Bride for a Night (13 page)

Unfortunately he had a vague recollection of his mother pouting for weeks because her beloved Harry had refused to accompany her to London for the beginning of the season. Gabriel had been equally surprised by his brother’s insistence to remain at Carrick Park, considering his intense dislike for the countryside.

If he’d had any notion the evil that his brother had been plotting…

With a hiss he shoved aside his worthless regrets.

Later he could wallow in guilt and self-recriminations. For now he needed to discover how this nightmare had started and where it was headed.

“He arrived without invitation?”

“He traveled with Madame Martine, who was his current lover,” Sophia said, watching his restless movements with a wary gaze. “I believe she was the one to suggest that Harry could ease his financial difficulties by form
ing an alliance with Jacques. Your brother is a gentleman with a love for the extravagant.”

Gabriel snorted. “I am painfully aware of my brother’s expensive habits, but I find it difficult to believe that he would ever reach the level of depravity necessary to betray one’s own country. Not unless he was being forced.”

“There was no force necessary, as you must know, my lord,” she said with a hint of sympathy. “There are those men whose souls are barren. They seek to fill the emptiness with ever more exotic pleasures, but nothing can offer them peace.”

His hands clenched as her words sliced through his heart with painful precision.

“You know nothing of my brother,” he argued, even knowing he could no longer deny the truth.

“I would suspect that I know him better than you, my lord.” A sad smile curved her lips. “I, at least, can see him for who he is.”

“I do not doubt you have vast experience in knowing a great number of men,” he snidely retorted.

Her lips thinned at his insult, but she refused to be silenced.

“Have you considered the notion that your brother not only betrayed his country, but his family, as well?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“How do you believe Jacques acquired his position as vicar upon your estate?”

Gabriel had assumed that there was nothing left to shock him when it came to his brother’s lack of morals. A foolish presumption that left him unprepared for the accusation that Harry would not only abuse his position in Gabriel’s family, but that he would expose his mother and their tenants to the dangers of ruthless spies and immoral traitors on his land.

Sickening pain shifted to lethal fury.

When he got his hands on his brother he intended to…what?

Hand him over to the authorities and submit his mother to watching her child hanged as a traitor and then endure the shame of being shunned by society?

Allow him to once again walk away with no repercussions?

God almighty. What a mess.

“Damnation,” he breathed.

Sophia stepped toward him. “Do you accept that I speak the truth?”

“It would seem I have no choice.” With a motion devoid of his usual grace, Gabriel shoved the ring and note into the pocket of his breeches. “I can, however, ensure that your lover release my brother from the threat of exposure.”

She shrugged. “You can take them if you wish, but it will not protect Harry.”

His brows snapped together. “There are other items?”

“If there are none now, there soon will be.”

“An empty bluff,” he growled.

“Poor Lord Ashcombe.” Sophia regarded him with a pity that set his teeth on edge. “Only this morning Jacques received word from your brother demanding money and a place to remain hidden from the
‘devils his brother had sent in pursuit of him.’
”

A humorless smile stretched Gabriel’s lips at the irony of the situation. He had sent his servants to find his brother so he could punish him for having forced Gabriel into an unwanted wedding.

Who could have guessed that jilting Talia would prove to be the least of his sins?

“And Jacques agreed to assist Harry?”

“Of course. As the brother of the Earl of Ashcombe, Harry is a priceless associate.”

“Where did the letter come from?”

“Here.”

Gabriel went rigid at the unexpected word. “In the palace?”

“
Non.
The letter was delivered from Calais.” They both froze as the muffled sound of voices floated through the door. “My lord, someone approaches. We can delay no longer.”

With a low curse, Gabriel yanked his thoughts from his brother and concentrated on the dangers at hand. He would not have to worry about Harry if he ended up in an unmarked French grave. “Fine.”

Still unwilling to fully trust Sophia, he moved to wrap an imprisoning arm around her shoulders as he led her toward the door. He did not intend to have an enemy follow him.

He had been stabbed in the back enough for one day.

Besides, she would make a handy hostage if the need arose.

He had nearly reached the opposite side of the cellar when there was a squeak of the hinges, and the heavy door was being pushed open.

