Bride for a Night (22 page)

Gabriel gave a lift of his hands, futilely hoping that Hugo and his brother would obey his command to return to his yacht.

“If you speak of Harry I have no notion.” He smiled, his expression bland. “Hugo, on the other hand, has escaped and is currently on his way back to England to warn them of my brother’s treachery.”

Jacques heaved a patronizing sigh. “Must we play this tedious game?”

Gabriel managed to keep his smile in place even as he comforted himself with the thought of his fist smashing into the man’s arrogant face.

“It would appear we must.”

“No matter.” Jacques shrugged. “My guards will swiftly hunt down my missing guests.”

Gabriel could not deny the truth of his words. Even if Harry had managed to convince Hugo to escape from the cellars, they could not be more than a block or two away. What he needed was a distraction.

Not giving himself time to consider the danger, he paced forward, his expression taunting.

“As I have told you, Hugo has already escaped,” he said. “Any hope you might have to return Harry to England as a spy is ruined.”

“Stop right there,” Jacques warned, the pistol aimed directly at Gabriel’s heart. “I have delayed this long enough.”

Intent on the Frenchman, Gabriel briefly forgot his impulsive wife. A mistake he soon regretted as she darted toward Jacques, ignoring the pistol in his hand with a lack of fear that made Gabriel’s blood run cold.

Dammit. She was surely going to put him in his grave.

“No, Jacques,” she pleaded, reaching to place a hand on his arm. “Please, I beg of you.”

Gabriel came to a rigid halt, terrified he might accidently startle the Frenchman who had already turned his attention toward Talia. Christ, it would take no more than a stray sneeze to cause the twitchy man to pull the trigger.

“Forgive me, Talia,” Jacques murmured.

“Never.” She shook her head in vehement denial. “I will never forgive you.”

Jacques pulled his arm from her grasp, shifting to the side and unwittingly jostling a pier table. The small movement was enough to send a Chinese vase toppling to the floor. Gabriel swore as the sound of splintering pottery filled the air, making Talia give a startled scream and Jacques wave the gun in a dangerous arch.

His gaze remained trained on the pistol even when he heard the door to the chamber being thrust open and the sound of an unmistakable female gasp.

“Jacques, are you—”

Gabriel did not hesitate. As Jacques jerked toward the
door he launched himself forward, using his superior bulk to knock the pistol from the bastard’s hands and ram him into the floor.

There was a satisfying grunt of pain as Jacques smacked his head against the floor, but before he could get his arms wrapped around the man, he was caught off guard by an infuriated Sophia Reynard who charged forward to pummel his back with surprising force.

Trying to shrug aside the madwoman, Gabriel lost his grip on Jacques who promptly pulled a dagger from beneath his jacket and pressed it to Gabriel’s neck.

“Move and I will slice open your throat.”

T
ALIA WATCHED
in frozen fear as Gabriel knocked Jacques to the ground. Was he demented? For God’s sake, Jacques was holding a loaded gun. He could have been killed.

Clearly the Earl of Ashcombe was in need of a stern lecture on how a proper husband was supposed to behave.

And it certainly did not include risking his fool neck.

Braced for the explosive sound of a gunshot, her knees went weak when instead she watched the pistol fly from Jacques’s hand to land near the bed. Oh, thank God. She pressed a hand to her thundering heart.

Miraculously, Gabriel had survived his reckless attack, and as she turned her attention back to the two men wrestling on the carpet she realized that he appeared to actually have gained the upper hand as he pressed Jacques to the floor with his larger form.

Her relief, however, was short-lived. Only distantly aware of Sophia entering the room, Talia was unprepared when the woman abruptly rushed across the room to smack Gabriel in the middle of his back.

“No,” she breathed, already moving forward to launch
her own attack when Jacques pressed the dagger to Gabriel’s neck and threatened to slit his throat.

Time seemed to stop as Talia skidded to a halt.

What should she do? Barely daring to breathe, she hastily reviewed her limited options.

She could not possibly overpower Jacques, even if she were willing to put Gabriel in harm’s way. Which she most certainly was not. And while she might be able to use the passageway to find Lord Rothwell, she would never be able to return in time to prevent Jacques from…

She shuddered, refusing to admit she was helpless.

