New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulter returns with the highly anticipated seventh book in the bestselling Sherbrooke Bride series, The Sherbrooke Twins . The story of Jason and James, the handsome and respected identical twin sons of Douglas and Alexandra Sherbrooke, The Sherbrooke Twins includes appearances by many of the beloved members of the Sherbrooke family and even the Virgin Bride.
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June 27, 2004
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Excerpt from The Sherbrooke Twins by Catherine Coulter
James Sherbrooke, Lord Hammersmith, twenty-eight minutes older than his brother, wondered if Jason was swimming in the North Sea off the coast of Stonehaven. His brother swam like a fish, no matter if the water froze his parts or cradled him in a warm bath. He'd say while he shook himself like their hound Tulip, "Now, James, that doesn't matter, does it It's rather like making love. You can be on a grainy beach with cold waves nipping your toes, or wallowing in a feather tick -- in the end the pleasure's the same."
James had never made love on a grainy beach, but he supposed his twin was right. Jason had a way of putting things that amused you even as you nodded in agreement. Jason had inherited this gift, if that's what it really was, from their mother, who'd once said as she'd looked lovingly at James, that she'd delivered one gift from God and now it was time to grit her teeth and deliver the other gift. This had gained her looks of sheer amazement from her sons, and, of course, nods, at which point, their father gave them both a look of acute dislike, snorted, and said, "Gifts from the Devil, more like."
"My precious boys," she'd say, "it's such a pity you're so beautiful, isn't it It really annoys your father."
They'd stare at her, but again, they'd nod.
James sighed and stepped away from the cliff that overlooked the Poe Valley, a lovely stretch of undulating green, dotted with maple and lime trees and divided by ancient fences. The Poe Valley was protected on all sides by the low-lying Trelow hills; James always believed that some of those long, rounded hills were ancient barrows. He and Jason had built countless adventures about the possible inhabitants of those barrows -- Jason had always liked to be the warrior who wore bearskins, painted his face blue, and ate raw meat. As for James, he was the shaman who flicked his fingers and made smoke spiral into the sky and rained flame down on the warriors.
James stepped back from the edge. He'd fallen off that cliff once because he and Jason had been fighting with swords, and Jason had flattened his sword button against James's gullet, and James had grabbed his neck and flailed about -- all drama and no style, Jason told him later. He'd lost his footing and tumbled down the hill, his brother's yells blasting. "You stupid bloody bleater, don't you dare kill yourself! It was only a neck wound!"