higher on her pillows. “Dear Lydia, this is Sophie Sherbrooke, your new daughter-in-law. Sophie, this is Ryder’s mother, Lady Lydia Sherbrooke.”
“I don’t believe it,” said the dowager countess, hands on hips, voice flat and hard. “Just look at you! And that rag you have on, girl, it passes all bounds. It’s ugly and cheap and you look quite the sham in it. No, you shan’t take me in as has this other daughter-in-law of mine who shouldn’t be either.”
“Actually, ma’am, it’s one of my gowns. We’re having it altered for Sophie.”
Lady Lydia wasn’t at all daunted by this proof of her error, and not at all remorseful about the insult she’d just dished out to her daughter-in-law, for she usually dished out too many in the course of a day to remember more than a fraction of them. Her hands remained on her hips and her nostrils still quivered with indignation. She wasn’t about to budge. She gave Sophie another long look, and said, “Well, the color is all wrong for her. Sallow, that’s what it makes her, utterly sallow. Now, young woman, you dare to say you’re married to my son. Well, you can’t be. Ryder has always laughed when anyone mentioned marriage. He is content as he is with all his women. Therefore, you are a liar, an adventuress, doubtless a—”
“Sorry, Alex, I lost track of her, but I’m here now. Hello, Mother.”
It was the earl, and he was actually out of breath. Sophie was tempted, but only for an instant, to laugh as she pictured this fiercesome man racing up the stairs and to this bedchamber to muzzle his mother.
“Ah, I see you’ve met Sophie. Her little brother is also here. Jeremy is with Sinjun, I believe.”
As if recalling that he was the master, the earl strode like the lord he was into the room, giving Sophie a wink as he passed by her. He paused a moment and looked her up and down. He said to his wife, “You see, it is just as I said. You are quite unique. Now, Mother, would you like to welcome Sophie to Northcliffe Hall?”
The earl sat down on a very feminine chair that all but groaned under his weight, but his dark eyes were calm and deep on his mother’s face, and if Sophie had been in the older woman’s slippers, she would have stammered something quite inoffensive and slithered out of the room. She prayed she would never have to cross swords with this man. He was honed as the sharpest of knives.
“Well, what am I to think?” Lady Lydia said, her voice peevish. “Come, Douglas, don’t tell me you believe her. Just look at her. Why, dear Ryder wouldn’t look at her a second time.”
“I imagine he had to, Mother, for they are married. You see, Ryder wrote me a letter introducing her and Jeremy. I would appreciate it if you would accord her one of your lovely smiles and welcome her here.”
Sophie would have smiled like a fool if those quietly spoken, utterly calm words had been directed at her. Lady Lydia fidgeted a moment, then said stiff as a poker, “You are here. My son, who is also the earl and thus must be accorded respect and patience, has accepted you. We will see if you remain once my other son returns.”
Back straight as a broom handle, Lady Lydia marched from the bedchamber.
The earl said to his pale-faced wife, “Have you been giving my mother lessons, my dear? That straight back of hers rivals yours at your most arrogant. Surely you must have instructed her.”
“I wish you’d been faster,” Alex said.
“Sorry, but as I said, she moves very rapidly when she wants to. The gown does make you look a bit sallow, Sophie. You must avoid shades of yellow. They look lovely on Alex, but you need pale pastels, I believe. Have you a soft pink, Alex?”
Alex owned three such soft pink gowns. Within fifteen minutes, the countess was tucked down for a nap, the maid had taken the pale pink gown away to alter, and Sophie was in her bedchamber, staring at the huge cherrywood armoire that held a goodly number of men’s clothes. Ryder’s clothes. She was in his bedchamber.
It simply hadn’t occurred to her that she would be put in his bedchamber. To await him. What to do?
Ryder’s bedchamber.
She walked over to the window that gave out onto the front drive. She saw Jeremy walking with his slow hitched gait beside Sinjun from the stables. She’d slowed her own step to match his. He was speaking with great animation, using his hands, just like his father, and Sinjun was looking down at him, smiling and nodding. Sophie felt a surge of gratitude. The sun had come out in the late afternoon and the beautiful grounds were lush and green, the flowers in bloom, not the suffocating sort of lush bloom on Jamaica, but nonetheless, it was beautiful. She wondered where the naked Greek statues were kept.
With Ryder living here, she would have imagined his windows looking over the statues. She found herself walking around the bedchamber, opening drawers in the dressers, seeing her underclothing next to his. It was disconcerting. It was frightening. She very quietly closed the dresser drawers. She lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
It was a blustery day, cold with dampness heavy in the air. Sophie dismounted Lilah, the bay mare the earl had given her to ride, tethered her to the skinny branch of a yew bush, and walked to the edge of the cliff. Waves crashed on the rocks some fifty feet below. The beach was littered with driftwood, tangled seaweed, huge boulders, and very dark sand that looked wet and cold. She was shivering, and it surprised her still. She’d been cold ever since she and Jeremy set foot in England. She wrapped her arms over her chest and didn’t move for a very long time. The savagery of the scene below held her silent. She stood there very quietly, rubbing her arms, her hair blowing about her face, soon free of its knot at the back of her neck.
This was the earl’s thinking place, Sinjun had told her. However, her sister-in-law had added, a twinkle in her incredible Sherbrooke blue eyes, Douglas hadn’t visited here very much at all since he’d married Alex and not at all since he’d decided to keep her as his wife. It was just as well; Sophie liked having the barren cliff and the churning water below all to herself. She’d spent hours here during the past week, escaping Lady Lydia’s tongue and all the curious Northcliffe Hall eyes.
