Bride for a Night (21 page)

“Damn,” Hugo breathed, frowning as Gabriel pulled out his handkerchief to wipe away the crusted blood. “Those wounds will be infected if they are not properly cleaned.”

“A worry for later.” He tossed aside the soiled handkerchief, turning his attention to his companion’s ashen face. “How is your head?”

“Aching.” Hugo grimaced, straightening before he headed directly for the brandy bottle set on a walnut sideboard. “Although I believe this should help ease the pain.”

“Shh,” Gabriel murmured. “We do not want to alert the guards that you are awake and that I am free.”

“What does it matter?” Hugo took a swig of the spirits directly from the bottle, his features tight with pain. “Without a weapon we have no hope of getting past the soldiers.”

Gabriel struggled to his feet, stretching his cramped muscles even as he sent his companion a warning glare.

“I have no intention of leaving without Talia.”

Hugo lifted a slender hand. “Be at ease, Ashcombe, it never occurred to me that we would leave without your wife.”

“Forgive me.” Gabriel pressed the heel of his hand to his throbbing temple. “It has been a trying few days.”

Hugo took another swig of the brandy. “I should say it has been a trying few months.”

“True.” Gabriel heaved a rueful sigh, moving to cast a cautious glance out the window. He counted two guards on the front balcony and another near the gate that opened onto the public street before returning his attention to his companion. “My life has not been the same since Silas Dobson blackmailed me into marrying his daughter.”

Setting aside the bottle, Hugo leaned against the side table, obviously still weak from the blow he had taken to his head.

“I am not certain whether to envy you or thank God I have no infuriated father forcing me down the aisle.”

Gabriel sympathized with his confusion.

It was not that he regretted having Talia as his bride. Hell, she was nothing less than a miracle. Who could ever have imagined that she could fill his life with a joy he had never expected, let alone deserved?

But he knew deep in his heart that a part of her would never forgive or forget his boorish behavior during the days leading to their farce of a wedding and the manner in which he had neglected her for weeks after they had become man and wife.

And that no matter how readily she might respond to his touch or how loyal she might be to him and their relationship, she would always keep her heart protected. How could she not when he had destroyed her trust?

“Only a fool would envy either of us at the moment,” he said wryly.

“In that we agree.” Hugo paused, folding his arms over his chest. “Of course, if you would be reasonable, then there might be a solution to our current dilemma.”

Gabriel was shaking his head before his friend even finished speaking.

“No.”

Hugo pushed away from the side table, his brows lowered with irritation.

“You have not even heard my suggestion.”

“There is no need,” Gabriel assured his companion. “I am well enough acquainted with you to know you are about to make some ridiculous offer to distract the guards while I rescue Talia and escape to my yacht.”

Hugo squared his shoulders, preparing for a fight. “It is the only logical plan.”

Knowing it would be pointless to convince the man it was too risky, Gabriel instead heaved a deep sigh.

“Really, Hugo, martyrs are so tediously boring.”

“Not a martyr, a gambler,” he argued, his chin set to an aggressive angle. “Once you have escaped, the odds are in my favor that the soldiers will charge in pursuit of you and I shall be able to stroll away unnoticed. In truth, I will be in less danger than you.”

“No.” Gabriel once again shook his head. “If anyone is to offer the distraction, it will be me. It is my fault you were captured.”

“I make my own decisions, Ashcombe,” Hugo growled. “And if anyone is to be held to blame it is your brother.”

“You would, of course, assume I am guilty,” an unexpected male voice drawled from behind them. “You never did like me, did you, Rothwell?”

Gabriel whirled on his heel. His brother was standing in a hidden doorway revealed by a narrow portion of the bookshelf that had just swung inward.

For an explosive moment Gabriel stared at Harry in disbelief, half expecting the sight of the slender young man with tousled brown hair and pugnacious expression to be a figment of his imagination.

Hugo charged past Gabriel in a gust of fury, clearly
intent on pummeling the man he held fully responsible for their current troubles.

“You bastard.”

Not allowing himself the opportunity to consider the insanity of stepping in front of the large nobleman intent on murder, Gabriel wrapped his arms around his friend’s chest and struggled to bring him to a halt.

“Wait, Hugo,” he ground out, his muscles straining at the effort of keeping the man from escaping.

“Why?” Hugo demanded between clenched teeth. “He deserves to be skinned alive, like those damned natives do in the colonies.”

“I need to speak with him before you do any permanent harm.”

“Fine.”

Muttering his opinion of craven rats who should be shot on sight, Hugo stepped back, although the tension in his large body warned it would take little provocation to shatter his control.

