Bride for a Night (18 page)

“Just through here, monsieur.”

“I hope you have more than an hour, I—”

Strolling into the room, Harry came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Gabriel. For one timeless moment, the two brothers stared at one another, Harry flushing with guilt in the same manner he’d exhibited when Gabriel had caught him in some misdemeanor as a child.

It lasted less than a heartbeat before Harry was retreating behind a brittle pretense of indifference.

“Well, well. I did not expect you to join in our fun, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s gaze shifted to Monique, stupidly disappointed by his brother’s response to his sudden appearance. But then, what had he expected?

Overwhelming shame? A plea for forgiveness?

“That will be all, my dear,” he assured the female.

The woman sent him a lingering smile. “I shall be in the private salon at the end of the hall if you wish to find me when you have concluded your business.”

Gabriel dipped his head.
“Merci.”

They waited in silence for Monique to leave the room closing the door behind her. Then, with a derisive snort, Harry crossed to the side table to grasp a bottle of whiskey, yanking out the cork and taking a deep drink.

“Yet another victim of the irresistible Ashcombe charm?” he rasped.

“Merely a female seeking to earn a living,” Gabriel countered, his eyes narrowing as the light from the candles played over his brother’s face, revealing his sallow complexion and lines of dissipation beside his pale eyes.

Christ, he appeared twice his age.

“You have no need to remind me you are not only blessed with overwhelming attraction, but with bottomless coffers, as well,” Harry muttered.

“Hardly bottomless and you have had more than your fair share of my coffers,” Gabriel reminded him. “All of which you have tossed away on selfish pursuits of pleasure.”

“And what else is the purpose of a younger son other than to pursue his pleasure?” he demanded. “It is not as if I was ever wanted or needed as more than a spare in the ghastly event something should happen to the glorious heir.”

“Very poetic.” Gabriel’s lips thinned. “Did you rehearse this little speech?”

Harry took another swig. “Bastard.”

Gabriel’s hands twitched as he battled back the urge to grab his brother and shake some sense into him.

“I have attempted more than once to include you in the management of the estates, but you claimed to have no interest in such tedious business.”

“And devote my days to bowing and scraping to the Lord of the Manor like your other servants?” Harry drawled. “No, I thank you.”

“If it was my presence that was so abhorrent then there was nothing to prevent you from using your allowance to purchase your own estate.”

Harry snorted, bitterness hardening his expression as he recklessly tossed the whisky bottle into the fireplace.

“A tiny fiefdom of my very own while you rule half of England?”

“Christ.” Gabriel shook his head, recalling Talia’s perceptive speculation that Harry had resented Gabriel’s close relationship with their father. A sick sense of resignation settled in the pit of his gut. It was disturbing to realize that his brother’s antipathy had started at such an early age. “How did I not see this?”

“See what?”

“The childish jealousy that you have allowed to rot your soul.”

Harry hunched his shoulders, petulantly refusing to acknowledge his own culpability.

“How did you find me?” His lips twisted in a mocking taunt. “I know it could not have been those buffoons you sent after me. I managed to divert them before I ever reached Dover.”

“Jacques Gerard.”

Harry faltered at Gabriel’s smooth response. “Impossible, he would never…”

Gabriel stepped forward. Any hope that the French-woman had lied about his brother’s connection died a swift death at Harry’s stumbling words.

“He would never reveal that he is a French spy and that you are a traitor who betrayed your king and country for no other reason than pathetic greed?” Gabriel growled, pain ripping through him with stunning force.

Even prepared, he reeled from the impact of his brother’s betrayal.

“Absurd,” Harry blustered. “I do not know what the man has told you, but it is obvious he is attempting to turn you against me.”

Gabriel lifted a weary hand. “No. No more lies, Harry. I know the entire sordid story.”

Harry licked his lips, his expression guarded. No doubt his clever mind was already seeking the best means to slither out of trouble. Just as he had been doing his entire life.

