The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [120]
“Douglas,” she said in a very loud voice, “Monsieur Lessage is my teacher. You are interrupting us. S’il vous plaît, please leave.”
Douglas said something to Monsieur and the man grinned.
“I apologize, Alexandra, but Monsieur just remembered that he has another lesson to give, very shortly, and all the way on the other side of London.” Douglas shook the man’s hand, and money went from her husband’s hand into the Frenchman’s.
Alexandra wanted to hit him. She wished she could curse him in the fluent French he used so effortlessly. No, all she wanted was just one French curse word, just one. Her hands were fisted at her sides. She waited for the door to close, then bounded to her feet. “How dare you! He was my teacher, he was not at your beck and command! Ah, I would like to tell you in French just how angry I am!”
“Want to curse me out, hm?”
“Yes. Oui!”
“Merde.”
“What?”
“You may say merde. It means . . . never mind, it’s a curse and it will relieve your spleen. Trust me.”
“Merde!”
He winced, then grinned at her. “Feel better?” She said nothing, and he continued, “Why did you want to learn French?”
“To find out what that hussy said to you and why that man, Georges whatever, wanted to kill you last night!”
“Ah, so I was right. You are picturing yourself as Saint Georgina.” He walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that gave directly into the garden. He opened the door and breathed in the fresh morning air. “Alexandra, you were planning to rescue me again? This time with schoolgirl French?”
“If you won’t tell me what is wrong, why, I must do something! It is my nature, I can’t help it. I wish you wouldn’t regard it as interference.”
“A pity,” he said, not turning to look at her. “Yes, a pity that you aren’t more like your sister, a lady, I fancy, who is perfectly willing to wait to see what her husband wishes of her before hurling herself like a hoyden into one mess after another. Messes, I add, that have nothing to do with you.”
“I wish you would be more clear in your condemnation, Douglas.”
“In what way am I not perfectly clear?”
“That you love Melissande, still?”
He turned then to face her, this wife of his, and he saw the hurt in her eyes. It bothered him. He hadn’t made love to her the previous night. He’d wanted to, Lord, that was nothing new, he always wanted her, but he had to teach her that she couldn’t have him whenever she wished to, that he would decide when and where and how, and he’d had to show her his displeasure. Well, he’d done that and now he wanted her like the very devil. Her morning gown wasn’t all that alluring, for God’s sake, just a soft yellow muslin, yet he wanted to rip that very feminine row of lace from the neckline and bare her breasts. He wanted her breasts in his hands, he wanted to caress and kiss the soft flesh on the underside of her breasts. He wanted to press his face against her heart.
He sighed, and kept his back to her for he’d become hard, painfully so, just thinking about her damned breasts. He didn’t like it at all.
And he said, to his own surprise, “No, I don’t love Melissande. I never loved her but I wanted her. I suppose she was something of a dream to me, not a real woman, just this exquisite phantom that made my nights less lonely. No, I don’t love her. I fear Tony was right about that, the damned sod.”
“Tony loves her.”
“Yes, he does.”
And she wanted desperately to ask him if perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to love her, just a little bit. But she remained silent. She did say, “I am as I am, Douglas. I cannot bear to think of you in danger. I cannot believe that you would prefer me to sit drinking tea when a villain comes up to plant a knife in your back.”
“Perhaps if that were the case, you could yell at the top of your lungs for some assistance from a man.”
“And if there were none of your precious specimens about?”
“Cease your games with me, Alexandra. I don’t want you doing things I haven’t approved. I want to know where you are, what you’re doing. I do not want or require your interference in my affairs.”
“You want a bloodless wife.