Bride for a Night (16 page)

Her mouth went dry with horror. “Dear lord, he is not—”

“No,” he hastily interrupted, his expression impossible to read. “He enjoys the unjust health of most sinners, so far as I know.” His jaw clenched. “Indeed, I have learned he is currently residing in Calais.”

“Calais?” Talia blinked in confusion. “Calais, France?”

He gave a sharp nod. “Yes.”

“That’s absurd. What would he be doing in Calais?”

“Avoiding the men whom I sent in pursuit of him, for one thing. And for another…” He grimaced in disgust.

Talia lifted a hand to lightly touch his cheek. “Gabriel?”

A bleak emotion darkened his silver eyes, sending a chill of foreboding down Talia’s spine.

“For another he is attempting to fleece Jacques Gerard for the funds necessary to continue his extravagant lifestyle in France.”

Harry and Jacques were acquainted? It would be natural when they were in Devonshire, although Talia could not imagine Harry ever wishing to become friendly with a vicar, even if he did reside on his family’s estate. But they were in France, and if Harry knew that Jacques was here, then he must also know that he was a spy.

Which would mean…she cut off the thought before it could fully form.

“I do not understand.”

“I wish to hell I did not,” Gabriel muttered. “Harry is a traitor.”

Even with a suspicion of what was coming, Talia reeled from the shocking announcement.

“No.” She pulled away, shaking her head in denial. “It cannot be.”

As if predicting her disbelief, Gabriel was already moving to pull out a folded note from his jacket, shoving it into her hand. “Here.”

It took only a moment to skim through the signed confession, her heart sinking with every word. Dear lord, she had always thought Harry weak, but this…

She handed the note back to Gabriel with a dreary expression. “How could he do such a thing?”

“I have no answer,” Gabriel said bleakly. “Harry has always been spoiled by my mother, but so are any number of noblemen and they do not become spies.”

“Not you,” she said before she could halt the words.

He lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

She wrapped her arms over her breasts, feeling oddly exposed.

“You were not overindulged,” she reluctantly clarified.

Gabriel gently draped his jacket around her shoulders, tucking it around her body.

“No, when I was not at school I was expected to spend my days with my father to learn the duties of an earl,” he agreed without a hint of regret at having been denied a childhood. Indeed, his expression softened with obvious fondness at the mention of his father. “My earliest mem
ories are leading a team of mules through a field while my father helped the tenants toss hay onto the cart they pulled.”

She studied him. Truly studied him. The fallen-angel beauty of his face. The elegance of his body. The power he carried with such ease. And the confidence of a man who had been adored his entire life.

The sight reminded her of her earlier belief that Harry had lived his entire life in Gabriel’s shadow.

“Harry never joined you?”

Gabriel gave a lift of one shoulder. “He had no interest in the estates, only in the luxury they provided for him.”

“Or perhaps he resented your close relationship with your father,” she cautiously suggested. “It would explain why your mother was so eager to overindulge him.”

He instantly bristled. “My father was not to blame for Harry’s treachery.”

“Of course not,” she soothed. “But Harry’s resentment might have begun at an early age and been encouraged by your remarkable popularity among society.” She smiled wryly. “You do, after all, put most gentlemen in the shade.”

“And so now it is my fault?” he demanded, his expression caught between annoyance and pure male vanity.

“No.” She shook her head. “We all have burdens to bear from our childhood. For some, it makes them stronger, for others…” She clutched the jacket tighter, trying to disguise her horror at the evil that must infect Harry to allow him to betray his own country. Gabriel was suffering enough without her making him feel worse. “They use their past as an excuse to remain weak.”

He gave a restless shrug. “It no longer matters why he has chosen his path.”

“I suppose that is true.” She regarded him with concern. “The question is…”

“What I intend to do with him.”

“Yes.”

The pain returned to his face as he folded her back into his arms, laying his cheek on top of her head.

“I do not know,” he admitted. “There is no good solution.”

Well, that was certainly an understatement.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head over the steady beat of his heart, wishing she had the words to offer him comfort.

“I am sorry, Gabriel.”

His fingers threaded through her hair in an absent caress. “If he is tried and found guilty, the scandal will not only tarnish the Ashcombe name for generations to come, but it will destroy my mother.”

“Must his guilt be revealed?” she demanded softly.