She glanced about the room, briefly considering her small cudgel that lay forgotten near the doorway. She was skilled in knocking a man senseless with the weapon, but only when she could strike without warning. Besides, she dare not attack Jacques while he held the knife to Gabriel’s throat.

Desperate, her attention shifted to the gun that was nearly hidden beneath the bed.

She was no experienced duelist, but she had been taught the basics of shooting a pistol. It was not a particularly difficult task, considering the weapon was already primed and ready to be fired. However, not even the finest marksman could be certain of hitting Jacques without putting Gabriel at serious risk.

But then, she did not need to shoot Jacques, she abruptly realized. There was a far easier method of forcing him to release Gabriel.

Or at least, she hoped it would be easier.

Keeping her gaze locked on the three who had seemingly forgotten her presence, Talia covertly shifted until she was standing next to the bed. Only then did she cautiously bend down to grasp the gun, hiding it in the folds of her skirt as she straightened.

She forced herself to count to ten, ensuring that no one was taking notice of her before she inched her way along the edge of the room. Then, refusing to contemplate her battered conscience, she darted forward and pressed the gun directly to Sophia’s temple.

“Release him, Jacques, or I will shoot her,” she warned in harsh tones.

She sensed Sophia tense in alarm, but she dared not allow her gaze to stray from Jacques who kept the dagger firmly pressed to Gabriel’s throat.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the tick of the ormolu clock on the mantel.

Talia swallowed the lump in her throat, noting Gabriel’s furious glare and Sophia’s faint tremors as she waited for Jacques to accept he had been bested.

“You wouldn’t,” he rasped at last.

“Do not be so certain,” she warned. “I am desperate.”

There was another silence before Sophia released an unsteady laugh.

“You are wasting your time, my lady,” she said, her own gaze lingering on the man she loved. “Jacques cares far more for his glorious dreams than a flesh-and-blood female who cannot compete with a fantasy.”

Talia shook her head, not missing the fear that had briefly flared through Jacques’s eyes. He was far more anxious at the thought of Sophia being in danger than he cared to admit.

Perhaps even to himself.

“I think you underestimate his attachment to you,” she murmured. “Is that not true, Jacques?”

With an effort he managed to curl his lips into a stiff smile.

“Do not be a fool,
ma petite.
You will never forgive yourself if you hurt an innocent.”

Talia deliberately shifted her gaze to the very large dagger that was currently pressed to Gabriel’s throat.

“I will never forgive myself if I stand aside and allow you to murder my husband,” she countered, the sincerity in her voice unmistakable. “Put down the knife.”

Jacques’s lips flattened as his narrowed gaze searched her bleak expression.

“You know I cannot do that.”

Sophia jerked, clearly wounded by Jacques’s words. “I did warn you,” she breathed.

“Jacques, do not test my resolve,” Talia warned. “I am the daughter of Silas Dobson. I have been taught from the cradle that only the ruthless survive.”

Jacques shook his head in denial. “You are not ruthless.”

Gabriel snorted, his burning gaze never wavering from Talia’s pale face.

“And you claimed to know my wife,” he mocked.

Talia glanced toward the pistol she held to Sophia’s temple, praying Jacques could not detect her pulse that raced in pure terror or the revulsion that clenched her stomach.

“Make your choice.”

“Wait,” the Frenchman commanded, his gaze shifting toward the silent Sophia. “Let us not be hasty.”

“Jacques,” she pressed, sensing his faltering resolution.

Jacques frowned in frustration. “You swear to release her?”

“I swear.”

“Mon Dieu.”
Jacques slowly pulled the dagger away from Gabriel’s throat, his expression grim as Gabriel surged to his feet and snatched the knife from his unresisting fingers. “Talia, you gave your word.”

“Of course.”

Talia lowered the pistol and stepped away from the Frenchwoman, her entire body wobbling with relief as Gabriel stepped next to her and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. The tense confrontation had lasted only a few minutes, but it felt as if an eternity had passed since she had picked up the horrid gun.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jacques angrily adjusted his cuffs before he waved a hand toward the door.

“Leave us, Sophia.”

“No,” Gabriel snapped. “She remains.”

Jacques hissed his opinion of arrogant English noblemen through clenched teeth.