“And of course, you would believe the word of a French scoundrel over your own brother?”

“Unfortunately you have proven you are no longer worthy of my trust.” Gabriel deliberately caught and held his brother’s gaze. “Or my respect.”

Something flickered deep in his brother’s eyes, but before Gabriel could fool himself into believing that it was regret, Harry was turning away with a shrug.

“I have survived without both for most of my life, I will no doubt continue to do just fine without them in the future.”

Gabriel studied his brother’s tense back. “Which begs the question of precisely how you do intend to survive? Jacques Gerard will not continue to support you now that your treachery has been exposed.”

“Perhaps I shall follow in your footsteps and wed an obscenely wealthy chit who has just climbed out of the gutter—” Harry’s words were cut off as Gabriel shoved him face-first into the wall. The younger man glared over his shoulder, unable to move with Gabriel pressed against his back. “What the hell?”

“You will never speak of my wife again, do you hear me?” Gabriel hissed.

Harry’s shock faded to smug amusement as he mistakenly assumed that Gabriel’s fury was at having been forced into wedding his younger brother’s cast-off fiancée.

“Do you know how I laughed when I heard you had been bullied into taking Dowdy Dobson as the Countess of Ashcombe?” he taunted. “For once my perfect brother has become the laughingstock of society.”

Gabriel muttered a curse, as disturbed by the hideous thought that Talia might even now have been wed to his brother as by the thought of Harry’s treachery.

Christ, he could not have endured having her so near and yet forever out of his reach.

“You know nothing,” he said.

“Tell me, Gabriel, do you often have Silas join you and mother for dinner at that mausoleum of a townhouse?
Or has he been condemned to the country with your ridiculous wife?” Harry laughed at his own joke. “Fitting if you had lodged him in the barn. He is a pig of a man who isn’t fit to polish the boots of a true gentleman.”

Gabriel made a sound of distaste. “And yet you were willing to steal his hard-earned money.”

“It is what he deserves for daring to believe he could force his nasty presence among his betters.”

The very fact that Gabriel had been equally condemning of Silas Dobson only increased his annoyance. With a low hiss, Gabriel stepped away from his brother, watching with a jaundiced gaze as Harry slowly turned to face him.

“You are not only a coward, Harry, but you are a fool,” he snapped.

The younger man lifted a hand to straighten his cravat, his expression sardonic.

“No, on this occasion it is you who are the fool. Not even your lofty position can bear the shame of possessing an awkward lump of a wife who—” This time Gabriel made no effort to restrain his temper. With one smooth motion his fist connected with Harry’s jaw, smacking him back against the wall with a satisfying force. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Harry pressed a hand to his bruised jaw, staring at Gabriel in disbelief. “Damn you. You knocked a tooth loose.”

Gabriel narrowed his gaze. “The next occasion you speak of my wife I will break your damned neck.”

There was a startled pause before Harry lowered his hand and studied Gabriel with an incredulous expression.

“My God. You have feelings for the wench.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “What a joke. The Earl of Ashcombe in love with his own wife.”

Gabriel shrugged, refusing to rise to the bait. He might
not be prepared to label his feelings for Talia, but he had no desire to deny she had become a necessary part of his life.

“It is no joke. She is quite remarkable.” He smiled at the unexpected irony of their situation. “In fact, if your only sin was having jilted Talia and forcing me to wed her, I should be in your debt.” His smile faded to leave a bleak expression. “But we both know that what you have done puts you beyond redemption.”

Harry paced toward the window that overlooked the dark street below, his hands fisted at his sides.

“I do not need one of your sanctimonious lectures, brother. Unless you intend to offer me a means to pay off my debts, then I suggest that you return to your remarkable wife and your perfect existence.”

“You believe I can return to England and simply forget my brother has betrayed his country?”

“Why not?” Harry gave a casual lift of his shoulder. “Your precious conscience remains pure.”

