The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (37 page)

Ryder leaned over and smacked him on his back. “Are you all right?”

“I won’t stand for this, Emile,” his father said harshly. “You will not speak badly of her, do you understand me? You will not act the leering young man.”

“I said nothing, I merely choked.”

“Damn you, boy, I won’t tolerate your damnable impudence!”

“Samuel,” Ryder said smoothly, interrupting him. “There is not a consensus of opinion on the virtue of Miss Stanton-Greville. Surely you know that.”

“It matters not,” Grayson said. “I know the truth.”

“Let us speak of other matters then. There have been no further demonic spectacles. I’m disappointed, and yet at the same time, I do wonder why they ceased so abruptly with my arrival.”

Emile said slowly, “It’s true. Since you spent some hours in the bay before my father brought you to Kimberly, everyone or practically everyone would have known within twenty-four hours that you had arrived.”

“Which means,” Ryder continued thoughtfully, “that if they were meant to cease upon my arrival then the person responsible hadn’t heard of my arrival before that first night.”

“Exactly,” said Emile.

“I am still not certain that there is a person behind this,” Grayson said. “It isn’t natural, all that you saw. You said yourself, Ryder, that there was no sign of the fire where you’d seen one. Perhaps it wasn’t a person in a white costume, perhaps it was simply another manifestation of voodoo evil.”

“It was a flesh and blood man,” Ryder said firmly. “Also, the arrow that went into my arm was shot by a very real person. Thus, there were two villains at Kimberly that first night. A question, Samuel—do you know of any man nearby who is good at archery?”

“Good God,” Emile said, startled. “I hadn’t thought to ask. Yes, Father, let’s think on that.”

Both men were silent for several moments. Ryder ate the chilled fresh fruit and the crusty fresh bread. He thought of Sophia Stanton-Greville, waiting. Both the thought and the bread were delicious.

Samuel said, “Yes, I know a man who excels in the sport of archery.”

“Who?” Emile and Ryder asked at the same time.

Samuel waved his hands in dismissal. “No, no, it makes no sense. I was thinking of Eli Thomas, Burgess’s overseer. He is noted for his skill, but again, no, it makes no sense. Why would he come here and shoot Ryder? Also, David Lochridge is a devotee of the sport as is a Mr. Jenkins, a merchant in Montego Bay. There are doubtless others in the vicinity. Certainly too many to draw any sort of meaningful conclusion.”

Ryder smiled. Another part of the puzzle brought out onto the table. Another link to that wretched little tart at Camille Hall who’d teased him and practically let him make love to her in the Camille Hall gardens with a hundred guests but yards away. He toyed with an orange slice. “Since the men who visited us that first night of my arrival didn’t know I was here, why then, we can begin to narrow the list, because I met many gentlemen that first afternoon in the Gold Doubloon.”

Emile got a piece of foolscap and a pen. They listed all the names Ryder could remember.

“Many aren’t accounted for,” Emile said. “More than many more. The count boggles the mind.”

“Such as two of her lovers,” Ryder said easily. “We can mark off Oliver Susson.”

“Yes,” Emile said, and his father threw his napkin down on the table and strode from the room.

Ryder frowned after him. “Why does he wish to be blind to this girl and what she is?”

Emile looked across the breakfast room to the oil painting of a sugarcane field. “He had selected her to marry me. He won’t give up the idea. I think also that he is taken with her. Her wickedness teases him. You’ve noticed Mary, his housekeeper, is a little tease, and he is very fond of her. I tell you, Ryder, even if Sophia took him as one of her lovers, he would still defend her. You mustn’t take his anger to heart. He is my father and he means well.”

Ryder nodded and continued to eat.

Emile said after a moment, “You were to have ridden with her, weren’t you?”

Ryder grinned at him. “Yes, but I will never allow a woman to dictate to me. I will tell her what I wish of her and when I wish it. I will do the asking, not she the telling.”

“This should prove interesting.”

“I trust so,” Ryder said and drank the rest of his rich black coffee. “Do you have the time, Emile?”

“Yes, it’s nearly nine-thirty.”

“I believe I will go riding.”

Emile gave him a crooked grin. “Good hunting.”

“Indeed,” Ryder said.

 

“Where is he?”

Sophie turned to face her uncle. “I don’t know. I assumed he would be here at eight. He did not say he wouldn’t come.”

