The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [125]
“My lady, welcome back. Ah, I can see that James here stayed closely with you, as did John Coachman. His Lordship was worried, naturally, even though—”
“Damnation, Burgess! Be quiet! Believe me, she doesn’t need your protection or interference.” Douglas grabbed her arm and pulled her into the salon. He kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot.
“Trying to defend you, damn his traitor’s eyes,” Douglas said, shaking her now, his fingers digging into her upper arms. She said nothing, merely looked up at him. The shock of Georges Cadoudal’s sudden appearance at Hookams had passed during the carriage ride home. Now, she was more calm than not in the face of Douglas’s fury.
“I purchased Sinjun’s novel,” she said when he’d momentarily run out of bile.
“Damn Sinjun’s bloody novel!”
“Douglas, your language is deteriorating. Please calm down. Nothing happened, really . . .”
He shook her again. “And now you compound your disobedience with a lie. How dare you, Alexandra? How dare you lie to me?”
No, she thought, it was impossible that he knew anything of what had happened at the bookshop.
“I ran into Heatherington,” he said, seeing more deceit would come from her mouth.
“Oh,” she said, then gave him a very tentative smile. Heatherington hadn’t known a thing, not really. “It was just a man who didn’t know what was proper—”
“It was Georges Cadoudal and he would have taken you.”
“How did you know?”
“The good Lord save me from stupid females. Alexandra, you were screeching French loud enough for all of London to hear. I saw another gentleman you haven’t even met and he told me about your merde at the top of your lungs. Everyone knows and I doubt not that I will receive a good dozen visits from people to tell me of my wife’s exceedingly odd behavior.”
“I said other things too, Douglas.”
“Yes, I know. You’re going to Paris with your husband tomorrow.”
“And I screamed for help too in French.”
“And another thing,” he began, really warming up to his theme now, then stopped cold, for she’d pulled a small pistol from her reticule.
“I also took this. I’m not stupid, Douglas. That man couldn’t have harmed me. I didn’t leave the house without thought and preparation. I was bored, Douglas, please understand. I was bored and I wanted to do something. All went just fine. He tried but he failed. I also hit him on the head with Sinjun’s novel. He didn’t have a chance.”
Douglas could but stare down at her. She looked so proud of herself, the little twit. She was completely convinced she was in the right of it. She was innocent and guileless. She had no more chance than a chicken against a man like Cadoudal. He took the pistol from her, his muscles spasming at the thought of having that damned thing turned back on her, and then walked very tall and straight and very quietly from the room. He didn’t say another word.
Alexandra looked at the closed door. “He is trying very hard to control himself,” she said to no one in particular.
He wasn’t at home for dinner. He didn’t come to her that night.
They left London at eight-thirty the following morning. Summer fog hung low and thick throughout the city, clinging like a dismal chilled blanket until they were well onto the road south.
Douglas sat silently beside his wife. She, curse her nonchalance, was reading Sinjun’s novel. The Mys-terious Count. What bloody drivel. Then he remembered Sinjun telling him about his Greek plays, and shuddered. This was probably filled with heroines swooning rather than taking off their clothes. “Why do you read that nonsense?” he asked, thoroughly irritated.
Alexandra looked up and smiled at him. “You don’t wish to speak civilly to me, the scenery is nothing out of the ordinary, and I don’t wish to nap. Have you a better suggestion than reading? Perhaps you have a volume of moral sermons that would elevate my thoughts?”
“I’ll speak to you,” he said, his voice on the edge of testy.
“Ah, that is very nice of you, Douglas.”
He searched her words and