Bride for a Night (17 page)

“Enjoy your bath and then have a rest,” he ordered on his way out of the cabin. “I will have a tray delivered once we have set sail.”

T
ALIA FINISHED
her bath and pulled on an ivory muslin gown with jade ribbons edging cap sleeves and a frilled hem. The unease that had been stewing in the pit of her stomach became unbearable.

Swiftly braiding her damp hair, she tugged on a pair of calfskin boots and went in search of her missing husband.

No doubt she was being ridiculous.

It was perfectly reasonable that Gabriel was still speaking with the captain. Or even overseeing the crew that she could hear scurrying overhead. Or maybe he had been caught by Lord Rothwell, who was attempting to convince him of all the fine reasons to leave the current Countess of Ashcombe in France.

But she could not forget his thinly veiled agitation that had remained even after they were safely aboard and the fierce kiss that had felt like…goodbye.

He had been hiding something from her, and she had a horrible suspicion she knew precisely what it was.

Finding the connecting cabin empty, Talia moved through the saloon and the galley before making her way up to the deck that bustled with activity. She was not particularly surprised to discover that the sky was painted with shades of deepening plum as dusk spread across the countryside, but her heart lurched at the feel of movement beneath her feet.

God, no. They were slipping away from shore.

For a moment she stood still, her gaze desperately searching for the sight of Gabriel’s familiar profile, her blood running cold as she was forced to accept he was not among the sailors.

Now what did she do?

“You should be belowdecks, my lady.” The large form of Lord Rothwell appeared at her side, his expression hard. “We are preparing to cast off.”

Ignoring the near tangible judgment in the air, Talia stabbed him with an impatient frown.

“Where is Gabriel?”

The large man shrugged. “In his cabin. He said he was in dire need of a bath and I agreed.”

She pressed a hand to her quivering stomach. Oh, lord, she was too late.

“You must stop the boat.”

Not surprisingly Lord Rothwell regarded her as if she had taken leave of her senses.

“It is a yacht,” he corrected in icy tones, “and it cannot simply be stopped.”

Only a few weeks ago, Talia would have wilted be
neath the barely hidden contempt. She would have gone to any lengths to avoid a disturbing confrontation.

Now she squared her shoulders and pointed a finger directly in Lord Rothwell’s handsome face. Gabriel needed her. She would face down the devil himself if necessary.

“I do not care what it is called or what you need do to bar us from leaving, just do it,” she spat out. “I must return to the shore.”

His brows jerked together, obviously shocked by her fierce response. “Why?

“Because Gabriel is not in his cabin.”

“Then he is no doubt with the captain.”

Talia clenched her hands at her sides, her gaze trained on the distant cliffs that appeared like a forbidding barrier in the gathering gloom.

Did she dare?

Gabriel had offered her his trust when he had shared the truth of Harry’s treachery. It had been a rare gift that he offered to few in his life, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt if she betrayed that trust their relationship would be destroyed beyond repair.

But could she allow herself to be meekly hauled back to England with the knowledge that Gabriel was confronting his brother alone? Or worse, walking into a trap carefully laid by Jacques?

She shivered, an unbearable dread swelling in her heart.

No. No matter what the cost, she could not abandon Gabriel. She would deal with the consequences when he was safely returned to the yacht.

Slowly turning, she met Lord Rothwell’s golden gaze. “No, Gabriel is not with the captain.” She paused to gather her shaky courage. “He is on his way to Calais.”

A thunderous silence greeted her words, then grasping her elbow, Lord Rothwell tugged her away from the curious sailors, his voice pitched low to ensure it would not travel.

“Why the devil would he be going to Calais?”

She licked her dry lips. “Because his brother is hiding there.”

“Harry?” He shook his head. “Harry is in Calais?”

The yacht swayed as the sails were unfurled, and Talia desperately glanced toward the shore.

“I will explain later.” She pressed a hand to her racing heart, her expression pleading. “For now you must tell them to stop.”

She sensed him tense, his entire body poised for battle. Just as Gabriel would have been, she thought with a wistful pang. The two men clearly shared more in common than their titles.

There was the same ruthless, driving power that Gabriel possessed. Not to mention the air of arrogant authority that came as naturally as breathing.

He did not, however, shout for the sailors to halt their business, or command the captain to drop the anchor as she had hoped.

Instead he studied her in grim silence before sucking in a deep breath. “No.”

“No?” What the devil was the matter with the man? “Did you hear me? Gabriel is not aboard.”

“He obviously gave the command to cast off, which means he understood the yacht would leave without him.”

She shook her head in confusion. “What does it matter?”

“He desires you to be safe.”

