The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [123]
When she eased into the bed beside him an hour later, he pretended sleep. For ten minutes. Then he turned to her and took her into his arms and began kissing her.
Alexandra gave a start of surprise, then returned his kisses with enthusiasm, as always. But there was no frenzy, no wild urgency this time. When he came into her, it was tender and gentle and slow, something he’d never been able to accomplish with her before, and he continued to kiss her, teasing her with his tongue, nipping at her lower lip, stroking her as he gave himself over to her. And it was good and she sighed in soft pleasure when it was done; she was bound to him now. She would be bound to him forever.
And when he knew she was asleep, he kissed her temple and said very quietly against her warm cheek, “Je t’aime aussi.”
Seven hours later, at the breakfast table, Douglas slammed his fist so hard his plate jumped and a slice of bacon slid off onto the white tablecloth.
“I said no, Alexandra. If Sinjun asked you to fetch her a book at Hookams, it is just too bad. I haven’t the time to accompany you and you will go nowhere without me with you. Do you understand?”
She was silent.
“Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now, see to our packing. I’m sorry we can’t leave this morning, but there is business I must attend to. I will return later.” And just as he was at the door, he froze, hearing her say “Merde!”
He pretended not to hear her and was gone. Alexandra stared at her eggs and wondered why one could rhapsodize so stupidly in the middle of the night and imagine that it would last beyond a man’s passion.
She remained busy the remainder of the morning although, truth be told, Mrs. Goodgame had little use for a mistress who was clearly distracted and really didn’t care if her gowns were packed carefully in tissue paper or simply thrown into the trunk.
Douglas didn’t return for luncheon. Alexandra was near to screaming with vexation and with fear for him. Why couldn’t she make him promise that he would go nowhere without her in attendance? She tried to study her French but she was so angry with him that she spent most of the time searching for more curse words.
“You have the fidgets, my lady,” Mrs. Goodgame finally told her, her voice weary with aggravation. “Why don’t you take a nice ride in the carriage? There is nothing needing your attention here, I assure you.”
So Douglas hadn’t told his staff that his wife was to be a prisoner. Her mouth thinned. She would go fetch Sinjun her novel and Douglas be damned. However, just to be on the safe side, she removed a small pistol from Douglas’s desk in the library that she’d come across the night before when she was resting from her French lesson, and slipped it into her reticule. She had no idea if it were primed. Just looking at it scared her; she prayed if she had to use it, the person she was using it on would be equally frightened just seeing it. She asked one of the footmen to accompany her, sitting next to John Coachman. What more could Douglas ask? She had two armed guards and a pistol.
Burgess did know that Her Ladyship was to remain indoors but he wasn’t at his post when Alexandra slipped out, James the footman in tow.
The carriage bowled up Piccadilly, past Hyde Park corner to St. Edward’s Street. John Coachman remained with the carriage and James accompanied Alexandra into Hookams. It was a drafty place, floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed full with books. It was dusty with little space between the aisles, but nonetheless, it had been pronounced a meeting place by the ton and thus the aisles were crammed with chatting gentlemen and ladies. Near the front of the shop, maids and footmen waited to relieve their mistresses and masters of their parcels. Alexandra left James to eye a pretty maid and allowed a harried clerk to lead her to where Sinjun’s novel was. Ah, yes, there, on the third shelf. She reached for The Mysterious Count then froze when a man’s voice hissed low into her right ear.
“Ah, the little pigeon leaves the nest, eh?”
It wasn