“You angered him, damn you!” He raised his fisted hand, but one of the house servants was coming onto the veranda. He lowered his arm.

He lowered his voice, but the anger was strong and vicious. “You put him off! You didn’t succeed, Sophia. I am displeased with you. Must I do all the planning? No, don’t say anything. I will decide what is to be done now. You’ve botched it and I wonder if you did it apurpose.”

He began to pace the veranda. Sophie watched him with a disinterested eye and kept silent. She prayed that Ryder Sherbrooke would have the good sense to keep miles away from Camille Hall and away from her.

Burgess paused and approached her, sitting in a cane-backed chair close to hers. “You took Lord David to the cottage last night, did you not?”

She nodded.

“All went well?”

“Yes. But he was jealous of my attention to Ryder Sherbrooke. His is not a steady character. He is childish and self-absorbed. Once he has drunk sufficiently, he is not difficult for me to handle, but last night his jealousy ... well, it doesn’t matter now. It turned out all right.”

“You dealt with him?”

“Yes.”

“Grammond will be leaving next week.”

“Yes.”

“You may detach yourself from Lord David now. There is no more use for him.”

“He will not go easily,” Sophie said. “He’s young and arrogant and considers himself to be my stud. He will not take it kindly that I no longer want him.”

“You will think of something.” Theo Burgess rose and walked into the house, leaving her alone with her endless round of useless thoughts.

When Ryder Sherbrooke rode up some ten minutes later she wished she could yell at him to leave, curse his male stubbornness. She knew men and she knew what he was doing. He was teaching her a lesson; he was teaching her that he would not take commands from a woman. He was punishing her, humiliating her. Well, let him try. If only he knew it was her wish never to see him again, that she would give just about anything for him to book passage on the next ship back to England. She didn’t move, merely watched as he cantered up the long drive, dismounted, and tied his stallion to the post some ten feet away from her.

He strolled over to her, leaned negligently on the veranda railing, and said easily, “Good morning.”

He frowned for she was wearing that awful paint on her face. It looked garish and tawdry in the morning sunlight.

“I told you to wash your face. You look absurd. You may be the tart, but there is no reason to advertise it.”

Sophie stood up slowly. She looked at him for a very long time, saying nothing. Then, in that light, teasing voice, she said, “Are you here to take me riding or to dictate terms for a surrender?”

“Surrender,” he repeated. “That sounds quite charming to me, particularly with regard to you, madam. First, go wash your face. Then I will take you riding.”

“You are nearly two hours late, sir!”

“Am I? Dear me, how remiss of me. On the other hand, I didn’t wish to ride two hours ago. Now I do. Go wash your face. I will give you ten minutes, no more.”

“I wouldn’t go to the trashhouse with you, damn you! Get out of here! Go back to England and be a boor there.”

“Mr. Sherbrooke! How delightful to see you, sir. My niece mentioned that perhaps you would be coming to take her riding. Sophia, where are you going, my dear? Mr. Sherbrooke surely would appreciate your charming company.”

Ryder was amused to see her so neatly trapped. “To freshen myself, Uncle.”

“Excellent. Mr. Sherbrooke and I will have a cozy chat until you return. Such a sweet girl, my niece. Sit down, Mr. Sherbrooke, do sit down. Should you like a rum punch?”

“At this hour? No, thank you, Mr. Burgess.”

“Ah, do call me Theo. I’m not quite that old.”

“Then you must call me Ryder.”

“I understand your brother is the Earl of Northcliffe?”

“Yes. He would have come here himself but he had recently wed.”

“Ah. Do you plan to remain on Jamaica?”

“Only until we have dealt with the ghostly manifestations that seem to have plagued Kimberly Hall for the past four or so months.”

“Mr. Grayson has spoken to me of these things. It’s common knowledge that there are evil ceremonies and equally evil priests and priestesses on Jamaica who are capable of anything.”

“They have stopped.”

“Really? I’m vastly relieved, Ryder, but I wonder why.”

“So do I.” Ryder wanted to ask him about his overseer and his archery skills but it was too soon. He wanted to keep the upper hand. He sat back in his chair and gave Mr. Burgess a guileless smile.

A house slave brought lemonade at Mr. Burgess’s request. It was delicious. Ryder noted that Miss Stanton-Greville had far exceeded her ten minutes. He finished his glass of lemonade and gently set the glass down on the polished mahogany-topped table next to him. He rose and extended his hand to Theo Burgess.