Gabriel turned back toward Harry, grimly hoping he was not making a mistake in bringing a swift end to the reunion.

“What the hell are you doing sneaking up on us?”

Harry shrugged. “I would think that it was obvious. I did not want Jacques or his guards to know I have returned to the house.”

Gabriel narrowed his gaze. “How did you know about the hidden doorway?”

“I have had a fortnight to explore the house while waiting to hear from Jacques.” Harry glanced over his shoulder at the dark emptiness that stretched behind him. “I stumbled across the secret tunnel a few days ago. I assume the previous owner dabbled in smuggling.”

It was a reasonable assumption. Calais had long been
the primary port for smuggled goods from England. There was, no doubt, any number of homes built with hidden tunnels.

Hugo snorted. “Why am I not surprised you would have found a means to sneak about?”

Harry stepped out of the tunnel, regarding Hugo with a mocking smile.

“Should I be like you, Rothwell?” he demanded. “Strutting about as if I own the damned world and expecting the lesser folk to worship at my feet?”

“Can we finish this squabble later?” Gabriel interrupted, his attention never wavering from his brother. “Where does the passageway lead?”

“To the cellars.”

Gabriel nodded, the faintest hope stirring in the pit of his stomach.

Was it possible they might slip past the guards unnoticed?

“Is there a way out of the house?”

“Yes, there is a coal chute that opens in the back garden.” Harry grimaced as he glanced down at his expensive jacket that was marred with black streaks. “Which explains why my once pristine coat is now ruined beyond repair.”

“Is it guarded?”

“No.” Harry brushed a clinging cobweb from his arm. “So far as I can determine no one has been in the passageway for years. I doubt Jacques is aware that they even exist.”

“Does one of the passages lead upstairs?”

Harry frowned at the abrupt question. “I have not inspected them that far.”

Without warning, Hugo had moved to grasp Gabriel’s arm, his expression rigid with disbelief.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” he barked. “You cannot mean to trust him.”

Gabriel scowled. “You believe this to be a trap?”

Hugo growled in disgust. “I think Harry would happily lead both of us to the slaughter if it meant him becoming the next Earl of Ashcombe,” he cruelly reminded Gabriel. “It is what he has always desired.”

“Dammit,” Harry burst out, appearing unbearably harassed. “Why would anyone believe that I would want your stupid title?” He waved his arms in a motion that nearly sent a carved crystal chess set tumbling from the pier table to the ground. “It is nothing but tedious duty and responsibility that I have sought to avoid my entire life, not to mention an endless parade of folks constantly demanding one thing or another. I should rather toss myself in the sea than be burdened with your position.”

Hugo’s laugh cut sharply through the library. “I could assist you into the sea…”

“Hugo,” Gabriel wearily muttered.

His friend had always taken great delight in antagonizing Harry, but now there was an added edge of violence he could barely constrain.

Harry, of course, did nothing to ease the tension. Indeed, the sardonic curl of his lips was a deliberate attempt to goad the large nobleman.

“Well, Gabriel,” he prodded. “Do you believe I am here to lead you into a trap?”

Gabriel’s lips twisted. “You have not made it easy to trust you, Harry.”

A flush crawled over Harry’s narrow face, making him appear young and oddly vulnerable.

“I may be a debauched scoundrel who has betrayed his country, but I have never wished you harm, brother,”
he insisted, his voice harsh with sincerity. “Never, ever that.”

The two brothers stared at one another, the years briefly falling away to when they had been just two carefree lads running about the massive estate and causing mischief whenever they could slip away from the nursery. That had been before the old earl had determined it was time for Gabriel to begin his training as the heir apparent and Harry had been left in the hands of his overly indulgent mother.

When they had been…brothers.

The fragile connection was broken as Hugo’s fingers dug into Gabriel’s arm with obvious irritation.

“He may not have wished your death, but you may be certain that if Jacques gave him the choice between his life or yours, he would choose his own every time,” he gritted.

“I was already given the choice, you arrogant ass,” Harry snapped. “I was told to turn a blind eye and allow you to be sacrificed or Jacques will put a bullet in my heart.” He squared his shoulders. “I am risking as much as you by being here.”

Gabriel turned a deaf ear to the squabbling, instead concentrating on the vague plans that were formulating in the back of his mind.

He understood Hugo’s reluctance to trust Harry. Christ,
he
didn’t trust his brother. But for the moment their only hope of escape lay in the hidden passageways, and he was not going to allow his doubt to prevent him from grasping the unexpected opportunity.

What the devil did they have to lose?

“Harry, I wish you to lead Hugo to the cellars.”