Cursing his lack of a weapon, Gabriel had no choice but to helplessly watch as the door swung slowly inward.

Prepared for one of the guards or even Jacques, Gabriel was stunned into immobility at the sight of the familiar female with a mass of untamed curls and emerald green eyes clutching a small bundle in her arms.

“God almighty…” he breathed. “Talia?”

A
FTER RECOVERING FROM
the considerable drop from her window, Talia had hastily searched for her belongings that Gabriel had left in the garden after being captured. It had taken only a few moments before she was sneaking through the darkness in search of the cellars.

Along the way she had dodged and darted past the various guards while inwardly preparing herself to accept that Gabriel might very well be in dire condition.

Who knew what Jacques might have done to him?

He could be chained to the walls. Or recovering from a brutal beating. Or maimed from some hideous torture.

Her imagination had conjured any number of terrible fates, but she had never once considered the possibility that he would be passing his time with a beautiful, near-naked woman wrapped in his arms. Worthless pig.

Coming to an awkward halt, she regarded her husband with a proud tilt of her chin.

“Forgive me,” she uttered through gritted teeth. “I had the most ridiculous notion that you might desire to be rescued.” Her gaze shifted to the woman at his side, not at all comforted by the realization that she was a good ten years her senior. What did it matter? The woman was the sort of sensual siren who would be tempting men until the day she died. “It did not occur that you might be occupied.”

The unknown woman ran a dark, scrutinizing gaze over Talia, a mysterious smile curving her lips.

“You must be the Countess of Ashcombe.”

“I am,” Talia admitted. “And you are?”

“Sophia Reynard.”

Even her name was temptingly exotic, Talia acknowledged, pettily wishing the woman at least possessed a wart to mar her perfection.

Having the decency to remove his arms from his lover, Gabriel stepped toward her with a forbidding frown.

“Talia, how the devil did you escape your rooms?”

“I crawled out the window.”

He sucked in a harsh breath. “Dammit, you could have broken you neck.”

Well, so much for gratitude. Unappreciative sod.

“You were the one urging me to leap from the window not three hours ago.”

“Yes, when I was there to catch you,” he growled, looking as if he could not quite believe her lack of intelligence.

She sniffed. “Obviously you were too busy to be of assistance, so I had little choice but to risk my neck.”

“What of the guards?” Sophia interrupted.

Talia returned her attention to Gabriel’s companion with a shrug.

“It was easy enough to slip past most of them.”

The female lifted her brows. “And the soldier at the door?”

Talia bit her lip at the stab of regret that pierced her heart.

“Yes, well, I do feel rather badly about poor Pierre,” she admitted. “He has been so kind to me.”

At her words both Gabriel and Sophia skirted past her. Talia turned to watch Gabriel fully yank open the
door, while Sophia gazed down at the large soldier who lay crumpled on the ground.

“Sacré bleu,”
she muttered. “Is he dead?”

Talia stiffened in outrage. “Certainly not. He will soon awaken.” She grimaced as she considered what awaited him. “Although I fear he might have a dreadfully thick head. I do hope his wife knows to brew him a tincture of lavender.”

“Christ.” Gabriel glanced back at Talia with an expression of disbelief. “I am not certain I could have floored the brute. How the hell did you do it?”

She reached into the folds of the dress that was wrapped around her belongings and pulled out the small, smoothly carved wooden cudgel.

“I am not proud of myself, but I pretended that I had something in my slipper and when he bent down to assist me I hit him with this.”

“What is it?” Sophia demanded.

“When I was younger I spent time with my father upon the docks. I was befriended by a Portuguese sailor who carved this for me and taught me the best means of striking a man.” Talia smiled at the memory of Santos, who’d been endlessly patient with a lonely girl in desperate need of affection. “My father always insisted that I carry it with me for protection.”

Gabriel studied the tiny weapon with an unreadable expression. “You had that hidden on your person at our wedding?”

“It was in my reticule.” She frowned at the strange question. “Why?”

He grimaced. “Good God.”