“I fear it grows late, Theo. Evidently your niece has become occupied with more important matters than riding with me. Good-bye.”

He walked away, whistling, nonchalant as a clam.

Theo Burgess stared at him, then yelled, “Sophia!”

Ryder didn’t pause. He strolled out onto the drive toward his horse. He heard a noise from above, and curious, looked up. She was standing on the balcony some twelve feet up and in her hand was a basin. He moved, but not quickly enough. A good amount of water whooshed down in a thick arc and landed squarely on the top of his head.

He knew he heard a laugh, but then she was crying out. “Oh dear, what have I done? Oh, Mr. Sherbrooke, how could I be so very careless! Dear me, I really should have looked. Do forgive me, sir. Do come in and I will give you a towel. Oh dear, oh dear.”

He would give it to her. She’d gotten him quite nicely.

He called back, “Thank you, Miss Stanton-Greville. Actually the water feels very good in this heat.”

“I will be right down with a towel, sir.” She added with a voice of gentle sweetness so false he was forced to grin, “And do call me Sophia.”

He turned back to the veranda and saw something very unexpected. It was Theo Burgess’s face and it was ugly and mean and something very frightening moved in his pale brown eyes. Then, suddenly, whatever Ryder thought he’d seen was gone, and Burgess was distraught and concerned and waving his hands as he moved quickly toward him, even wringing his hands, exclaiming, “Come here, Mr. Sherbrooke, do come here and sit down. Ah, my niece was careless, but surely she will make it up to you.”

“I have no doubt she will try,” Ryder said.

The brazen jade.

Sophie had washed only the most vulgar of the makeup off her face. But Ryder Sherbrooke’s face was shiny and dripping with nice clean water. She smiled at him, her eyes glittering her triumph even though the words that came out of her mouth would do justice to a contrite nun. She prattled nonsense like a brainless twit. She hung about him, offering to pour him more lemonade, offering him four more towels, perhaps even five for he was so very wet, even offering him a comb for his hair, even offering to comb his hair.

Finally, Ryder said, “No, thank you, Sophia. I feel quite dry. No more of your ministrations. I do hope that the bucket you accidently spilled on me contained fresh water and only fresh water?”

She blinked rapidly, her face paling creditably, then flushing, and settled finally into a patently false mask of chagrin. “Oh dear, I think so, but you know ... oh certainly Dorsey must have changed it and cleaned out the bucket, but then again, sometimes she is lazy so perhaps not. Wait, sir, and I will ask.” Then she struck a pose. “But you know, if Dorsey didn’t clean it out, she would never admit it. So we will never know. Oh dear.” She jumped to her feet and as she passed him, she sniffed rather loudly and wrinkled her nose.

She was quite good.

He rose to stand beside her. “Sniff again, Sophia. Yes, is there anything untoward? No? Excellent, I see that your face must weigh a bit less than it did. There are still cosmetics, but not enough to make me send you back to your room. Further, you have no more water to wash your face with, do you? Perhaps I now have some of your powder on my head? Come, let’s go riding before it becomes too hot.”

A boy appeared leading a beautiful bay mare with two white stockings. She nipped Sophie’s shoulder. Sophie laughed, and patted her nose. “You naughty girl! Ah, you are ready for a gallop, aren’t you?”

Ryder frowned. A completely different voice and a low, quite charming laugh.

He didn’t help her to mount. She expected it, he saw that, but he merely mounted his own stallion and waited, not even looking at her.

The boy gave her a foot up. She looked over at Ryder, her expression as bland as his sister Sinjun’s when she’d managed to beat him at a game of chess.

“Where would you like to go, Mr. Sherbrooke?”

“Since I am to call you Sophia, why don’t you call me Ryder?”

“Very well. Where would you like to go, Ryder?”

“To the beach, to that very cozy little cottage I’ve heard so much about.”

She didn’t miss a beat, but he would swear that he saw her eyes widen, just a bit, in shock. But she said very coolly, “I think not.” She gave him a seductive smile and a toss of her head. Her riding habit was of pale blue, her hat was a darker blue with a charming feather that curved around her face. It was very effective, that feminine head toss. “Besides, I do believe the cottage is perhaps still occupied. My uncle lends it out, you know. Yes, one never knows just who might be there.”