His brother frowned at the abrupt command. “What of you?”

Hugo shook his head, already suspecting Gabriel’s plan. “Dammit, no.”

Harry stepped forward in puzzlement. “What the devil is happening?”

Gabriel did not allow his attention to stray from Hugo. If his friend refused to cooperate, then his hasty scheme would be ruined before it could be given an opportunity to succeed.

“I have already warned you I will not leave without Talia,” he reminded the nobleman.

Hugo shrugged. “Then we will all go together to rescue her.”

“No, I will not argue.” Gabriel stubbornly refused to consider the offer. “You will accompany Harry to the cellars and wait for us there. If we do not arrive within half an hour, then the two of you will escape to the yacht.” He pointed a finger in Hugo’s face. “And this time, old friend, you will ensure that it sails.”

Hugo stiffened in outrage. “I most certainly will not.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Harry snapped. “We are all going to end up dead if we stand here like a gaggle of fishwives.”

“You would be eager to save your own neck,” Hugo muttered.

Harry stabbed him with an exasperated glare. “As any man of intelligence would be, but it is my familiarity with my brother’s arrogant belief he was born for the sole purpose of ordering others about that resigns me to the inevitable.” He pointedly glanced toward Gabriel, who made no effort to hide his stubborn determination. “Our choices would seem to be standing here and arguing or heading to the cellars so Gabriel can go in pursuit of his wife.”

“He is right,” Gabriel said, pushing his friend toward
the opening in the bookcase. “Go with Harry and I will join you as swiftly as I can.”

“Fine.” Hugo reluctantly headed toward the passageway, glancing over his shoulder to reveal his disgruntled expression. “But, I make no promises that I will not have strangled your charming brother by the time you arrive.”

Gabriel paused long enough to snatch a candle from the nearby candelabra before following Hugo and his brother into the musty tunnel.

“Just so long as you do not alert the guards.”

T
ALIA FELT
no guilt as she pressed her ear to the door and eavesdropped on the heated argument between Jacques and Sophia.

Her numerous governesses had never trained her in the proper manners of being held prisoner by a French spy, but her rare afternoons among the dockhands had taught her that a young female must be willing to toss aside polite manners when necessary.

Besides, she continued to hold on to the hope that the Frenchwoman could convince Jacques to release his prisoners and return to his palace. It did not matter to Talia why Sophia was desperate to be rid of her, only that she managed to convince Jacques he was better served by leaving them behind in Calais while he returned to his duties elsewhere.

It was a hope that died a swift death as she heard Jacques storm from the room and cross the corridor. He was headed directly toward the door where she was leaning.

Scrambling to tug the small cudgel from her reticule, Talia pressed herself against the wall, once again thinking back to those dockhands who had tutored her in defending herself. She would have only one opportunity to overcome a larger opponent. Once she lost the element of surprise, she was defeated.

Barely daring to breathe, she lifted her arm as the
door was thrust open. Then, forcing herself to wait until Jacques had stepped fully into the room, she lunged forward, swinging the cudgel downward.

It would have been a successful attack if not for the full skirts that wrapped about her ankles at precisely the wrong time. A risk that the men who had taught her that particular attack never had to take into account.

Tripped off balance, her swing went wide, and with a muffled curse Jacques was turning to wrap her tightly in his arms, her weapon dropping to the carpet.

“Sacré bleu,”
he breathed, his eyes glittering with irritation. “Is that any way to treat a gentleman who has treated you as an honored guest?”

She stood stiffly, meeting his chiding gaze without apology. Perhaps Jacques had been charmingly polite as he had escorted her into the townhouse and directly to these private chambers. But that had not deterred him from locking the door when he had left, nor from threatening to kill her husband and Lord Rothwell.

“An honored guest is not locked in her rooms.”

His brows lifted. “Would you have preferred that I tied you to the bed?”

“I would have preferred that you had allowed me to bash you in the head,” she retorted.

With an exasperated shake of his head, Jacques dropped his arms and stepped back.

“What have I done to be plagued with such troublesome females?”

Talia snorted at the genuine irritation in his voice. Only a male could degrade one woman while holding another captive and blame them both for being troublesome.

Such arrogance would never fail to astonish her.

“You do not deserve her, you know,” she accused.

“Pardon?”

“Sophia,” she clarified. “She adores you, but you treat her as if she is no more than a courtesan to be dismissed on a whim.”

He arched a brow. “I hesitate to shock you,
ma petite,
but that is precisely what she is.”

Talia was well beyond shock after the past weeks. “If you consider her as nothing more than a harlot, then you should not have made her fall in love with you.”