Gabriel was stunned by his brother’s sheer indifference. Was he truly so far corrupted that he felt no shame whatsoever for his sins?

“Christ, do you have no concept of the damage you have wrought?” he thundered. “How many British soldiers have died because of you? How many families have been destroyed?”

“And what choice did I have?” Harry asked in sulky tones. “You refused to pay my debts and the bill collectors were becoming…troublesome.”

“Your allowance has always been more than generous, not to mention the money you were constantly demanding from mother.”

“I had a run of bad luck. It is bound to change eventually.”

Gabriel shook his head, realizing it was too late.

Too late for all of them.

His brother was beyond redemption, fully believing he had the right to do whatever he pleased, indifferent to the pain he caused others. He had no regrets at having betrayed his country and would no doubt do so again if there was money to be earned.

Which meant that Gabriel had no choice but to stop this madness.

“No, there will be no opportunity for your luck to change,” he said, a heavy sadness replacing his anger.

Perhaps sensing Gabriel’s sudden resolve, Harry pushed away from the window, a frown marring his brow.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Too often I have excused your excesses and allowed you to avoid the unpleasant repercussions of your mistakes.” Gabriel heaved a sigh. “Perhaps if I had forced you to accept responsibility you would not be so lacking in principles.”

Harry tilted his chin in typical defiance. “What do you intend to do, Gabriel? Have me drawn and quartered?”

“I intend to return you to England where you will stand trial for your crimes.”

His words were greeted with shocked silence, then Harry’s brittle laugh rang through the room.

“That is hardly amusing, brother.”

“No,” Gabriel readily agreed, “there is nothing amusing in this hellish situation.”

“You would never expose me as a traitor. It would besmirch the Ashcombe name beyond repair.”

Gabriel clenched his hands. “Since when have you given a damn about our name?”

Something perilously close to hatred darkened Harry’s eyes before he forced a callous sneer to his lips.

“I don’t, but you do.”

Gabriel could not deny the truth of his words. The thought of knowing he was even partially responsible for tarnishing the Ashcombe title would haunt him forever. But the knowledge paled in comparison to the damage his brother had caused.

“There are some duties more important than protecting our family’s reputation. You cannot be allowed to threaten the war against Napoleon, no matter what the cost.”

Harry paled, as if slowly realizing that this was not yet another scrape he could walk away from unscathed.

“And what about mother?” he challenged, attempting a ridiculous outrage at Gabriel’s threat. “She will never survive the shame of having her beloved son condemned as a spy.”

Gabriel did not allow himself to think of his mother or her reaction to the humiliation she would suffer. No doubt she would hold Gabriel entirely to blame for not having allowed Harry to escape and the scandal to be swept beneath the carpet.

Yet another burden to bear.

“It will be difficult for all of us, but you have left me no options.”

“I do not believe you.” Harry shifted uneasily. “This…this is a bluff.”

“No.” Gabriel shook his head. “No bluff.”

“You would never risk your pride to punish me.”

Gabriel folded his arms over his chest, his expression revealing his unwavering determination.

“We will leave for England in the morning.”

Intent on his brother, Gabriel barely paid heed to the sound of the door being thrust open, not until Harry’s eyes widened with surprise. He glanced to the side, ex
pecting to discover Monique or even a drunken patron in search of a whore stepping into the room.

Instead his hand was instinctively reaching for the pistol he’d tucked beneath his jacket at the sight of the all-too familiar Frenchman, his own pistol already pointed at Gabriel’s heart.

“I will agree that Harry will be returning to England as soon as possible,” Jacques Gerard drawled. “You, my lord, on the other hand, will be remaining in France as my very special guest.”

H
ALTING JUST WITHIN
the gates of Calais, Lord Rothwell tugged Talia into the shadows of a slumbering church, his expression set in obstinate lines as he repeated the same lecture she had endured since leaving the yacht and making their way along the rugged coastline.

