The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [24]
She stared up at him, not understanding, and saw that the damned sod was smiling at her, a knowing smile, a master’s smile, so smug and satisfied that it was more than she could stand. She threw back her head and screamed at the top of her lungs.
The carriage jerked to a sudden halt.
Tony’s smile didn’t slip. He eased her up, helped her straighten her clothes, and waited for their coachman to appear at the window, which he did almost immediately. His eyes went at once to Melissande, and she realized that he must know what her husband had been attempting to do to her.
“Go away!” she yelled at the hapless man. “Ah, just go away!”
“Yes,” Tony said easily, sitting back against the squabs, his arms folded over his chest. “Forgive my wife for disturbing you. Sometimes ladies, well, they forget themselves . . . you understand.”
The coachman was very afraid he did understand, and, flushing, hurried to climb back to his perch. The carriage jerked forward.
Tony was quiet.
Melissande arranged herself with quick clumsy movements, so furious and embarrassed and disconcerted she wanted to shriek at him until she was hoarse. But it was difficult with him just sitting there, looking out the windows, saying nothing, looking bored. Bored!
She smashed her bonnet back onto her head, not caring that her lovely coiffure would suffer irreparable damage from her show of rage. She pulled on her pelisse and refastened the buttons, putting the wrong ones in the wrong holes and not caring.
He looked at her then and the smile was still on his lips. “You know, Mellie—”
“Mellie! What a horrid nickname! I hate it, it is perfectly dreadful and I—”
“Shut up, my dear.”
“But, I—” She saw something in his eyes that she’d never encountered before in her twenty-one years. She closed her mouth and turned away, momentarily routed.
“As I was saying, Mellie, for you I betrayed my cousin. However, it isn’t the sort of betrayal that destroys the soul. You don’t really know Douglas nor does he know you. Lord, were he to have seen your games during the past few days, he would have been utterly disillusioned. He probably would have snuck out in the dark of night to escape you. He wouldn’t have taken you to Gretna Green. Indeed, three years ago, I doubt you even saw him beyond a handsome man who praised your immense beauty. He left you because of his honor, because he felt he had to place his duty above matters of the heart. I will tell you truthfully, my dear, he doesn’t love you. He remembered that he had desired you, had admired you, had laughed and been entranced by your carelessness, your seeming guilelessness. He remembered your beauty, nothing more.
“But he doesn’t love you nor did he then. His family has been ruthless in their attempts to get him wedded so that there will be a Sherbrooke heir within the year. He saw you as a way to batten down his family, to wed himself to a beautiful creature, and save himself from having to travel to London to see the crop of available debutantes.
“Even as I knew I would have you, I was thinking of all the pros and cons of what I was doing. One thing I’m quite certain of though, Douglas will come to realize what a favor I did for him by removing you from the scene. One day he will thank me. You would have driven him mad, utterly mad.” Tony now turned to his wife. He was looking very serious. “He is much more the gentleman than I am, you know. He would never have beaten you, no matter the provocation. He would have withdrawn from you, not at all what would bring you into line.”
She said slowly, “I don’t believe