She felt him shudder, his hands slipping beneath the jacket, seeking the warmth of her skin.

“Even if I could live with the shame of protecting my family at the cost of my country, such things have a way of being exposed,” he said harshly. “Indeed, I am shocked that Harry was capable of keeping his sins hidden for so long. He has never been discreet.”

An icy sense of premonition lodged in the pit of her stomach, although she had no need of foresight to know that having to expose his brother as a traitor would break something vital within Gabriel.

“Then allow fate to take its course,” she coaxed. “You need not be the one responsible to decide which it will be.”

His chest expanded beneath her head as he drew in a deep breath.

“I have always been responsible for my brother.”

She pulled back her head to regard him with a strained smile, not forgetting that she was yet another burden he had been forced to shoulder for his brother.

“Yes, I am well aware of the sacrifices you are willing to make for Harry.”

Braced for his ready agreement, Talia’s heart leaped as his eyes instead darkened to smoke, sending a breathless thrill singing through her.

“Some are not so burdensome as others,” he said lowly.

This time she made no protest as his mouth lightly teased over her cheek before settling on her lips.

Perhaps she could not ease his troubles or prevent the looming disaster, but for the moment she could give Gabriel a few moments of distraction.

Closing her mind to the bittersweet emotions tugging at her heart, Talia shrugged off the jacket, allowing it to slide to the ground as she wound her arms around his neck.

Even knowing that every moment spent with Gabriel was destined to entangle her stupid heart ever more tightly, she could not deny his need that she could feel with every burning kiss and every stroke of his hand.

In return she offered an eager response that made him groan with approval, gathering her close as he lowered her onto the hay-strewn floor.

“Talia…” he whispered, gazing down at her with a vulnerability that seared away any lingering barriers she tried to place between them. “My beautiful gypsy.”

She smiled wryly at his husky words. “You call me such charming names,” she said. “Mouse…shrew…gypsy…”

“Wife,” he added softly, bending down to claim her lips in a kiss of raw need.

The simple word made something shift deep inside her, and, desperate to divert her mind from the dangerous emotions, she focused on the sensation of his hands gliding down her back. Arching closer to the heat of his body, she explored the hard planes of his chest, smiling as she felt the vibrations of his groan beneath her palms.

She might never have Gabriel’s heart, but his body was eager to belong to her.

Refusing to consider how many other women had known him just as intimately in the past and how many were yet to know him in the future, Talia tilted back her head as he nibbled a path of kisses down the sensitive line of her throat.

For the moment he was hers. Completely and utterly.

His mouth traced the curve of her breast before he captured the tip of her nipple between his lips, making her gasp in sharp pleasure.

“Yes,” she muttered in approval.

Continuing to pleasure her, Gabriel reached to grasp her hand, guiding it down to his straining erection.

Talia paused, feeling oddly shy. Then, curiosity overcame her modesty, and with a hesitant touch she curled her fingers around his hard length.

Gabriel muttered a low curse as she stroked from the tip to the wider base, taking time to discover the soft pouch beneath his erection before stroking upward.

“Christ,” he breathed, his hand shifting to part her legs. “You have only to touch me and I am lost.”

He was not the only one lost, she acknowledged as his hand sought the heart of her femininity that was already damp with her aching need. A moan wrenched from her throat as a slender finger dipped into the heat of her body, her hips instinctively lifting in silent invitation.

Oh, yes. Her eyes fluttered shut. Already she could
feel the delectable pressure beginning to build in the center of her womb, and her fingers tightened on his arousal making him moan in pleasure.

“Wait, Talia,” he pleaded, covering her hand.

She frowned. “Wait?”

“My control is not as impervious as I had so arrogantly assumed,” he murmured, his lips teasing along the line of her shoulder as he gently turned her to lie on her side.

“Gabriel?” she breathed in confusion.

“I promise to please you,” he said, his lips brushing her ear as he molded himself against her back.

Talia did not doubt Gabriel’s skill. How could she when her entire body trembled on the precipice of bliss? But she found herself floundering as he gently tugged her leg up and over his hip.

Surely this could not be right?

Of course, the feel of his lips nuzzling at the curve of her neck was delectable, and his hands were expertly exploring her full breasts, tugging her nipples into full arousal before they were sliding down her body with wicked intent.

She swallowed a gasp as his fingers slid between her legs, parting her most intimate flesh. Then with exquisite slowness he pressed his erection deep into her moist channel.

