The Sherbrooke Bride by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

told, so did most other people. No woman, so far as Douglas knew, had ever played Tony false. Indeed, it was always Tony who had stepped away, laughing, as carefree as Ryder when it came to the fair sex, until he met Teresa Carleton, a young widow who had, for some obscure and unfathomed reason, charmed Viscount Rathmore to his Hessian-covered toes and marriage had popped into his mind and out of his mouth within a week. Then she had proceeded to play the game by the same rules Tony employed. The blow to his esteem must be shattering. No wonder he was reeling from it.
    â€œI can’t go back to London now for I would see her and my temper is uncertain, Douglas, you know that. I must rusticate until I regain my balance, until I am once more in control—cold and hard in my brain once again—and in no danger of cursing that scheming slut and slapping her silly. Do you mind if I stay here for a while?”
    The solution to his problem came to Douglas in a blinding flash, fully fleshed and brilliant, and he grinned. “Tony, you may stay here for the remainder of the century. You may drink all my fine French brandy; you may even sleep in my earl’s bed. You may do anything you wish.” Douglas strode to his cousin, grabbed his hand and pumped it, all the while grinning like a fool. “In addition, you, Tony, are about to save my life. Heaven will welcome you for what you will do for me.”
    Tony Parrish looked at his cousin, then smiled, a real smile, one filled with curiosity and humor. “I expect you will tell your expectations of my future bravery,” he said slowly.
    â€œOh yes, indeed. Let’s go riding and I will tell you all about it.”
    Tony’s smile remained intact, his interest level high for about five minutes into Douglas’s recital, then he looked astounded, aghast, then once again, he smiled, shrugged, and said, “Why not?”
Claybourn Hall
    Why not indeed, Tony Parrish thought five days later, his eyes a bit glazed from the vision that stood not five feet from him. She was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen. Every feature complemented the other, and each was arguably well nigh perfect. None of his former or present mistresses, nor his former fiancée, Teresa Carleton, came near to her in the flawlessness of her features. He’d always believed fair-haired women were the most beautiful, the most delicate and alluring. By all the saints, not so. Her hair was black and thick with no hint of red, her eyes an incredible dark blue, slightly slanted upward and sinfully long-lashed. Her skin was white and soft and smooth, her nose thin, her mouth full and tempting. Her body was so precisely perfect in its wondrous curves that it made him break into an immediate sweat.
    He felt his belly cramp. He felt himself pale. He just looked at her, unable not to, and watched a slow smile touch her mouth. She spoke, saying softly, “Viscount Rathmore? You are the earl’s cousin, I believe?”
    He nodded like a dimwitted fool and took her hand, turning it slowly, and kissing the soft palm. She knew her effect on him, he thought, her warm hand still held in his. She knew that he was stunned; andshe would attempt to manipulate him, but he didn’t mind. Odd, but it was so. Suddenly he felt her fingers tighten slightly in his grasp as he returned her smile. Was she also a bit stunned as well? He would soon see. He knew he had to regain his confidence, sorely diminished by Teresa Carleton. He had to regain his mastery. He could, if he wished, make this glorious creature bend to him. He could and he would . . .
    His thinking stopped cold in its tracks. Her name was Melissande and he was here to marry her by proxy to his cousin, Douglas Sherbrooke.
Etaples, France
    Douglas was in the middle of Napoleon’s naval invasion stronghold, although anywhere from Boulogne to Dunkirk to Ostend and all points in between could be considered part of his