The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [64]
When she weaved against a chair, then grabbed its back for balance, the wretched thing went skidding across the polished floor into the desk, jarring it so that the ink pot went flying, spewing black ink to the floor and onto the exquisite Aubusson carpet just beyond. Two books hit the floor with resounding thuds. Alexandra, so frustrated and furious that she wanted to yell, just stood there, dizzy and weak, wanting to kill.
The person who obligingly came through the adjoining door was a perfect victim. It was Douglas and he was hastily knotting a belt around his dressing gown as he came toward her.
“What is all the commotion? What the hell are you doing out of bed?”
She wished she had a cannon. Or a knife. Even a bow and arrow. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking my morning constitutional. Doesn’t everyone do that at dawn?”
“Damnation, you’re destroying my home!”
She followed his line of vision to the awful stream of black ink that was quickly soaking into the carpet, raised her chin, and declared, “Yes, I am. I hate Northcliffe Hall and I fully intend to wreck everything before I leave. This is but my opening salvo.”
Douglas, realizing that she was about to fall on her face, quickly strode to her and grasped her arms to hold her upright. “What are you doing out of bed?”
She couldn’t believe how obtuse he was. “I was going down to the kitchen for some warm milk.”
“Absurd! You couldn’t even make it halfway across your room.”
“Of course I can. I have a meeting with Mrs. Peacham to talk about replacing all the linens. The ones on my bed smell like moth bait.”
“Alexandra, I would that you cease this nonsense and—”
“Damn you, don’t be so stupid! I must relieve myself!”
“Oh, well that’s different.”
“Just go away. I hate you. Go away and leave me be.”
Douglas frowned down at her. He was still firmly set upon his plan to make her deliriously happy by accepting her as his wife, but she didn’t particularly seem in the mood to be the recipient of this proffered bliss. He’d left her alone the previous evening, wanting her to rest, wanting her to regain some strength before he made her the happiest woman on earth. And now here she was acting like a termagant, acting as if he were the devil himself, acting as if she weren’t at all pleased to see him. And he was her husband and he’d taken fine care of her.
Unaccountable twit.
He scooped her up in his arms, saying even as she tried to push away from him, “Just shut up and hold still. I will take you to the chamber pot. No, keep your damned mouth shut.”
“You will leave.”
“Not until you’re back in bed.”
She subsided because she doubted she could get back to bed without his assistance. She should have rung for Tess. Douglas left her behind the screen. She managed, but it was difficult for her, knowing that he was standing just on the other side of the screen. He was so close and he could hear everything. It left her body nearly paralyzed.
When she emerged, finally, he made no remarks. He picked her up again, continued to remain thankfully silent until he’d tucked her under the covers in her bed.
“There, that wasn’t quite such an appalling degradation, was it? You did take rather a long time with the chamber pot, but—Do you think you can sleep again or would you like some laudanum?”
“Go away.” She gave him a brooding look, realized that she wasn’t behaving well, and said in a voice that was as stiff as her back, “Thank you for helping me. I’m sorry I woke you. I’m sorry I hit that chair and that it bumped the desk and made the ink pot fall and the ink ruin that beautiful carpet. I will replace the carpet. I do have some money of my own.”
“Do you now? I find that difficult to believe. Your precious father didn’t have a bloody sou. Both you and Melissande left your homes without a dowry. You don’t even have an idea of the settlement your father made with Tony, do you? For that matter, you don’t even know if I’m going to give you