Without warning Sophia’s throaty chuckle filled the air. “Do you know, my lady, I was quite prepared to detest you, but I discover myself as helplessly enchanted
as everyone else.” She turned her head to toss Gabriel a mocking glance. “I trust you to take her far away from France and do not allow her to return.”

“I—”

Talia’s angry retort was interrupted as Gabriel moved to take her arm.

“Can you distract the guards?” he asked of Sophia.

The older woman smiled. “Actually, I think I can do better than that.” She tugged the torch from the wall bracket and stepped through the door. “This way.”

With little choice, Talia allowed Gabriel to tug her from the room and down the low passageway.

No one spoke as they turned off the main pathway into a narrow tunnel that was filled with cobwebs and goodness knew what nasty creatures. Talia instinctively pressed closer to Gabriel, for the moment more afraid of the small furry rats scurrying around her feet than the one walking at her side.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Sophia led them out of the tunnel into an abandoned garden that was situated behind the kitchens. Pausing long enough to make certain there were no guards near, Sophia led them through the overgrown pathway, pushing open an ivy-covered gate and scurrying toward the nearby woods.

Shifting the bundle in her arms, Talia lifted her skirts to keep pace as they wove their way through the thick trees, only coming to a halt when they were well out of sight of the palace.

Sophia turned, shoving the torch into Gabriel’s hand. “I will leave you here.”

“You will say nothing of our conversation to anyone,” Gabriel commanded, sharing a glance with the older woman that spoke of mutual understanding and hidden meanings.

“I have no more desire than you to share our secrets.” With a glance toward the stewing Talia, Sophia leaned forward to place a lingering kiss on Gabriel’s cheek. “
Bon voyage,
my lord.”

With a last smug smile toward Talia, the aggravating witch slid smoothly into the shadows and disappeared. At the same moment Gabriel hurried Talia in the opposite direction, ignoring her protests as her skirts were shredded to tatters from the underbrush.

He continued the punishing pace for the next two hours, battling a path for them with sheer brute force. Talia might have been impressed with his prowess if she had not been plagued by the memory of Sophia.

Had the two of them just risen from the narrow cot when she’d entered the cellar, or had she intruded before they could become intimate?

And why did either option make her desire to blacken his eye?

She had known when they’d wed that Gabriel was bound to have dozens of mistresses. Fidelity was considered a puritanical concept among society, and nothing could be more bourgeoisie than to display affection for one’s own wife or husband.

Besides, Gabriel had made it clear when he’d visited her with that damnable marriage contract that, while he was capable of demanding her loyalty, he had no desire to promise his own.

Of course he was bound to fill his bed with one beautiful woman after another.

Unfortunately, logic did not ease her simmering anger, and when he at last paused to offer her a rest, she was in no humor for his stern disapproval.

“You look like a ragamuffin,” he growled, pulling a
handkerchief from his pocket to scrub at the dirt marring her cheek.

“Perhaps you would have preferred to be running through the woods with the lovely Sophia? She would never dare look like a ragamuffin,” she snapped.

He scowled, but his fingers were gentle as he moved the handkerchief to a spot near her lips.

“I would prefer that you discontinue your habit of rushing headlong into danger.”

“Habit?” She glared into the predatory beauty of his face, unable to believe even Gabriel could hold her to blame for being kidnapped. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

The silver eyes shimmered in the stray shaft of moonlight, the light breeze weaving through the thick trees to stir his golden hair. Perhaps it was their untamed surroundings or the danger of their situation, but the icily aloof Earl of Ashcombe had suddenly been replaced by a menacing stranger.

“Obviously I have or I would never have let you out of my sight after our wedding. A mistake I intend to correct from this moment on.”

She shivered at the husky threat. Not with fear, but with a wholly feminine reaction to his blatant claim of ownership.

Angered by her ridiculous response, she narrowed her gaze. “I should have left you to rot with your pretty French tart.”

The tension quivering in the air remained, but something that might have been satisfaction flared through his eyes.

“I had no notion that you would prove to be such a jealous wife.”

She flinched at the disturbing accusation, refusing to admit the sensations churning through her.

“I am not jealous.”

“No?”

“Certainly not. You, after all, made no promise of fidelity.”