Jacques’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You hold me to blame?”

“Of course.” Talia gave a lift of her shoulder. “You obviously encouraged her affections.”

“Is that not what a gentleman is expected to do with a courtesan?”

“I do not mean…” She struggled for a delicate means to express her argument. “Physically.”

With a sharp laugh, he turned to pace across the Oriental carpet, choosing an enamel snuff box from the scrolled mantel and flicking open the lid.

“Thank goodness, since that is a customary part of the relationship,” he said, taking a delicate sniff of the scented tobacco.

She glanced toward the cudgel on the floor, regretting the lost opportunity to bang his thick skull. Not only because she had missed a chance to escape, but simply because he obviously needed a good smack to the head.

“I meant that you no doubt confided in her and shared far more than just your bed,” she accused.

He stiffened, his expression defensive. “And how would you know that?”

“Women can be quite foolish when it comes to men, but Sophia is too sophisticated to have risked her heart
if she did not believe you considered her as more than a bed partner.”

“It no longer matters.” He abruptly set aside the enamel box, restlessly pacing toward the window that offered a view of the street shrouded in the heavy silence that came just before dawn. “She is returning to Paris in a few hours.”

She studied his tense profile. “Not if you ask her to stay.”

“I did.” He turned to meet her steady gaze. “She does not appreciate your presence in my home.”

Talia made a strangled sound, wondering if he were being deliberately obtuse.

“Of course she does not.” Talia planted her hands on her hips. “Do you have no feelings for her whatsoever?”

He stiffened, almost as if he were offended by her question. Ridiculous man. Then, narrowing his eyes, he smiled in cold amusement.

“Ah, very clever.”

“Clever?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “You hope that if you can rouse my loyalty to Sophia that I will agree to release you and appease her jealousy.”

It was, of course, precisely what she desired, but Talia was not stupid enough to admit as much. Jacques was not certain his desire for Sophia was greater than his overpowering need to avenge his father’s death.

“Am I not allowed to feel sympathy for a woman who is being abandoned by the man she was silly enough to trust?” she asked instead. “I do, after all, have some experience with that kind of disappointment.”

A surprising fury darkened his eyes. “Do not compare me to Harry Richardson.”

“Then be a better man than he.”

Her challenging words rang through the air as he studied her with an odd expression.

“You are not the wounded child who first set foot in Devonshire.”

A faint smile curved her lips as she recalled her arrival at Carrick Park. She had truly felt like a child who was being unfairly punished. She had been lost and alone and unable to contemplate a future that promised any happiness.

Now she could only be thankful that she was no longer that timid girl who allowed others to determine her worth. She had discovered a strength within herself.

A strength that did not depend on others’ opinions.

“No. That child has thankfully matured into a woman,” she agreed. “And a wife.”

His lips tightened. “The Countess of Ashcombe?”

“That is merely a title.” She shrugged. “I shall always be Talia.”

“Thank God,” he growled. “You are too fine a female to be wasted upon the aristocracy.”

About to inform him that when she spoke of becoming Gabriel’s wife that it had nothing to do with her rise to nobility, Talia bit off her words as she caught sight of a wooden panel sliding open across the room.

At first she thought it must have been a trick of the flickering firelight, but she realized the paneling had truly shifted to reveal a passageway beyond. And that there was the outline of a male form in the shadowed darkness.

A scream rose to her throat. God almighty, was there a soldier attempting to sneak into her private rooms? Or was it some savage off the streets?

Thankfully the scream remained lodged in her throat as the intruder shifted just enough that she could rec
ognize the elegant features and golden hair. Gabriel? Good…lord.

Her mouth snapped shut as he lifted a slender finger to his lips and silently slid the paneling closed, hiding him and the passageway from prying eyes.

Not that his arrival had gone entirely unnoticed, she realized as she checked her startled reaction.

Returning her attention to Jacques, her heart missed a terrified beat at the sight of his suspicious expression.

“Talia?” He frowned down at her pale face. “What is wrong?”

Sensing he would not be satisfied by a simple denial of her startled reaction, she deliberately swayed, pressing a hand to her head.

“Oh.”

“Tell me,
ma petite.
Has something frightened you?”

“No. I…I suddenly feel dizzy.”

Her ploy appeared to be successful as Jacques swiftly grasped her arms and steered her toward the bed with tender care.

“Sit down,” he murmured, pressing her arms until she was perched on the edge of the mattress. His hand shifted to brush against her forehead. “You have no fever.”

She managed a stiff smile, wondering if she were imagining the lingering suspicion beneath his display of concern.