She ignored the edge in his voice that revealed he
would rather toss her to the wolves and go in search of his friend. What did she care what he thought of her so long as he assisted her in finding Gabriel?

“He is not thinking clearly at the moment.”

“Granted, but I cannot go against his wishes.”

“But you already have,” she boldly reminded him. “Gabriel told me that he ordered you to return to En gland and yet you remained.”

His jaw jutted in a stubborn motion. “I am at liberty to risk my own life, but I sense that Gabriel would never forgive me if I risked yours.”

Tossing her hands in the air, she turned away from the aggravating brute.

“This is absurd.”

She had barely taken a step when Lord Rothwell clamped a hand on her upper arm and whirled her about.

“Where are you going?”

“If you will not order the captain to stop this nonsense, then I will.”

“He will not listen.”

She stiffened her spine. “I am the Countess of Ashcombe, I will make him listen.”

His brow furrowed as he regarded her with an odd intensity. Almost as if he had never seen her before.

“You may be the countess, but the servants will not disobey Gabriel.”

Her lips thinned at the absolute certainty in his voice. She did not doubt for a moment that he spoke the truth. After all, he was obviously well acquainted with the crew.

“Typical,” she snapped. “I knew a title would prove to be as worthless as it was pretentious.”

“If that was true you would never have trapped my friend into marriage.”

“I had nothing to do with—” She bit off her words in
frustration, slapping away his hand so she could bend down to tug off her boots. “Believe what you will. There is no time.”

She heard him mutter a curse as she tossed aside the boots and reached beneath her skirt to pull off her stockings. Her father had insisted that she learn to swim at an early age. She was certain she had not forgotten how.

What she intended to do after she reached the shore without shoes or stockings was something she would decide once she was there.

“Wait,” Lord Rothwell growled. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Lifting her head she allowed him to see the staunch determination etched on her face.

“I will not allow Gabriel to travel to Calais alone,” she stormed.

He swore, glancing toward the shore that was becoming ever more distant.

“Is he in danger?”

“Perhaps not physical danger,” she admitted, “but he will have need of me.”

He returned his attention to her, his golden gaze sweeping over her pale face.

“You intend to swim back to shore?”

“If necessary.”

He stood utterly motionless, clearly torn between his pledge to Gabriel and his instincts to rush to the rescue.

At last, he gave a shake of his head and swept past Talia with a fierce sense of purpose.

“Captain…”

L
IKE MANY HARBOR TOWNS
Calais had endured its share of invasions.

Julius Caesar had occupied the city to launch his invasion of England. The British King Edward III had laid siege for nearly a year in 1346, starving the city into surrender. And the Spanish had claimed ownership in the late 1500s. But while each conquest had left its mark, the city remained a simple fishing village at heart, with its own unique charm.

Confined within its yellowed walls, the town faced the waiting sea with a vast pier lined with fishing boats and a heavy fortress complete with a drawbridge.

Gabriel moved through the narrow streets, past the
Place d’Armes
in the center of town, barely noting the black watchtower, or the old town hall as he studied the small houses with their white shutters and the occasional
cafés
that were filled with French soldiers. The night air was filled with distant chimes and the sound of laughter, the moonlight illuminating the stone archway as he turned onto the
Rue de Guise.

It was all very quaint, but hardly the sort of peaceful setting to attract his brother. He needed to discover the less savory part of town.

Almost on cue a ragged street urchin darted from the shadows, clearly intent on picking his pocket. With ease, Gabriel grabbed the boy, who could not have been more
than twelve, by the collar of his woolen coat, lifting him off his feet so they were eye to eye.

“Your name,” he growled in French, taking an inventory of the too-thin body and filthy, though intelligent little face. “And do not even consider lying unless you wish me to turn you over to the authorities.”

There was a pause as the boy studied him with a shrewd gaze that was far too knowing for his tender age. Then, clearly accepting that Gabriel was not a pervert with a taste for young boys, he regarded him with a defiant expression.

“Armand.”

“Armand, I have a small task for you.”

He narrowed his pale brown eyes.

“What sort of task?”

Within moments Gabriel had described his brother in detail as well as his usual preference of entertainment. Then, pulling several coins from his pocket as a promised reward, he sent Armand dashing through the streets. The boy was obviously well acquainted with the seedier sections of Calais and would be capable of tracking down Harry far more easily than Gabriel.

Standing in the shadows as he waited for Armand’s return, Gabriel briefly allowed his thoughts to stray to Talia.

By now she should be well on her way to England. Had she realized yet he was not aboard the yacht? And if she had, was she anxious at his absence? Or was she secretly pleased to be rid of her bully of a husband?

The thought made him frown, even as he told himself he was being an idiot.

