Why not, she thought. It didn't matter. He was quite right. He had seen her and taken her and probably looked his fill of her the night he'd drugged her. It made no difference. She allowed him to ease her to the side of the bed. She was naked and he was holding her, lifting her now to her feet. Her knees gave, and when she fell against him, he held her upright, pressing her against him. His breath was warm on her temple. She would have been terrified of him but she felt too weak, and the pain was rippling through her. He knew, of course, damn him.
"Is the pain bad?"
"No, I'm just weak, that's all. Ryder, I can manage, truly. Would you leave me alone now?"
"Be quiet, Sophie."
He eased her into the copper tub. She sighed with pleasure and he grinned down at her. He unbraided her hair and smoothed out the ripples.
She managed to wash most of herself and he washed her hair. It took a long time, and she was white with fatigue and trembling with weariness when they were finished. And pain, he guessed. He toweled her dry as matter-of-factly as he'd rub down a lathered horse. That thought made her smile and he saw that small smile and wondered at it as he wrapped her hair in anoth
er towel.
He carried her to a rocking chair by the open louvered doors and sat down, holding her in his lap. "Time for a rest for both of us. You've worn me out. You've a lot of hair. Lean your head against my shoulder. That's right."
"I'm nothing to you."
"What does that mean?"
"I mean that I'm naked and you have seen me and taken me and yet you don't care. I'm nothing to you."
His arms tightened about her and he felt her wince and immediately loosened his hold.
"Would you prefer me to slaver all over you and make you uncomfortable by staring at your breasts?"
"No, you already did that. It was just a game to you, it meant nothing. It's just that—"
"That what?"
"I don't understand you."
"Sometimes I don't understand myself," he said. He began to rock her back and forth. She was asleep within two minutes.
No, he thought, he didn't understand and it was driving him mad.
He carried her back to bed and laid her on her back. He decided to leave her ribs unbandaged. Very gently he removed the towel from her hair and smoothed out the tangles with his fingers, fanning her hair about her head on the pillow to dry.
He looked at her flat belly and at the soft nest of hair below. She really was quite lovely, he thought, as he pulled a sheet over her, and she'd known men in only one context. They wanted her body, nothing more. Well, she had a very nice body, but he wasn't moved at all.
He had no intention of ever being moved by this woman, at least any more than he already was.
He was eating luncheon with Samuel, Emile, and Jeremy, when James came into the room and said, "Mr. Thomas is here, Mr. Sherbrooke. He wants to see you."
Jeremy's fork fell to his plate, his face suddenly white. Ryder nodded to James, saying, "Show him into the salon, James. I shall be there presently. Now, Jeremy, pick up your fork and eat those delectable shrimps. I asked your sister to trust me. I'm asking the same of you. If you don't get color back into your cheeks, I'll stake you out in the sun. If you think I will allow Thomas or anyone else to get near you, you are sorely mistaken. Do you understand me, young man?"
"Yes, sir," Jeremy said, his eyes searching Ryder's face. Ryder saw the fear, the uncertainty, and he felt something move deep inside him. He buffeted the boy's shoulder as he passed his chair. "Emile plans to teach you all about rum this afternoon."
"I already know a lot about rum."
"Emile will show you things you've never seen before, won't you, Emile?"
"Indeed."
"Eat your lunch. You'll need your strength."
Ryder heard Jeremy say to Emile as he left the dining room, "Do you whip the slaves, sir?"
"No," Emile said matter-of-factly. "They're our workers. Without them we wouldn't produce much sugar. We depend on them. If I hurt them, why then, they couldn't work and then where would we be?"