“Oh…lord.”

She struggled to form her words only to have them evaporate entirely when his fingers discovered the center of her pleasure, and he stroked her in tempo with his shallow thrusts.

“Do you want more, Talia?”

More? She whimpered, not certain she could bear more without shattering into a thousand pieces. Then he shifted the angle of his thrusts, plunging deeper, and
she reached backward to dig her nails into the muscles of his hip.

“Yes, please, yes.”

The rasp of their heavy breaths filled the air along with the scent of hay and passion. Talia squeezed her eyes shut, her body moving to meet his thrusts with increasing urgency.

“Talia,” he groaned, his hips slamming upward as his seed poured into her, triggering her own release.

She cried out in ecstasy, indifferent to their rough surroundings or the dangers that waited just outside the door.

For now nothing mattered beyond the feel of Gabriel’s arms wrapped around her and the wild beat of his heart against her back.

Keeping her eyes closed, Talia oddly thought of her grandmother, and how she would have assured Talia to live in the moment.

They were, after all, two people alone in the world, brought together by a quirk of fate and yet, somehow destined to have arrived at this precise place.

Why try to deny what was meant to be?

L
EAVING
T
ALIA TO
wash and change into her clean gown, Gabriel crept through the countryside, not returning until he had managed to steal a horse from a small village not far from the main road.

Not that the plodding farm animal offered the speed he would have wished for, but the beast was sure-footed, and even with the burden of both Gabriel and Talia, he managed a steady pace that had them arriving at the coast just south of Calais well before dusk.

Halting long enough to vault to the ground, Gabriel took the reins and led the animal along the narrow path that led to the water.

“Are you certain your ship will be waiting?” Talia demanded, her face pale with weariness, although her spine remained stiff with the determination that made him smile.

His beautiful, courageous gypsy.

Of course, her newly exposed spirit was not entirely a blessing.

One might expect that after their breathtaking intimacy she would prove to be far more compliant and eager to please him. It was, after all, the behavior he had become accustomed to in his mistresses.

Talia, however, had spent the first of the journey chastising him for stealing a horse from a poor French family who were no doubt deeply suffering the loss and the
second half sunk in her own thoughts, her manner so distant it made him long to drag her from the horse and crush her in his arms until she was once again moaning in eager anticipation of his touch.

He could not explain why, but it annoyed him that she was capable of putting a distance between them. She was his wife. She should belong to him completely.

Aggravated by his ridiculous thoughts, Gabriel forced himself to concentrate on far more important matters.

“Yes, it will be waiting,” he assured her. “Despite my commands that my crew return to England should I be captured, I am quite certain they will have refused to leave without me.”

“You should be honored by such loyalty,” she murmured.

He grimaced, not for the first time considering Hugo’s reaction to their arrival.

“I am, under most circumstances.” He grimaced. “But I fear I should warn you that one of my companions might not be entirely welcoming.”

She swayed in the saddle, so tired she could barely sit upright.

“Which companion?”

He protectively moved to catch her should she fall. “Hugo, Lord Rothwell.”

“He is your associate?”

“We have been friends since our days at school.” His gaze scanned the thickening trees that lined the path, his steps slowing. They were too close to escape to walk into a trap now. “Actually Hugo has always been more a brother to me than Harry.”

“No doubt you both had more in common.”

“True.” He sent her a startled glance. Few people understood his close relationship with Hugo. Certainly not
his mother, who constantly complained that he should be devoting his time and attention to his brother. “We were both our father’s heirs and expected to behave in a manner befitting our stations. Not always an easy task for two high-spirited boys who wished to join in the antics of the other students.”

“Yes.” A sudden bitterness edged her voice. “Fathers can often have unreasonable expectations of their children.”

His hand reached to touch her leg, meeting her gaze with a silent promise.

“Silas Dobson will never be allowed to bully you again,” he swore, already having planned to speak with Dobson the moment they returned to England. The man would understand that he was not to go near Talia unless Gabriel was at her side. “I can assure you of that.”

An unexpected blush touched her cheeks at his low words, her lashes lowering to hide her expressive eyes.

“Why do you believe Lord Rothwell will not be welcoming?” she demanded. “Does he disapprove of my lack of noble blood?”