“You will hold a helpless female as a hostage?” he demanded.

“We both know that females are rarely helpless and I will not allow her to alert the guards,” Gabriel countered. “She will not be harmed so long as you do as I say.”

“And precisely what do you intend to do with us?”

A cold, lethal smile curved Gabriel’s lips. “That entirely depends on you, Monsieur Gerard.”

T
ALIA FROWNED AS
Gabriel removed his arm from her shoulders and gently tugged the pistol from her grip, tucking the large dagger beneath his jacket. All she desired was to escape from the townhouse and return to the waiting yacht, but she sensed that it would not be as simple as walking out the door.

“Gabriel?” she murmured, not doubting for a moment he already had a plan to escape.

As expected, he offered a confident smile. “We will need a candle, my dear.”

“Yes.”

She grabbed a burning candle from the mantel, relieved that her shivering was beginning to lessen and that her knees were no longer threatening to buckle.

Gabriel dipped a head toward the silent Frenchwoman who held herself proudly.

“Now if you will kindly lead Sophia into the passageway, Jacques and I will be close behind you.”

Without prompting, Sophia moved to enter the dark tunnel, and Talia hurried to walk at her side. She was in no mood to have to chase down the unpredictable woman if she decided to bolt.

Behind her, Talia heard the sound of male footsteps and she paused, the flicker of the candlelight dancing over the stone walls that were shrouded in dust and the low wooden-beamed ceiling.

“Which way?” she demanded.

“To the right,” Gabriel directed. “You will see a set of stairs just beyond the corner. They lead to the cellars.”

Following his directions, Talia walked beside Sophia, pretending she did not hear the faint scuttle of mice. Surely a few small rodents were the least of her concerns?

“I am sorry, but I could not allow him to kill Gabriel,” she said as they reached the stairs, needing to distract herself from her raw nerves.

The older woman lifted the hem of her thin robe as she cautiously navigated the narrow steps.

“Would you have pulled the trigger?”

Talia grimaced. Although she refused to regret doing what was necessary to keep Gabriel alive, it was not a question she desired to ponder.

Not when it made her wonder if she had inherited more of her father’s merciless nature than she had realized.

“In all honesty, I do not know,” she muttered.

There was an awkward pause before Sophia gently cleared her throat.

“I suppose I should be offering you my appreciation.”

“Appreciation?”

The Frenchwoman smiled wryly. “I would never have dared to believe Jacques would choose me over his loyalty to France.” She sliced a glance toward Talia. “Or his desire for you.”

Talia shook her head, unable to believe a woman of Sophia’s sophistication was not readily aware of Jacques’s devotion. She was precisely the sort of woman that must have had dozens of men worshipping her pretty feet over the years.

But perhaps even beautiful women could be insecure
when their heart was involved, she realized with a flare of surprise.

Odd to consider after all the years she had assumed those annoyingly fashionable debutantes were never plagued by painful doubts.

“He loves you if only he were not too stubborn to accept his feelings,” she assured her companion.

Unexpectedly Sophia sucked in a sharp breath. “Do not say such a thing,
s’il vous plait.
”

Talia blinked in confusion at the woman’s fierce response. “Why not? You have just pointed out that he proved that he cares for you.”

The woman pitched her voice low enough to ensure it would not carry through the shadowed tunnel.

“I will agree he holds an affection for me,” she grudgingly confessed. “And, of course, the thought that I was in danger would have stirred his protective instincts, but I would never be idiotic enough to believe he could offer more.”

Talia reached to give the woman’s arm a comforting squeeze, recalling her own misery when Gabriel had sent her to Carrick Park. She had been quite convinced at the time that she was destined to spend her life alone and unloved.

Now…

She swallowed a sigh. Now she was not quite so certain of her future.

“It is not idiotic to hope,” she murmured softly.

“Almost you tempt me,” Sophia said with a sigh. Then, turning her head, she studied Talia with a somber expression. “Talia.”

“Yes?”

“Do not doubt that had our positions been reversed, I should not hesitate to pull the trigger.”

Talia nearly stumbled over the bottom step at the blunt confession.

“I shall keep that in mind.”