She sat down on a rock, arranging her riding skirt over her legs. Her mare suddenly whinnied and she looked up. It wasn’t the earl riding toward her or even Sinjun, who came here quite often and simply sat at her feet, quiet and undemanding, but a man she’d met in the village several days before. His name, if she remembered aright, was Sir Robert Pickering. He was well into his thirties, married and a father of five daughters. He reminded Sophie of Lord David Lochridge, even to the assessing, very possessive way he’d looked at her when Alex had introduced them. She’d disliked him then, and his arrival here, on Sherbrooke land, made her dislike show on her face. She knew his sort, indeed she did, and she braced herself.
Sir Robert dismounted and strode to her. He stood over her, hands on hips, smiling down at her.
“I was told I’d find you here. I trust you recall who I am? Certainly you do. All ladies remember gentlemen who look at them as I did you. You know, my dear girl, once Ryder returns you will be in dire straits, and he must return very soon now. Indeed, I expected him to come sooner. You must know he keeps many women and not one of them has he ever allowed to stay at Northcliffe Hall.”
Oh yes, she knew his sort quite well. Sophie gave him a lazy look and yawned. “This is Sherbrooke land. I would that you leave now. And no, I don’t remember your name at all. For the life of me I cannot imagine why I should.”
She’d angered him a bit and it pleased her. She yawned again. He said, “My name is Sir Robert Pickering, and oh no, I shan’t leave yet. I wish to speak to you. I came here to find you. To come to an agreement, if you will. It is all the talk of the district, you know, how you, this simple maid from Jamaica, arrived with the little lame boy as your shill and pulled the wool over the Earl of Northcliffe’s eyes. Of course, he is still so besotted with his new wife that it is no wonder he accepted you. It is even said that Lady Lydia avoids a room when you are in it. But your fun will soon be over. Who knows when Ryder will come back? As I said, it must be very soon. He won’t allow you to remain, you know You will be unmasked. He will not bed you in his home. He is discreet. He is very likely to be angry with you for your gall and impertinence. I think you are a quite pretty girl. Thus, I am willing to provide for you, and the little lame boy, but you must leave Northcliffe now I will install you in a cottage I own some miles from here.”
“I see,” Sophie said, hating him so much her hands shook to shove him off the cliff. Sinjun had said on a giggle that he had a shocking reputation and all the ladies felt sorry for his wife, who, the poor woman, was continually with child. He was tolerated because his father had been a very popular man.
“Will you accept my offer, then?”
Sophie controlled her anger. She clearly saw his pretensions, his conceits, his fateful pride that would make him do and say very stupid things. She even smiled at him now
“Tell me something, Sir Robert. Why are you so certain that I’m not married to Ryder Sherbrooke? Do you think I look like one of Ryder’s women? Do I look like a girl who would be a man’s mistress?”
“No, you do not and that pleases me. Actually, the half dozen or so women I know Ryder has kept are quite varied. Some are so beautiful they make a man’s rod swell, others are simply pretty, but their bodies—all their bodies are magnificent. Now, as I already told you, Ryder has a reputation. He enjoys dozens of women. He would never tie himself to just one. Thus, you are one of his mistresses. There is no other way for it. Did I tell you I was one of her ladyship’s confidants, just as my father was before me? No? Well, Lady Lydia would like to see you at Jericho. I enjoy obliging her. I will take action. Will you accept my offer?”
Sophie rose slowly. She dusted off her riding skirt. She smoothed out her gloves. As for her hair, she stuffed it as best she could under her riding hat. How very odd that it wasn’t she who was regarded as the slut here, it was Ryder. She was only a slut by extension, for her husband couldn’t be a husband and thus she had to be a liar. She gave him a remote look and said, “I would wager, Sir Robert, that you are the type of man to pin a maid against the stairs and fondle her.”
He looked taken aback, then he nodded slowly at her, as if she’d just confirmed something he’d been thinking. He said, “I knew you would be brazen behind that demure façade of yours. There’s just something about you, something that teases a man, that makes him want to throw up your skirts. A man looks at you and knows that you are well aware of what he wants of you. Your eyes, perhaps. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like for me to take you right here.”
“Your conceit is remarkable. If you come near me I will throw you over the cliff.”
He laughed, moved quick as a snake, and grabbed her arm, jerking her against him. She felt no fear, just vast annoyance. Men, she thought, they were all the same, no matter what the country. She remarked the clump of hair on his jaw that his valet had missed while shaving his master. She smelled the pea soup on his breath. She waited, looking bored.
It enraged him. He crushed her against him and tried to find her mouth. But she eluded him. She knew he didn’t understand, didn’t accept that she wouldn’t have him willingly. He grabbed her hair to hold her head still.
“You really shouldn’t do this,” Sophie said, still calm. “I won’t allow much more.”
“Ha,” he said and managed to find her mouth. He touched her flesh, but that was all. Her hands were raised and fisted, her knee ready to come up and kick him in the groin. There was a furious yell behind him. Sophie felt him jerked like a mangy dog off her.
It was Ryder and he looked beyond angry. He looked vicious.
For a brief moment, she was so glad to see him she wanted to yell with it. He looked fit and tan and strong and she saw that his Sherbrooke blue eyes were alight with rage. She calmly watched him strike Sir Robert in the jaw with his fist. The man went down on his knees. Ryder reached for him again. Sophie laid her hand on his arm. “Don’t, Ryder. He isn’t worth bruising your knuckles and that is what would happen. He will already have to find an acceptable explanation for the wonderful bruise you’ve given him. Let him go. He is a worm, after all.”