Gabriel swallowed a sigh, wishing that he could trust his friend to behave himself so he did not have to have this uncomfortable conversation. It was bound to remind her of his own prejudices when they wed.

Unfortunately, he did not doubt for a moment that Hugo would make very clear that Talia was aware of his disapproval.

“He was offended by our hasty wedding,” he reluctantly admitted.

He felt her stiffen beneath his hand. “And by the fact my father blackmailed you into taking me as your bride?”

“It did not improve his opinion.”

There was a moment of silence before she heaved a
sigh. “I do not hold him to blame. It is an opinion shared by most of society, no doubt.”

“Do not fear.” He lifted a shoulder. “Once Hugo comes to know you, he will swiftly conclude that you are far too good for me.”

She shook her head at his deliberately light words. “Highly unlikely.”

“Trust me.”

“And the rest of society?” she asked.

“It is quite possible my choice of bride will be the last concern of society,” he reminded her, his senses suddenly tingling with alarm.

He ground to a halt, hurriedly studying their surroundings. A hint of dusk was just beginning to brush the sky, adding violet hues to the fog steadily creeping through the trees. In the distance the sound of small animals could be heard scampering through the thick vegetation, but closer to hand there was nothing but silence.

Something or someone was near.

“Talia, do not move,” he warned, fiercely regretting he had not taken the time to find a weapon to replace those taken by Jacques Gerard.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He deliberately stepped in front of the horse, prepared to send the beast bolting if necessary.

“Show yourself,” he commanded in loud tones.

There was a rustle behind a nearby tree, then with a smooth motion an impressively large man with ruffled brown hair and a mocking smile stepped onto the path.

“Your instincts are growing slow with your old age, Ashcombe.” Hugo made a show of returning his dueling pistol to the pocket of his dark cloak he had pulled over his pale green jacket and gray breeches. “I could have used you for target practice.”

Gabriel felt a flood of relief at the sight of his friend, although his expression was chiding as he met the steady golden gaze.

“And your advanced years have utterly destroyed your hearing,” he countered. “I commanded you to return to England.”

Hugo shrugged. “I never doubted you would outwit a handful of French coxcombs.”

“Actually it was Talia who managed our escape,” he corrected, turning back toward his silent companion and plucking her out of the saddle. He barely allowed her feet to touch the muddy path before he had her tucked against his side. “She has proven to be amazingly resourceful.”

Hugo’s eyes narrowed as he watched Gabriel’s protective manner. “Yes, I can imagine.”

Gabriel’s expression hardened with warning. “Hugo.”

Talia cleared her throat as the two men glared at one another.

“Is the yacht nearby?”

“Just beyond the trees,” Hugo answered grudgingly, his gaze never leaving Gabriel.

“Thank God,” she murmured. Then as the silence returned she heaved a deep sigh. “What about the horse? We cannot just abandon him.”

Giving the horse a pat on his flank, Gabriel watched as the beast slowly turned and plodded back down the trail.

“He will find his way home,” he assured his tender-hearted companion.

“You are certain?”

“Who else would want the spiritless creature?”

She smiled, no doubt sensing his amusement at her concern.

“It is just that I do not like to think about him wandering through the countryside alone.”

Hugo snorted. Gabriel sent him an annoyed scowl, aware his friend was watching their exchange with pronounced disapproval.

“Hugo, return to the yacht and ensure that a hot bath is waiting for my wife.”

Hugo’s hands clenched at his sides, but, unwilling to argue in the midst of enemy territory, he gave a stiff nod of his head.

“As you wish.”

Waiting until his friend had disappeared around a bend in the road, Gabriel grasped Talia’s elbow and followed in Hugo’s wake.

“Do not allow him to trouble you.”

She smiled wryly. “Simple for you to say. He is rather…intimidating.”

Intimidating
was not precisely the description that Gabriel would have used at the moment.

Obnoxious jackass
came to mind.

“I will speak with him.”

“No.” She adamantly declined his offer. “I would rather you did not.”

“Why?”

“He is your friend and he is concerned for your happiness.” Her expression was impossible to read. “I do not fault him for that.”

“I will not allow him—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “I would prefer to think of the hot bath awaiting me than dwell on Lord Rothwell’s disapproval. That is a problem for another day.”

Gabriel swallowed his words of argument. What was
the use in upsetting his wife? He would deal with Hugo in private.

They traveled in silence, at last stepping out of the trees to discover the rocky coastline directly before them.

