Bride for a Night (23 page)

They had traveled several miles before Hugo was forced to slow the pace of the carriage as he turned onto the narrow path leading toward the shore. The side-to-side swaying of the vehicle settled into a jolting rattle that nearly sent the four of them out of their seats as Hugo steered them over the rocks and fallen logs that threatened to impede their retreat. Gabriel tensed his jaw, casting a worried glance toward Talia who had grasped the leather strap that dangled from the roof. She was so tiny she was being bounced around like a rag doll.

At last they came to a blessed halt, and Gabriel bent forward to shove open the door.

“Jacques, if you will be so good as to descend first?” he drawled. “I would not desire any ambitious guards that might have followed us to become overeager.”

“Coward,” the Frenchman muttered.

“Cautious,” Gabriel amended, deliberately glancing at the women who sat in weary silence on the opposite seat. “And, Jacques, do not forget that it is not only your life that hangs in the balance.”

In the midst of crawling out of the carriage, Jacques paused to glare at Gabriel.

“Threaten Sophia again and I will—”

“Yes?”

An icy fury tightened the man’s features. “Do not tempt me.”

“It grows late, or rather early, and I desire a hot bath and a warm bed.” Gabriel pressed the pistol to the man’s forehead. “Now move or I will decide you are not worth the trouble of keeping alive.”

“Vermine.”

Gabriel waited for Jacques to step out of the carriage,
shifting to the side so he could keep a watch on the small clearing. Beyond the barren emptiness he could see a thick line of trees on one side and on the other the sheer cliff that overlooked the sea.

There was no movement, but that did not mean that there were not dangers skulking in the shadows.

After several minutes passed with no shots being fired, Gabriel turned his attention toward Sophia huddled in the far corner of the carriage.

“Mademoiselle Reynard.” He waved a hand toward the door.

She sent him a dark glare as she climbed over his long legs and out the door, clearly displeased with the turn of events. He ignored her antagonism, his hand reaching out to halt his wife from following in Sophia’s wake.

“A moment, my dear.”

She wrinkled her nose as she met his warning frown. “Yes, I know, Gabriel. I am not to do anything stupid.”

His heart squeezed with an unfamiliar emotion as he gazed down at the pale beauty of her face. When had he memorized every line and sweep of her features? Had it just been since the ceremony? Or had he been secretly treasuring her image long before they were forced down the aisle?

“I do not suppose you would actually offer such a promise?” he asked in rueful tones.

Her magnificent emerald eyes darkened with stoic courage.

“I cannot.”

“You realize that if anything was to happen to you…”

She pressed her fingers to his mouth, silencing his concerns.

“Nothing will happen,” she assured him. “We are within sight of your boat.”

“Yacht, my lady,” he corrected, grasping her wrist and lightly kissing the tips of her fingers. Then his lips were seeking the rapid pulse beneath the delicate skin of her inner wrist. “And we are not yet aboard. Until we are, I refuse to allow you out of my sight.”

A delicate blush stole beneath her cheeks. “And once we are aboard?”

Heat exploded as he leaned forward to steal a swift, devouring kiss.

“I intend to devote the entire voyage to having my wicked way with you,” he whispered against her lips.

For a mindless moment Gabriel was aware of nothing beyond the softness of Talia’s mouth and the shiver of excitement that raced through his body. Then, the unwelcome intrusion of approaching footsteps wrenched him back to reality.

“Gabriel, do you intend to linger the entire night?” his brother called with obvious impatience.

“Damn.” Pulling back, he reluctantly loosened his grip on Talia’s hand and allowed her to climb out of the carriage.

He followed swiftly behind her, stepping onto the rocky path before turning to remove the glass lantern from the side of the carriage. The flame was weak, but it remained dark enough that it should be easily spotted by his crew upon the yacht.

“Hugo, if you will keep an eye upon our prisoners, I will signal my captain.”

He moved toward the edge of the cliff, holding the lamp above his head to swing it in a slow pattern that would alert the captain to send a rowboat to shore.

“Hopefully there will be no need to wait,” Hugo said as he moved to Gabriel’s side. “I left a boat hidden just beyond the rocks. I will make certain it is still there.”