“I am not ill, only hungry,” she assured him. “I have had only an apple to eat today.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I assumed that you starve all your prisoners.”

Her words had been teasing, but Jacques scowled, clearly offended by her implication she had been abused. Of course, he was a gentleman who took his need to pro
tect women very much to heart, she reminded herself, feeling a stab of unwelcome sympathy.

“I have offered you nothing but my protection,
ma petite.
”

She grimaced, attempting to appear wan and defenseless without overplaying her role.

“Perhaps, but the situation is…difficult.”

“Oui.”
He studied her upturned face with an unnerving intensity. “I understand.”

She licked her dry lips. “Could I have a tray?”

His hesitation was so fleeting, Talia managed to convince herself that she had imagined it.

“Of course.” He brushed his fingers down her cheek before offering a shallow bow. “I will return in a few moments.”

“Thank you.”

Watching as he left the room and closed the door, Talia gingerly rose and crossed the room to listen to his retreating footsteps that echoed down the hall. Only when she was certain he was truly gone did she turn and hurry toward the panel, giving it a light tap to indicate that Jacques was gone.

With a faint whisper the panel slid open, and Gabriel stepped into the room, catching her off guard as he muttered a curse and wrapped her in his arms, his grip so tight that it became a challenge to breathe.

Not that she protested. Pressing her face against the solid wall of his chest, she ran her hands down his back, anxious to assure herself he was unharmed.

“Dear God. I was so worried,” she breathed. “How did you escape?”

His lips brushed her temple before he pulled back, revealing his tense expression.

“That is something we can discuss once we are out of here.”

“Yes.”

He glanced around the elegant room, his lips thinning at the unmistakable sight of Jacques’s clothing hanging in the wardrobe and his boots standing beside the fireplace.

“Is there anything that you need?” he rasped.

She reached up to press her lips to the hard line of his jaw.

“Nothing but you.”

His silver eyes flashed with an emotion that made her heart leap.

“Talia…”

The flicker of the candles was the only warning as the door to the room was abruptly shoved open, and Jacques stepped over the threshold. Talia silently cursed her stupidity as the Frenchman’s gaze fell upon Gabriel with a resignation that proved he had not been deceived by her pretense of hunger for even a moment.

So foolish. She had sensed his wariness, had she not? But she had allowed her eagerness to be rid of his unwelcome presence to dismiss her fears. And in doing so, she had all but invited Gabriel into the waiting trap.

Shutting the door, Jacques pulled a pistol from a pocket of his jacket, pointing it toward Gabriel.

“What a touching reunion.”

G
ABRIEL’S ARMS
instinctively tightened around Talia as the Frenchman moved to the center of the room, resisting the urge to yank her into the tunnel and attempt to escape before the Frenchman could call for his guards. He would not risk Talia being hit by a stray bullet intended for him.

“I truly am growing weary of you, Jacques Gerard.”

“The feeling is quite mutual, Lord Ashcombe.” Jacques gave a small wave of the pistol. “Release Talia and step away from her.”

Talia made a small sound of distress, clinging tightly to his arm.

“No.”

“Talia, do not fear,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek before untangling her fingers from his jacket and pushing her out of the line of fire. “Everything will be fine.”

Fearless as always, she turned to send their captor a fierce glare.

“Please do not hurt him.”

“He has left me little option,
ma petite.
”

Gabriel’s hands clenched at Jacques’s intimate glance toward Talia. By God, when would the bastard accept that Talia was his wife and that she would never willingly belong to another man?

“Do not blame me for your murderous tendencies,” he snarled. “And keep your endearments for your mistress. You will refer to my wife as Lady Ashcombe.”

Jacques smiled, clearly amused by Gabriel’s fierce jealousy.

“How did you discover the passageway?”

With a mocking smile Gabriel gave a smooth lift of his shoulder.

“Hugo is a remarkably stubborn gentleman who refused to accept we were trapped.” The words were not entirely a lie. “He searched until he found the entrance to the passageway in the library.”

Jacques considered a long moment before giving a sharp shake of his head.

“
Non.
It is too much a coincidence that you should
simply stumble across a hidden passageway when you have need of one. Only someone who has spent time exploring the house could have known of it.” His eyes narrowed. “So who is the traitor? A guard? A servant? Ah…” A disdainful smile twisted his lips. “Harry.”

“Harry?” Gabriel lifted his brows. “He has made his decision to offer you his loyalty. I no longer consider him my brother.”

Jacques shook his head, too clever to be so easily fooled.

“So I believed, but then I have discovered never to place my faith in the cowardly sod,” he drawled. “He would betray me as easily as he betrayed you. Where is he?”