Talia grimaced at the sight of the steep cliff, but with her typical habit of facing the difficulties in her life without complaint, she firmly grasped his arm and allowed him to lead her down the narrow trail.

The footing was loose, and a shower of pebbles greeted every treacherous step, but slowly they managed to wind their way to the bottom of the cliff.

Gabriel allowed Talia only a few moments to catch her breath before steering her around a large boulder that jutted nearly to the edge of the water. As he had suspected, a small rowboat awaited them along with a burly sailor who silently assisted Talia into the boat. Once Gabriel was settled beside her, the man rowed them toward the nearby yacht with swift efficiency.

Turning his head, Gabriel watched as Talia caught sight of the sleek vessel that had been made by the finest craftsmen in England.

Her eyes widened in suitable wonder, taking in the teardrop-shaped hull and the huge mast that could withstand the most fearsome storm. It was not, perhaps, as large as many crafts, but it was built for speed and comfort, not to impress others.

His brows drew together as he realized the crew was bustling along the decks, preparing to return the earl and his countess back to England. Calculating his next move, his features hardened briefly before he was able to smooth his expression. Talia was too perceptive not to suspect his plans if he did not take care.

There was a bustle of activity as they reached the yacht as a dozen sailors all rushed to help them climb aboard,
their wide grins revealing their pride in his ability to sneak beneath the very noses of the French and return unscathed.

Of course, they did not yet know the full tale, he acknowledged wryly, leading Talia away from the curious sailors to the cabins below.

They passed through the galley and then the front saloon that was decorated in pale shades of blue and gray before reaching his private cabin. Pressing open the door, he allowed Talia to enter first, his lips twitching as she sucked in a startled breath.

“Good heavens.”

He stepped next to her, his gaze skimming over the polished walnut paneling and cleverly built-in furniture that was constructed on the same sleek, elegant lines of the actual yacht. Only the brass fittings and the moss-green blanket on the bed offered a hint of color, allowing the beauty of the wood to command attention.

“Does it please you?” he asked.

She moved forward, her hand stroking over the writing desk inlaid with teak.

“Very much.”

“It was built by my design.”

She sent him a startled glance. “Yours?”

His lips twisted, more at his ridiculous urge to boast than by her astonishment.

“Why does that surprise you?”

“It is remarkably…”

“What?”

“Comfortable.”

He nodded, his blood heating at the sight of her slender fingers caressing the glossy wood. The same fingers that had touched him with such eager passion just hours ago.

The image of her poised above him, her face flushed with pleasure, seared through his mind. He cursed, shifting as he hardened with a painful arousal. It was surely indecent to desire his own wife with such ferocity, but only the knowledge that his servants were even now preparing her bath kept him from slamming shut the door and tossing her on the bed.

Instead, he forced himself to lead her through the connecting door to the attached cabin that was designed along the same lines as his own.

“Being the Earl of Ashcombe means a burdensome amount of formality,” he said tightly. “This is one of my few means of escape.”

She lifted her brows, as if caught off guard by his response.

“I never considered that you would find it burdensome.”

His lips twisted. Did she truly think he enjoyed being surrounded by cold marble and simpering sycophants? That he truly desired a horde of servants constantly underfoot who were deeply offended by his slightest attempt to decrease the pomp and ceremony?

“The title comes with great gifts along with a great duty,” he informed her. “I do not take either for granted.”

She shifted, touching his jaw with the tips of her fingers in a gentle gesture of understanding. His chest tightened with a dangerous emotion as he lifted his hand to press her fingers against his cheek.

He was uncertain how long they stood there, silently lost in one another, but the fragile moment was interrupted by the large sailors who set the copper tub into the center of the cabin followed by two more who carried the buckets of hot water.

Scowling at the curious gazes from his crew, he
stepped back, waving a hand toward the shelves cut into the paneling.

“You will find your belongings next to the bunk.” His hand shifted toward the rope hanging near the small window. “If there is anything else you need, just pull the bell and a servant will answer.”

She frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I must speak with my captain.”

“We’ll be leaving soon?”

“Quite soon.”

She shivered. “Thank God.”

He was wasting precious time, but unable to resist temptation, Gabriel reached to grasp her shoulders, jerking her forward to claim her lips in a swift, branding kiss before he was setting her away and turning toward the door.