Gabriel paused before giving a reluctant nod. He disliked the thought of Hugo being alone, but then again, the sooner they could be off the cliff the better. It felt very much like a trap at the moment.

“Take care,” he muttered. “I am certain we were followed.”

“I will.” Hugo shifted his gaze toward Harry who stood only a few feet away. “But I am more concerned for you. Do not forget that there is more than one enemy you must guard against.”

Harry took an angry step forward. “Just go check on the damned boat, Rothwell.”

With a last glare at the young man, Hugo turned to make his way down the treacherous path of the cliff, abruptly disappearing from view.

Trusting his friend had not taken a tumble and broken his neck, Gabriel turned back to his companions. Jacques and Sophia remained in the center of the small clearing, but he noted in approval that Talia had shifted to stand near the carriage, wise enough to remain out of the line of fire should the lurking soldiers attack.

How the devil had he ever thought he would be satisfied with a missish society female who would have spent the past few days in screeching hysterics?

With a last lingering glance at the woman who had become a vital part of his life, Gabriel turned back to meet Jacques’s scowl of frustration.

“You promised to release Sophia,” he reminded Gabriel in fiery tones.

“She will be allowed to return to Calais once we are away from the shore.”

Jacques was not appeased. “You will abandon a vulnerable female in the midst of this godforsaken countryside?” His lips twisted as he glanced toward Talia,
intentionally reminding Gabriel of his decision to send his young bride to Carrick Park alone. “Ah, of course you will. It does seem to be a habit of yours.”

Annoying ass.

With an effort Gabriel dismissed the taunt. “I do not doubt your soldiers will be delighted to protect her.”

The Frenchman shrugged, not bothering to try to convince Gabriel they were alone.

“If you are so certain they are nearby, then why not allow Sophia to join them now?”

“I would not wish to encourage you to do something stupid.” Gabriel waved his pistol toward the nearby trees. “Her presence ensures your good behavior until we reach my yacht.”

Jacques stretched his lips into a humorless smile. “So I am to be taken to England?”

“You were pleased enough to visit before,” Gabriel mocked.

“So I was,” Jacques admitted. He ignored the fuming female at his side, her countenance warning she would not be left behind. “I presume that I am to be exposed as a French spy?”

“That is a decision to be made by a higher authority than me.”

“And your brother?”

Gabriel tensed, refusing to be distracted by the agonizing choices that awaited him once they returned to England.

“Harry is no longer your concern,” he snarled.

“Are you so certain?” Jacques arched a sardonic brow. “I would say his fate is very much in my hands.”

There was no mistaking the threat in his tone, and narrowing his gaze, Gabriel marched forward to grasp the man by his arm, yanking him across the uneven ground.
He came to a halt on the opposite side of the carriage, far enough from the others to prevent their conversation from being overheard.

“What are you implying?”

Pulling from his grasp, Jacques smoothed a hand down his wrinkled jacket and tugged a lace cuff back into place. Gabriel clenched his teeth, barely preventing himself from smashing a fist into the sneering face.

“Once I have been turned over to the English authorities I am bound to be put to the Inquisition,” Jacques said smoothly.

“And?”

“And I can scarcely be expected to keep your brother’s priceless assistance in stealing information from the Home Office a secret. The poor boy will be forever ruined, if not put to death as a traitor.”

Jacques merely repeated what had been going through Gabriel’s mind since learning of Harry’s betrayal. But hearing it announced so bluntly was like a physical blow.

Christ, he would rather take a beating than imagine what was to come.

“Harry chose his fate when he agreed to your devil’s bargain,” he forced himself to mutter, his voice harsh.

“Fates can be altered.” Jacques nodded his head toward the faint outline of the distant yacht that was just becoming visible in the faint brush of dawn. “Return to England without me and no one need ever know that Harry is a traitor.”

“I would know.”

Jacques snorted. “I am aware you have always taken pride in being a pompous prig who considers himself superior to mere mortals, but I would have thought you have learned something from your wife.”