“No,” she at last interrupted. She could not bear to listen any longer to Lord Rothwells’s tedious list of reasons why she must remain hidden near the gates while he explored the streets in search of Gabriel. “I will not be left behind.”

Dressed entirely in black, Hugo heaved a resigned sigh even as he studied her with odd fascination. Almost as if he did not quite know what to make of her.

“Dammit, are you always so stubborn?”

Talia squared her shoulders, prepared for battle. “I am not being stubborn, this is simply something I must do.”

“Because you care for Gabriel.”

It was a statement of fact, not a question, and Talia shrugged in embarrassment at the realization that he had so easily read her aching need to reach Gabriel.

“He is my husband.”

The nobleman shrugged, his handsome face shrouded in shadows.

“That has little meaning in society.”

There was no arguing with his logic. Marriages among
the
ton
were made to consolidate power or wealth or social standing. Usually a combination of all three.

The unions had nothing to do with something so foolish as love.

“It has meaning to me,” she muttered. So what if she was revealing emotions she preferred to keep hidden? Her pride was not nearly so important as rescuing her husband. “I cannot wait here doing nothing when Gabriel is in danger.”

Lord Rothwell gave a slow shake of his head. “He did warn me that you are unique.”

Talia flinched. Unique, of course, was just another means of branding her as peculiar. An insult she had endured since her arrival in London.

“I will not apologize for being concerned for my husband’s welfare,” she hissed.

Catching her by surprise, Rothwell abruptly reached out to give her hand a gentle squeeze.

“No, it is I who owe you an apology.”

“Why would you owe me an apology?” she demanded warily.

“Because I know the folly of society’s habit of judging others upon nothing more substantial than rumors and innuendoes.” He heaved another sigh. “And yet that is precisely what I did to you.”

Was the arrogant brute actually apologizing? She would have wagered her mother’s pearl necklace that such a man had never admitted to being wrong in his entire life.

Bemused, she met the steady golden gaze. “You were concerned for your friend.”

He dipped his head in agreement. “I was, but even after I realized he was far from unhappy with his marriage I continued to allow my prejudice to sway me.” He
offered her a rueful smile. “It is not a mistake I will make again.”

Her answering smile was wistful. After his unexpected honesty, how could she be any less truthful?

“No, it was not a mistake,” she assured him softly, her gaze absently straying over the dark silhouette of the
Place d’Armes
that had once been the center of Calais with its medieval watchtower and tidy square that was lined with shops. “I will never be a suitable Countess of Ashcombe.”

“You are wrong.” He hooked a finger beneath her chin and tugged her face back to meet his somber expression. “I love Gabriel, but there is no ignoring that over the past few years he has become…lost.”

“Lost?”

Rothwell carefully considered his words. “He was always conscious of his responsibilities as heir apparent, but with the unexpected death of his father at such a young age he has become increasingly isolated and inclined to distrust others.”

It was precisely what his housekeeper had revealed to her the day of her wedding to Gabriel. At the time she’d had no notion that it would be her husband’s hidden vulnerabilities that would be her undoing.

“He was alone,” she whispered.

“Precisely,” Rothwell agreed. “And I suspect that the typical society marriage would only have ensured his continued loneliness. He did not need the frigid perfection of a society maiden. He needed the warmth of a woman.” His fingers briefly squeezed her chin before he was pulling away. “Your warmth.”

His soft words touched the place deep inside her that feared she would never be more than a shameful burden Gabriel would have to bear for the sake of his family.

The thought she could offer her husband a gift that a flawless young debutant could not was a belief she desperately wished to cling to.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“I speak nothing but the truth.” His expression hardened. “Which is why I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger. I do not know what would become of Gabriel if he lost you.”

Realizing that she had been subtly outmaneuvered, Talia narrowed her gaze.