He regarded her as if he were offended by her words. “I am your husband.”

“That has no meaning among nobles. Society treats marriage as nothing more than empty vows and—” She gasped as Gabriel hauled her against his rigid body, his arms lashing around her to hold her in place. “What are you doing?”

“I assure you that our vows were not empty. You are mine and I will not endure you taking a lover.” His eyes blazed with a perilous fire. “Not ever.”

Again she felt that thrill of excitement at his primitive claim, and again she was swift to squash it.

“While you are allowed to do as you please, as I recall,” she instead muttered.

His gaze lowered to linger on her lips. “What I please is to have my wife in my bed where she belongs.”

Talia trembled, acutely aware of his warm body pressed so intimately against her own.

This had to be some new punishment, she told herself. He could not possibly want her with the raw hunger that tightened his face and hardened his body.

“Ah, yes, which explains why you so eagerly banished me to the country,” she reminded him.

His head lowered until his breath brushed her cheek in the promise of a kiss.

“I was angry and not thinking clearly.”

She dared not allow herself to be swayed. “And why
I just discovered you with a near-naked woman in your arms.”

He shifted to nibble at the edge of her lips. “She was not in my arms.”

Renegade excitement tingled through her, making her knees weak and her heart flutter.

“But she had been, had she not?” She had to know the truth. It was like a nagging thorn in the center of her heart.

He teased her lips with slow, melting kisses. “I have no interest in women such as Sophia,” he whispered, his hands tracing the delicate curve of her spine. “Not so long as I have my sweet, biddable bride returned to me.”

It was her sharp, urgent response to his touch that had Talia abruptly turning her head to escape the delectable kisses. She did not want to remember the breathtaking pleasure of being skillfully ravished by her husband. Or the aching satisfaction of being held tenderly in his arms as she slept.

It had only made the inevitable rejection more painful to endure.

“That sweet biddable bride no longer exists,” she snapped.

He nuzzled at the pulse pounding at the base of her throat, his tongue tasting of the fluttering beat.

“I could demand her return.”

She grasped the lapels of his jacket as warm bliss poured like honey through her body. Oh, heavens, she wanted to press even closer to his hard muscles. To feel those clever fingers stroking over her bare skin and his lips exploring her in the same intimate manner he had used during their wedding night.

Instead she held herself rigid.

She had her pride, did she not?

“You could demand that the sun rise in the west, but it is likely you would be disappointed.”

He chuckled at her stubbornness, obviously aware that she was far from indifferent to his touch.

“There are husbands who would beat you into submission,” he said, his mouth finding a vulnerable spot just below her ear.

She quivered, swallowing her moan of pleasure. “I am not helpless.”

“So you have proven.” His lips feathered against her skin, sending another rash of pleasure through her. “And in truth, only the weak and lazy must resort to violence to earn the cooperation of a beautiful woman.” His hands cupped the curve of her buttocks, pressing her against the thrust of his arousal. “There are far more pleasant means to tame her.”

She forced her hands against his chest, perturbed by the aching need that pulsed deep inside her.

“No.”

He pulled back to regard her with a brooding intensity. “Frightened I might speak the truth?”

Yes. She was terrified.

After years of her father’s bullying, followed by Gabriel’s brutal humiliation, Talia had at last settled into a comfortable existence. It was unnerving to think that he had only to kiss her to have her toss aside all she had gained over the past weeks just to fulfill a physical desire.

“This is hardly the time or place for such nonsense,” she said huskily.

Gabriel lifted his head with obvious reluctance, his eyes dark with frustration.

“Soon, my dear,” he said, his voice a low warning. “Very soon.”

T
HE NEXT FEW HOURS
proved to be distinctly unpleasant for Gabriel.

It was bad enough to be forced to clear a path through the thick underbrush while he was fully aroused and aching with unfulfilled need. Hell, each step was a misery, making him wonder why he had been stupid enough to take her in his arms.

But it was the biting fear that they might stumble into even worse danger as they haphazardly fled from Jacques Gerard that haunted his every move.

He needed to find shelter where they could rest and wait for daylight. Once he could determine their exact position, he was confident he could lead them to his waiting yacht with little difficulty.