The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [43]
“Don’t be an ass, Ryder,” Tony nearly shouted. “Alex is lovely and sweet-natured and—”
“Sweet-natured! Ha! You would say so, certainly, since you married her to me! She’s not Melissande.”
“I saw Melissande, Douglas,” Ryder said slowly, staring at his brother. “Tony was standing near her. I believe he’s afraid that every man who lays eyes on her will lose his head.”
“You saw her. He’s justified.”
“But you didn’t appear to,” Tony said thoughtfully to Ryder. “Why not?”
Ryder merely shrugged. “One woman’s much the same as another. So long as they’re warm and loving in bed, why then, who cares? Sorry, but I don’t mean to insult your wife, Tony, it’s just that . . . I will try to make her a fine cousin-in-law, all right?”
Tony chewed this over. He liked Ryder but he didn’t understand him. This cynicism of his, this utter bland indifference toward women in general, hadn’t led him to monkish tastes but rather to a satyr’s appetites. No, he didn’t like women particularly, yet he supported his bastards and their mothers. He never blamed a woman for becoming pregnant. It was perplexing. Women were sport to Ryder, nothing more, and he was quite willing to pay for it and accept the consequences. It was also a relief that Melissande was safe from his ogling. But Douglas . . . Tony turned to his cousin and said, “I understand you and Alex were riding. She’s a superior horsewoman.”
Douglas grunted.
“You are a bit disheveled, Douglas,” Tony persevered. “What happened?”
“I fell off Garth; rather, that cursed woman you married pushed me off my horse. She fell off first and now I will have to buy her a new riding habit. Did you see the one she was wearing? Old and dowdy, doubtless all her other clothes are equally distasteful, and I’ll wager it was all planned by her fond parent so I would be forced to buy her a new wardrobe. She looks a fright, Tony, damn you to hell.”
Tony frowned. “That’s odd. Melissande has beautiful gowns and the softest silk, er, feminine things.”
Ryder said quickly, “There’s a faint bruise by your left eye and over your right ear, Douglas. Any other battle marks?”
Douglas said nothing whilst he poured himself a brandy. He sipped it, then waved his snifter at Tony. I am going to kill this miserable sot. Would you like to second me, Ryder?”
“You’ve a tear in your britches. And no, I truly cannot second you. I like Tony. I always have. Look, Douglas, it seems to me that you must allow a relative some latitude, particularly a relative of Tony’s closeness. We spent much of our boyhood together. He has never before done you in, has he? No, you will be forced to say, and I must agree. Thus, it’s just this one time that he has fallen off the cousinly straight and narrow. Only one time. Thus, forgiveness is—”
Douglas threw his brandy snifter at Ryder, who promptly ducked. The glass shattered against the brick hearth.
There was a knock on the library door.
“Come in,” Tony shouted.
Hollis entered, carrying a massive silver tray with the Northcliffe crest emblazoned upon it—a lion with his front paws on a shield, looking both noble and vicious. “I brought some refreshments, my lord.”
“Which lord?” Douglas said.
“You, my lord.”
“Ha! You came because you feared I was trying to murder Tony again.”
“It’s wise to be vigilant, my lord. Here are also some rather tasty scones from Mrs. Tanner’s kitchen, your favorite, my lord. And Master Ryder, here is your favorite strawberry jam. Come, my lord.”
“What about me, Hollis?” Tony said.
“For you, my lord, there are thick slices of shortbread.”
“Ah, you are a prince among butlers, Hollis.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Douglas cursed under his breath, Tony reached for a slice of shortbread, and Ryder had his hand around the jam pot.
Hollis stood back, feeling a modicum of relief. When he heard the footsteps from outside the library door, however, he felt himself pale. Oh dear, now wasn’t the time for the two wives to make appearances. But there was naught he could do.
Both ladies came into the library. Lady