Had Talia not risked her own life to rescue him from Jacques Gerard’s cellars? And had she not responded with a ready urgency to his touch?

She might not have forgiven or forgotten the less than favorable beginning of their marriage, but she had obviously accepted him as her husband.

What more did he desire?

Dismissing the odd ache in the center of his heart, Gabriel returned his attention to his dark surroundings. He would deal with his wife when he returned to England, for tonight he had enough to occupy his mind.

Prepared when the French lad abruptly darted from a nearby alley, Gabriel stepped from the shadows.

“You have found him?”

The boy gave a sharp nod. “Follow me.”

Gabriel grasped Armand’s arm before he could dart away, his expression grim with warning.

“Take care, Armand. I am not a pigeon ripe for plucking.”

“Non, monsieur.”
The boy’s expression of innocence was obviously rehearsed, but there was no mistaking the hint of genuine alarm in his brown eyes. “You have my word of honor.”

Releasing his grip, Gabriel gave a nod of his head. “Then let us be on our way.”

Armand led him past the old church where King Richard II had wed Isabelle of Valois and beyond the spacious steeply roofed
Hotel Dessein
with its elegant facade that catered to the more respectable visitors.

The farther from the center of town they traveled the narrower the streets and the shabbier the buildings until at last Armand slowed his rapid pace and Gabriel caught sight of the English-style building with hexagonal turrets and an inner courtyard where a number of drunken coxcombs mingled among the brightly lit gaming tables. Beyond the courtyard the open doors revealed a gaudily decorated salon. A number of females were temptingly
posed to entice the gentlemen who had grown tired of the cards and dice and preferred a more intimate entertainment.

Cautiously, Gabriel inched toward the opening to the courtyard. He remained hidden in the shadows as Armand pointed toward the familiar young gentleman with tousled brown hair and pale eyes that were already glazed by drink.

Harry.

“Voilà,” Armand breathed, a cocky smile curving his lips.

Gabriel briefly studied his brother who was elegantly attired in a gold jacket and a black waistcoat embroidered with golden thread, his blood running cold at Harry’s nonchalant comfort among the French dandies.

Did he have no shame whatsoever?

Bridling his urge to rush into the courtyard and drag his brother from the
bordel,
he instead forced himself to turn toward the lad at his side.

“Is there another entrance?”

“This way.”

With a familiarity that made Gabriel wonder how much time Armand spent with the local whores, the boy led him along the stone wall that surrounded the property, pausing at a narrow wooden door.

Waiting for Gabriel’s nod, Armand pushed open the door and led him into a private garden with a perfect view of the courtyard.

“Will this do?” he asked.

“It will do very well.” Gabriel pulled out a fistful of coins and pressed them into the boy’s hand. “It is late, return to your home, Armand.”

“Merci, monsieur,”
Armand breathed, his expression stunned at the small fortune.
“Merci.”

“Straight home,” he commanded, shaking his head as the boy offered a cheeky grin and dashed through the door.

Accepting that there was nothing he could do for Armand, he turned to study his brother through the trellis.

He had managed to track down Harry, but now what? No matter what his fury, he was not stupid enough to create a scene when there were a few thousand French soldiers camped just outside the walls of the city.

Then again, he had no desire to stand in a damp garden for the entire night, waiting for his brother to grow weary of his entertainments and return to his lodgings.

Brooding on a possible means to lure his brother from the newly introduced
La Roulette,
Gabriel was slow to react when a slender form appeared from the stone steps behind him.

“Ah,
bonjour,
” a husky female voice murmured.

Gabriel reached beneath his jacket for his loaded pistol, and smoothly turned to confront the vixen behind him. Her curls were the color of summer wheat tumbling over her shoulders left bare by a sheer robe. Her features were delicately drawn and her hazel eyes charming, if one ignored the calculating manner they slid over the strange man standing in her garden. With one glance Gabriel was confident that she knew the precise worth of his wine jacket and ivory waistcoat that had been perfectly sculpted to his body and the small fortune needed to purchase the ruby sparkling in the folds of his cravat.

“You are in need of companionship?” A smile curved her lips as she ran a finger along her plunging neckline, drawing attention to the tempting curve of her breasts. “I am Monique.”

“Non,”
he impatiently declined, only to realize the
lovely female was precisely the bait he needed to attract his prey. “Wait, Monique.”

Turning back, the woman approached him with a smile of pure invitation.

“You have changed your mind?” she purred, her hands skimming over his jacket. “You will not regret your purchase.”

He lightly grasped her wrists, preventing her skillful touch from heading ever lower.

“I have a small task I wish you to perform.”

Her chuckle was perfectly pitched to stir a man’s deepest fantasies.

Or at least most men, he ruefully corrected.