“You are very clever, Lord Rothwell,” she chided. “I pity the female you decide to wed. She will have to be on constant guard to avoid being manipulated by your charm.”

He arched a brow. “There will be no need for manipulation. I intend to make certain my bride is delighted to obey my every command.”

Talia snorted at the imperious certainty in his tone. How typical of a nobleman to speak of his mythical wife as if she were a well-trained hound rather than a flesh-and-blood woman with her own needs.

And how pathetic so many females allowed themselves to be treated in such a fashion.

Thankfully, she was no longer hampered by the expectations of society.

She would do whatever it might take to find and rescue Gabriel, but she would never again be his meek, subservient bride.

“Now I truly do pity her, but Gabriel was not so fortunate,” she informed her companion. “I intend to go with you and that is the end of the matter.”

With a shake of his head, Rothwell grasped her arm in a firm grip and tugged her toward the nearby street, his mouth thin with frustration.

“Stubborn female.”

It was becoming a familiar accusation, and Talia merely smiled as she was hauled through the darkness, content with her small victory. Eventually Lord Rothwell would decide that the danger was too great, and he would put down his foot. She was certain at that point no amount of pleading would alter his mind.

They remained silent as they traveled away from the city walls, traveling through increasingly elegant neighborhoods as they left the busy docks and coffee shops behind. The large nobleman walked with a purpose, as if he had a particular destination in mind that was not among the terraced townhouses with their red-tiled roofs and high arched windows that allowed light to spill onto the streets.

Talia followed in his wake, absently searching every shadowed alcove and alley as they hurried through the darkness. She did not expect to actually stumble over Gabriel. Their luck could not possibly be that good. But that did not keep her heart from leaping each time she caught sight of a large gentleman strolling down the street or stepping from a house.

They turned a corner, on the point of heading out of the neighborhood, when Talia came to a shocked halt, her hand reaching to grasp her companion’s arm. “Wait.”

Standing at her side, Lord Rothwell regarded her with an impatient scowl.

“What is it?”

She pointed toward a large house on the corner that was built of pale sandstone with a wide balcony on the second floor and a steeply pitched roof. There was a small garden that separated it from the surrounding homes and a narrow path that led to the mews behind the establishment.

“Jacques Gerard is here.”

His scowl only deepened. “How can you be so certain?”

“I recognize the carriage.” She pointed toward the lavish maroon-and-gold vehicle that she had last seen in Jacques’s stables at the palace. It was impossible to believe that there were a large number of similar carriages in France. “Besides, his need to avenge himself against the French aristocracy would demand that he take command of the finest home in Calais.”

Rothwell stilled, almost as if he were a hunter on the sudden scent of his prey. The image made Talia shiver, for the first time realizing just how dangerous an enemy this man would be.

“His presence in town does not necessarily have anything to do with Gabriel,” the nobleman pointed out.

Talia shrugged. “Do you believe in coincidences?”

“No.”

“Neither do I.” Talia made no protest as Rothwell tugged her into the bushes planted along the fence surrounding the house, her thoughts consumed with fear for her husband. Had Jacques already found Gabriel? Was he holding him captive inside or had he…

As if sensing her swelling panic, Hugo placed a comforting arm around her shoulder, bending his head to whisper directly in her ears.

“Talia, do not leap to conclusions,” he murmured. “We do not know for certain that Gabriel is within.”

“Perhaps not, but we both know that Harry was more than likely sent here as a trap.” She tensed as a figure suddenly moved near the front door, his rigid stance suggesting he was a trained soldier. A guard. Her gaze shifted upward, belatedly realizing there was yet another soldier on the upper balcony, as well as two more by the carriage.
Any doubt that Jacques Gerard was within was banished by the sight of the soldiers. No ordinary citizen would have need of armed guards. “Lord Rothwell, we must find a means to get inside one way or another.”

“Not an easy task. Maybe even an impossible task,” he muttered, his attention on the guards who surrounded the house. “There appear to be men at every entrance.”