K
EEPING THE PISTOL
aimed at the Frenchman walking at his side, Gabriel kept a close watch on the two females a few steps ahead of them. They whispered together as if they were old friends, but he was not as trusting as Talia. Sophia was not the typical society maiden content to demurely depend upon a gentleman’s offer of protection. He did not doubt that beneath her fragile beauty she was as dangerous as any cutthroat.

Thankfully she made no effort to attack Talia, and as they reached the end of the passageway, Gabriel shifted his concern to the closed door that blocked their path. He was not going to charge into the cellars without being assured there were no nasty surprises awaiting them.

With his current streak of luck, he might very well discover Napoleon and the entire French army filling the cellars.

Shoving Jacques forward to overtake the two females, he reached out to grasp Talia’s arm and tugged her to a halt.

“Wait, Talia,” he commanded, blowing out her candle to plunge them in blackness.

She readily stepped aside as he slowly pushed open the door, his pistol pointed into the darkness beyond.

“Hugo?” he called softly, the musty scent of aged barrels and damp stone wafting through the air.

There was a faint scrape and then light bloomed in the darkness as Hugo lit a candle and crossed to peer out the door. His golden gaze narrowed at the sight of Jacques and Sophia standing in the tunnel.

“You did not warn me you intended to bring guests.”

Harry stepped forward, his expression sulky as he regarded the Frenchman who had once been his partner.

“Gabriel, what the devil are you doing with this bastard? We need to get away from here.”

Jacques laughed with mocking amusement at the younger man’s obvious discomfort.

“Turning traitor yet again, eh, Harry?”

“I am merely attempting to right a wrong,” Harry said in sullen tones. “Or at least to right one of many wrongs. I can never fully repay the damage I have caused.”

“I would be impressed if I did not know you are a weak-willed worm who was willing to sell your soul to the highest bidder,” Jacques retorted.

Harry stiffened, his eyes dark with guilt. “It is your fault I ever became involved in the nasty business,” he accused. “If you had not offered to pay my debts I should never have been tempted.”

Jacques snorted. “Pathetic.”

Hugo shouldered aside the younger man, regarding Gabriel with impatience.

“Well?”

Gabriel nodded. “There is no longer a need to sneak through the dark when Monsieur Gerard has a fine carriage to return us to the yacht.”

Hugo frowned. “What of the soldiers? They are surrounding the house.”

Gabriel glanced toward his surly captive. “We will use Monsieur Gerard to ensure our safe passage.”

“Are you certain that is wise?” Hugo demanded. “There is no guarantee that an ambitious guard will not be willing to sacrifice his leader for an opportunity to prevent our escape. Napoleon might very well be impressed enough by his initiative to earn a promotion.”

It was a reasonable concern. Even if the guards were
unquestionably loyal to Jacques Gerard, there was always the danger that one might inadvertently discharge his weapon at the sight of his leader being kidnapped by the enemy. And once the first shot had been fired, then there would be no derailing the attack.

“You should pay heed to your friend, Ashcombe,” Jacques said, interrupting Gabriel’s inner debate. “My guards will never allow you to escape.”

Gabriel grimaced. There were no safe choices, but one thing was for certain—they could not hide in the house forever. And the longer they waited, the more opportunity for the guards to seek the assistance of the numerous soldiers camped outside the city walls.

“It is a risk, but with a carriage we will be better protected than if we attempt to flee on foot, and certainly we shall be able to travel at a greater speed,” he said.

Talia moved to his side, her face pale but resolute. His tiny warrior.

“There was a carriage waiting at the side of the house when we arrived,” she announced.

It had to be the carriage that Jacques had used to haul them to the townhouse, Gabriel decided.

“Harry, you lead the way.”

“But…” The younger man bit off his protest and glared at Gabriel. “I suppose that you assume I deserve to be shot like a stray dog?”

Gabriel heaved an exasperated sigh. “What I assume is that you know the shortest route out of the cellars and to a side door.”

“Oh.” With an awkward shrug, Harry turned to cross the stone floor, heading past the towering shelves of dusty wine bottles. “This way.”

Gabriel shifted to press the pistol to Jacques’s back even as he glanced at his friend.

“Hugo, if you would escort Mademoiselle Reynard?”

Hugo nodded, reaching to grasp Sophia’s arm. “Of course.”