He had already discovered that his interest in women, no matter how lovely or talented they might be, had been restricted to dark-haired gypsies with emerald eyes.

“I shall be pleased to perform any tasks you desire.”

“That will not be necessary,” he said, firmly putting her at a distance.

Her smile never faltered as her hands shifted to the velvet ribbon that held her nearly transparent gown together.

“You prefer that I…”

“No,” he hastily reached to grasp her hand before she was standing stark naked.

She frowned. “Then what do you desire?”

With a tug on her hand, he positioned her near the trellis, pointing his finger at his brother.

“Do you see the young gentleman standing near the roulette table?”

“Monsieur Richardson?”

His jaw clenched at her ready recognition. Obviously Harry was a regular customer.

“Yes.”

“Of course.” She tossed him a smug smile. “He has often wished to spend time in my company, but he must content himself with the less expensive companions.”

“Then it would appear that tonight his luck is about to turn,” Gabriel murmured. “Do you have a room near?”

Monique waved a hand toward the stone staircase. “On the top floor, the third door on the left.” Her eyes narrowed. “But if there are to be two gentlemen then I will demand double the price.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I will happily double the price, but all I ask of you is your assistance in luring the gentleman upstairs without revealing my presence and then the opportunity to speak with him in private.”

“And what of me?” she asked with obvious suspicion.

“You will have the luxury of enjoying an hour or so of peace.” His gaze studied the perfect oval of her face, noticing the fine lines that were just beginning to frame her eyes. “Surely a preferable means of spending your evening?”

Surprisingly the woman stepped close enough to brush her full breasts against his chest.

“It would be preferable on most evenings. However, tonight I believe I would rather have company, so long as it is you.”

He shook his head, once again pushing her firmly away. “A charming notion, but I have pressing business with Monsieur Richardson.”

Monique pouted at Gabriel’s discreet rejection. “If he owes you money, then I fear you are to be disappointed,” she warned. “He is heavily in debt to Francois.”

“Francois?”

Her lips twisted with disgust. “The owner of this charming establishment.”

“Of course.” He shook his head at Harry’s dismal pre
dictability, even as he grimly reminded himself that yet another gambling debt was the least of his concerns. “It is a personal matter.”

Perhaps sensing his smoldering fury, the whore gave a lift of her brows.

“You do not intend to kill him, do you?”

“If I do, I promise to remove the body.” Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he removed several bank notes and held them in the light that spilled from the brightly lit torches. “Can you convince him to join you?”

Greed flared through her eyes before she was flashing Gabriel a smile of pure feminine conceit.

“
Chérie,
I could convince a saint to join me, and I assure you Monsieur Richardson is no saint.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” he muttered. “I will be waiting in your room.”

She gave a toss of her golden curls, plucking the notes from his fingers and tucking them into the bodice of her robe.

“And when you have finished your business, perhaps we can discover a means to enjoy the remainder of the night, eh?”

With a noncommittal smile, Gabriel waited for Monique to slip out of the garden and stroll across the courtyard before making his way up the spiral staircase and entering the top floor of the turret.

He made a cautious inventory of the low velvet sofas and tapestries that hung on the stone walls in a poor imitation of a sultan’s harem. Then stepping into the corridor, he made his way to Monique’s room, not surprised to discover it was simply yet elegantly decorated.

She was obviously the most expensive of the house whores, and the gold and ivory furnishings had been perfectly designed to set off her pale beauty.

Ignoring the wide bed draped in satin and the intimate tools of punishment that some gentlemen preferred, Gabriel paced the polished wood floor, a heavy dread tightening his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

He had been so intent on locating Harry and getting him alone, that he had not actually considered what was to come next.

Why hadn’t he simply returned to England with his wife? Even now they would be tucked in his narrow bunk, Talia’s lush body wrapped around him and his dark thoughts lost in the drowning pleasure of her touch.

He could have left Harry to travel his path to hell and concentrated on his own future.

Unfortunately, he was not naïve enough to believe that ignoring his brother would be an end to the matter. How could he build a future with Talia when he was always waiting for the looming disaster to strike?

Besides, his conscience would never allow him to forget the damage Harry had caused, and the danger he posed so long as he remained a secret traitor to England.

He continued his pacing until at last he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and his brother’s familiar chuckle echoing through the hallway.

“Come, wench, just a taste.”

“Enough, monsieur,” Monique protested, “wait until we have reached my room.”

“A modest whore?” Harry mocked.

“Intimacy is always best savored in privacy.”

“Not always. I do not mind a public performance with a beautiful woman.” There was another chuckle. “Or two.”

Gabriel heard what sounded like Monique slapping away his brother’s hand, then the door to the bedchamber was being shoved open.