He laughed, moved quick as a snake, and grabbed her arm, jerking her against him. She felt no fear, just vast annoyance. Men, she thought, they were all the same, no matter what the country. She remarked the clump of hair on his jaw that his valet had missed while shaving his master. She smelled the pea soup on his breath. She waited, looking bored.
It enraged him. He crushed her against him and tried to find her mouth. But she eluded him. She knew he didn't understand, didn't accept that she wouldn't have him willingly. He grabbed her hair to hold her head still.
"You really shouldn't do this," Sophie said, still calm. "I won't allow much more."
"Ha," he said and managed to find her mouth. He touched her flesh, but that was all. Her hands were raised and fisted, her knee ready to come up and kick him in the groin. There was a furious yell behind him. Sophie felt him jerked like a mangy dog off her.
It was Ryder and he looked beyond angry. He looked vicious.
For a brief moment, she was so glad to see him she wanted to yell with it. He looked fit and tan and strong and she saw that his Sherbrooke blue eyes were alight with rage. She calmly watched him strike Sir Robert in the jaw with his fist. The man went down on his knees. Ryder reached for him again. Sophie laid her hand on his arm. "Don't, Ryder. He isn't worth bruising your knuckles and that is what would happen. He will already have to find an acceptable explanation for the wonderful bruise you've given him. Let him go. He is a worm, after all."
Ryder felt her words flow over him. He felt his rage lessen. His toes, however, still itched to kick the man in the ribs.
"Did the cretin hurt you?"
"Oh no. In fact—"
Sir Robert stumbled to his feet. His rage was directed at Sophie, not at Ryder, who'd struck him. It was, Sophie knew, the way men reacted. They always blamed the woman. She drew herself up and waited for his venom.
"She tried to seduce me, Ryder! Welcome home. I was here and she came and tried to seduce me!"
Ryder struck him again, and this time he grinned while he did it.
Sir Robert remained on the ground. "No one believes her tales, no one, particularly your mother. She claims to be your wife, Ryder, and everyone knows that's a patent falsehood. She wanted me, she's flirted shamelessly with all the men who've met her, she—"
Ryder knelt down, jerked him up by his collar, and said not two inches from his face, "She is my wife. Her name is Sophia Sherbrooke. You will tell all these randy men that if any of them come near her again, I will kick them into next week. As for you, Bobbie, you irritate her again and I'll kill you. You say anything about her and I'll kill you. Do you understand, Bobbie?"
Sir Robert nodded finally, and it was toward Sophie he shot a malignant look. He shook his head even as he backed away from Ryder toward his horse. "You are really married to her? To one single woman?" "Did I not tell you she was my wife?" Ryder said nothing more. He watched Sir Robert climb back onto his horse and kick the poor beast sharply in the sides. It wasn't until he was out of sight that Ryder turned to Sophie. She was standing there silently, the wind whipping her hair across her face, just looking at him, saying nothing. He smiled at her, reached out his hand and lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. He wound a tress of hair between two fingers.
"It's been a very long time," he said, not moving himself. "They told me at the stable that you liked to come here. Hello, Sophie." "Hello."
"Is this the first time Bobbie has bothered you?" "Yes. I would have handled him, Ryder. There was no need for you to play knight to my damsel in distress."
His eyes narrowed. "I saw your knee ready to do him in. But I wanted to thrash him, Sophie. I am pleased you allowed me my fun. You understand that, don't you? You know men so well, after all." "Yes."
"Why were you letting him kiss you?" "He very nearly pulled my hair from my scalp." Ryder shook himself. "This is bloody ridiculous. The last thing I want to talk about or think about is that damned lackwit Bobbie Bounder, as we called him when we were boys." He smiled down at her. "Come here."
She didn't move. She felt her heart begin to pound, slow, heavy beats. He came to her, pulled her into his arms and simply held her. "I missed you very much. And Jeremy. It's been a long time, Sophie." He lifted her face, his palm beneath her chin. He kissed her, his mouth warm and firm. She remained passive.
"Kiss me the way I know you can," he said against her lips.
"I can't," she said and tried to press her face against his neck.
"I am close to consummating our marriage right here, Sophie. It wouldn't be all that comfortable. Come, kiss me, you really must, you know, to hold me over until I can take you in our own bed tonight."
And it would happen, she knew. There was nothing she could do about it. She kissed him, kissed him with all the expertise she had garnered over the past two years. It didn't content him though. It aroused him until she thought he would fling up her skirts and press her against one of the boulders. He was breathing hard, his hands on her back, down to her hips, lifting her, and then she pushed at him. He stopped instantly.
He slowly lifted his head. He looked down at her, no expression on his face. "You are a tease. You are behaving just as you did on Jamaica. You have just spent several minutes making me wild. You have held back from me, controlled me. I had forgotten during the past eight weeks how very good you were at manipulation. I suppose I had rearranged my memories, had come to believe that since you were my wife, you would welcome me, you would treat me with some honor, some sign that you had come to accept me, even perhaps like me. But nothing has changed, has it, Sophie?"
"You took me by surprise."
He said something very crude and she flinched. "Don't tell me that shocks you? Dear God, you could probably outcurse me—no, no, this is absurd. I have just come home. I saw my brother and he told me that you were here, in his thinking place, that you came here quite a lot. And I saw Sinjun with Jeremy and he seemed very glad to see me. I suppose I was a fool to think you would extend the same courtesy to me. Look, i
t doesn't matter now. I won't annul our marriage. I'm an honorable man. I consented to wed you despite the fact that in the end, there was no reason for me to have to. Do you understand, Sophie? Your precious uncle wasn't shot or stabbed. Someone, Thomas probably, had garroted the bastard. I didn't have to marry you to keep you from the gallows."
"Garroted? I don't understand."
"Yes, he was. I made a grave mistake. If only I had paid more attention, but you see, his body wasn't a pleasant sight. I just assumed that you had shot him, but you hadn't. And I lied to save you, said that he'd been stabbed. The jest was on me, it certainly was. Garroted, the bastard was garroted."