The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [106]
“See that you don’t! You wanted Douglas Sherbrooke and you got him. If you have decided you don’t want him now, it is too bad. You will just have to make do with him because Tony is mine.”
“I shall try,” Alexandra said in a humble voice.
Douglas, who’d overheard most of this, had a difficult time keeping his aplomb. He managed to say in a somewhat mellow voice to Tony, “We will see you in London?”
“Perhaps. If you would, Douglas, try to prepare everyone for my wife. It might prevent duels and I would appreciate it.”
“She’s already been there for a Season. They’re all prepared.”
“No, there is a difference this time. She is more . . . sympathetic now, more sensitive, and thus more vulnerable. Prepare them, Douglas. She’s now a human goddess. You’ve seen her wrinkle her brow.”
“All right, I’ll tell everyone that you’ve trained her.”
“Don’t forget the discipline, my dear fellow.”
Douglas laughed and punched his cousin in his arm. There was humor toward his cousin now, not the outraged bitterness of even the previous week. Alexandra felt a flood of hope. She was also relieved that Melissande hadn’t heard this exchange. She would have broken Tony’s arm.
They stood on the wide front steps of Northcliffe Hall until the last of the carriages bowled down the drive.
“Well,” said the Dowager Countess of Northcliffe, “we are a small group again and will doubtless be downcast.”
“Not I,” said Douglas, looking down at his wife.
“Oh dear,” said Sinjun, “stop looking at her like that, Douglas. I had hoped you would like to go for a ride.”
“Not I,” said Douglas again. “At least for a while.”
“Well, I never!” said Douglas’s fond mama, as she watched him grab his wife’s hand and race into the hall.
Douglas heard Aunt Mildred say, “Now, Lydia, we all want an heir. Douglas is just doing his duty. He is a good boy.”
He pulled her up the stairs to his bedchamber. He made love to her twice, quick and hard both times, and not once did he think about an heir. He stared down at her when he’d finished, breathing hard, his heart still pounding fast, but said nothing. He shook his head, dressed, and then immediately left her to go riding.
Alexandra stared up at the ceiling, not moving for fifteen minutes before she finally rose to pull herself together. As she bathed and dressed, she thought of the stunned look on his face when she said into his mouth just at the moment of his release, “Ah, Douglas, I lust for you so very much.”
He’d snarled at her.
Douglas didn’t come to her that night. Alexandra suspected he was brooding about lust and such in the library, at least she hoped so. She fell asleep in her own bedchamber. It was in the middle of the night when the darkness was heavy and thick when she awoke completely and very suddenly. She didn’t move, not understanding. She simply knew she wasn’t alone.
Then she saw her. The young woman she’d seen before, all white and floaty, her hair lustrous down her back, so blond it was nearly white, framing an exquisite face. She looked so sad and her hands were held out toward Alexandra.
“Who are you?”
Goodness, was that her voice, all thin and wispy with fear?
The figure didn’t move, just stood there not three feet from the bed, her body shimmering as if she weren’t really standing on the floor but rather hovering over it, her arms held out to Alexandra.
“What do you want? Why are you here?”
Again, the figure remained just as it was.
“I know you’re called the Virgin Bride because your new husband was killed before you could become his wife. But I am not a virgin. My husband didn’t die. Why are you here?”
Then the figure made a soft deep sound and Alexandra nearly leapt off the bed in fright.
Suddenly, everything was as clear as if the figure had spoken. Alexandra knew why she was here. “You want to warn me, don’t you?”
The figure shifted subtly, deepening the lights and shadows.
“You’re worried that something will happen to me?”