She unconsciously bit her lower lip, considering the best means of sneaking past the lurking soldiers. “Not impossible.”

With a frown, Rothwell turned her so he could study her resolute expression.

“Why do I sense I am not going to like what you are plotting?”

“We need a distraction.”

His lips flattened. “And you intend to be that distraction?”

She shrugged. “It makes the most sense. Jacques will not harm me…”

“No.”

His tone warned that he would not compromise, but still Talia had to try. It was, after all, the best solution to slipping past the guards. With her sudden appearance, there would be enough of a stir that her companion could find a door or window that was untended.

“But…”

“No.”

She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Do you have a better plan?”

The golden eyes glittered with an unmistakable warning. “Yes, you will remain here and I will sneak through the servants’ entrance. Once I discover whether or not Gabriel is within I will return and we will decide what we are to do next.”

“Fine,” she growled, acknowledging defeat with ill grace.

Why could men never accept that they might on occasion need the assistance of a woman?

Easily reading her rebellious thoughts, the nobleman grasped her chin and glared down at her pale face.

“Talia?”

“What?”

“If you move so much as a muscle from this spot I will put you over my knee and beat you soundly. Do you comprehend?”

He refused to loosen his grip until she’d given a grudging nod, then pausing long enough to withdraw a pistol he had tucked beneath his jacket, he was slipping along the line of bushes toward the back of the house.

“Men,” she muttered in resignation, shivering despite the warm summer breeze.

She wanted to be confident that Lord Rothwell would manage to slip into the house undetected and return with the assurance that Gabriel was nowhere to be found in the townhouse, but even as the nobleman disappeared she felt a chill of dread inch down her spine.

Barely daring to breathe, she remained hidden in the bushes, her attention locked on the house as an odd sense of menace crawled over her skin.

Or perhaps not so odd, she was forced to accept as a pistol being cocked sounded directly behind her.

“Oh…damn,” she grumbled, slowly turning to meet the velvet brown gaze of Jacques Gerard.

A charming smile curved his lips as he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

“
Bonsoir, ma belle.
I thought I might find you lurking in the dark.”

T
HE LIBRARY WAS TYPICAL
of aristocrats who were more concerned with impressing others than offering a comfortable room to enjoy the collection of leather-bound tomes.

Bookshelves towered two stories up to the frescoes of Greek muses painted on the ceiling. Delicate satinwood furnishings, upholstered in a pale green satin and carved by the finest French craftsmen, were formally arranged across the floral carpet. And a white marble banister lined the second-floor walkway before framing the wide steps that led down to the main room.

Even the crystal figurines on the scrolled marble chimney piece glowed with a cold, untouchable beauty in the light from the Venetian chandelier.

Of course, Gabriel might have been a bit more appreciative of his surroundings if he were not currently seated on the floor with his arms tied around a fluted column at his back. His dark mood was not improved when one of the double doors was pressed open and Jacques Gerard arrogantly strolled into the room. The bastard.

It had been less than three hours since the Frenchman had managed to capture him and forced him to this townhouse. But it seemed like an eternity since he had been roughly bound to the column by two French soldiers while Jacques had disappeared along with Harry, who’d refused to even glance in his direction.

During that time Gabriel had been left to stew in his frustrated fury, wavering between outrage at his brother’s utter lack of conscience and his own stupidity in being caught off guard.

Again.

“I trust you are comfortable?” Jacques taunted.

Gabriel hid his savage emotions behind a mocking smile.

“Is this not rather excessive?” He glanced at his bound hands. “I am a mere nobleman, not a rabid tiger.”

Jacques smiled, taking obvious pleasure in Gabriel’s humiliation.

“I try to learn from my mistakes, my lord. You will not be offered the opportunity to escape again.”

“So I am to remain shackled in your library until the end of the war? Or do you intend to return me to your cellars?”