“Non,”
Jacques growled. “She remains here.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I will release her once we have reached the yacht. Until then I intend to keep her close at hand.”

“So much for the famed chivalry of English noblemen.”

“Perhaps I would have more chivalry if you had not kidnapped my wife.”

With a nod toward Talia he watched as she quickly crossed the floor and climbed the narrow flight of stairs closely followed by Hugo and Sophia. Then, giving the Frenchman a shove forward, they made their way out of the cellars and into the kitchens.

Casting a swift glance about the silent room to make certain there were no lurking servants hidden among the worn tables and piles of firewood, Gabriel walked to where his companions were clustered about the entrance to the side alley.

“Stand aside,” he requested in a low voice, pulling open the door and jerking Jacques through the opening and onto the narrow porch. There was a shuffle of movement as several uniformed guards stepped into the light of the flickering torches, their curious expressions hardening to anger as Gabriel lifted the pistol to press it to Jacques’s temple in an unspoken threat. “Tell them to place their weapons on the ground and to step away from the carriage,” he ordered the Frenchman, the edge in his voice warning that he would pull the trigger if necessary.

Jacques stiffened, as if considering a ridiculous act of heroism. Then, sanity returned, and he spoke in rapid
French, commanding the guards to lower their weapons and to retreat to the back garden.

Reluctantly, the men bent down to place their pistols on the ground, although Gabriel was not stupid enough to believe they did not have several weapons still hidden beneath their uniforms. Straightening, they hesitated until Jacques offered a faint nod. Only then did they back toward the gate leading to the garden.

“Harry, if you would be so good as to gather the weapons?” he said, leading Jacques down the steps.

His brother brushed past him, collecting the pistols off the ground. Keeping one, he handed another to Hugo and dumped the others in a nearby rain barrel.

Hugo joined Gabriel with his hand still clenched around Sophia’s arm.

“Do you want her inside the carriage?” he demanded.

Gabriel glanced toward the shiny vehicle that was still hitched to the pair of restless bays.

“Yes, I will need you and Harry up top to make certain there are no unpleasant surprises.”

Moving forward Hugo pulled open the door to the carriage and lifted a stoic Sophia onto the leather bench seat before turning to assist Talia. Once the women were settled, Hugo stood aside as Jacques crawled into the carriage muttering his desire to see the entire British Empire fall into the sea.

Gabriel moved forward to join the others as Harry climbed into the seat on top of the carriage.

“I will handle the ribbons,” he announced.

“No,” Hugo growled, moving to untangle the reins from the hitching post and swinging easily onto the carriage, his large form knocking the slender Harry to the side. “I was witness to your spectacular race down St. James’s Street where you injured a dozen pedestrians
before overturning and destroying your carriage along with Sir Barclay’s.”

Harry glared at Hugo. “I was drunk.”

“No doubt, but more important you are a cow-handed greenhorn who is a danger to himself and others,” Hugo informed him dryly.

Harry shifted his gaze to his brother. “Gabriel.”

“I should have let the two of you kill one another in the cellars,” Gabriel muttered. “Hugo, get us out of here.”

“Aye, sir.”

Barely waiting for Gabriel to climb into the carriage and close the door, Hugo urged the horses down the alley. Once they reached the main street, he swerved to take them directly south, the swift pace making the vehicle sway and the clatter of horseshoes echo through the sleepy streets.

Inside the carriage the passengers maintained a grim silence. The two women sat stiffly on the seat, clearly unnerved by the air of violence that threatened to explode at any moment. Across from them, Gabriel kept the pistol aimed at the dangerous Frenchman even as he shifted so he could keep watch on the street behind them. It would be difficult to attack a moving carriage but not impossible, and he did not intend to be caught off guard.

Still traveling at breakneck speed, they charged through the city gates to the countryside beyond, but Gabriel remained on alert. Despite the lingering gloom, he had not been blind to the silhouettes of men on horseback that had been barely visible in the distance. It was near enough dawn that the forms might have been servants or merchants going about their business. Hell, they could be drunken noblemen attempting to stumble their way home from the various gambling dens and whorehouses.

But with his current streak of luck, he would bet his last quid that they were Jacques’s guards in pursuit.