Gabriel flinched. Why? It was not the first occasion
he’d been called a pompous prig. His preference for maintaining a dignified presence among society rather than prancing about like a silly fop did not endear him to his peers.

But the Frenchman’s well-played mention of Talia was a painful reminder that he had all too recently allowed his pride to rule in a decision he would regret for all eternity.

“What does my marriage have to do with Harry?” he demanded before he could put back the question.

“You nearly destroyed a fine woman with your desire to punish her.”

Gabriel’s brows snapped together. He needed no reminders of the damage he had caused his young bride.

“It was never my desire to punish Talia.”

“Non?”
Jacques shifted his gaze back to Gabriel, his expression knowing. “You blamed her for having brought shame to the precious Ashcombe family, did you not? And you were anxious to prove to Silas Dobson and society you would not tolerate being embarrassed.” He gave a disgusted shake of his head. “Talia would have been crushed by your need for revenge if not for her considerable courage.”

He growled beneath his breath, once again fighting the urge to pummel the aggravating bastard.

“You know nothing of the matter.”

“I know you are threatening to toss your brother to the wolves to salvage your pride, just as you did with Talia.”

He knew Jacques was attempting to manipulate him, but the accusation sliced through Gabriel with silky ease.

“Talia was an innocent,” Gabriel muttered, as much to remind himself as his companion. “Harry betrayed his country for profit. If I truly desired to protect myself, I would hide his sins rather than expose them to the world.”

“What of your pride? The Earl of Ascombe stripped of his pride has nothing,” Jacques taunted, lifting his hand as Gabriel’s lips parted to offer a scathing retort. “Oh, the polite world will pretend to be aghast over Harry’s treachery, but then they will all realize they predicted that he would come to a bad end. Then, of course, they will rush to sympathize with the poor Earl of Ashcombe who has been forced to endure the terrible antics of his younger brother for so many years and who has now so bravely stepped forward to renounce the boy as a spy.” He paused, watching Gabriel like a viper assessing its prey. An accurate description for a man who spewed his words like poison. “You shall be nothing less than a national hero.”

Gabriel tightened his fingers on the pistol, wishing to God he had never heard the name Jacques Gerard.

“You would say anything to avoid the hangman.”

Jacques shrugged. “Certainly, but that does not make my words any less true.”

J
ACQUES HAD DEVOTED
his years in England to becoming the polished gentleman that his mother had always wanted him to be, even as he had secretly prepared for his return to France as a skilled soldier.

Oh, not as a traditional warrior who could wave around a pointy sword or shoot a man at twenty paces. There were always fools who could be taught to march in line and use a weapon without killing himself. But instead he had honed his talent in manipulating people, discovering that those about him could be used like pawns upon a chessboard with the proper incentives. It was only a matter of finding each individual weakness and exploiting it.

The world might condemn his sly scheming as beneath a true gentleman, but he had been indifferent to the censure. It was a supposedly honorable gentleman who had attempted to rape his mother and sent his father to his death.

And there was no arguing with the success of his efforts. By the time he had arrived in Paris he had mastered his talent in coercion, with a dozen high-ranking Englishmen dangling on his strings to show for it.

Including Mr. Harry Richardson.

Much to his annoyance, however, he found the Earl of Ashcombe was impervious to his attempts at manip
ulation. The arrogant bastard was too stubborn to be so easily led.

Not that he intended to concede defeat. He shifted his attention to the loaded pistol trained at his chest. Gabriel’s glare silently dared him to attempt an escape so he could have reason to shoot.

For all of Gabriel’s conceit, he was not nearly so certain of his decision to expose Harry as a traitor as he desired Jacques to believe. With the proper prodding, even this pigheaded man could be convinced to change his mind.

Unfortunately, his subtle assault was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a high whistle that came from the shore below the cliff.

Gabriel squared his shoulders, his expression one of bleak intent.

“Hugo has arrived with the boat.”

He gave a small wave of the pistol, and Jacques grudgingly moved back into the clearing. His gaze instinctively sought out Sophia who remained standing with rigid fear several feet from the others.

An answering fear clenched Jacques’s heart.

A tense promise of violence vibrated through the air as he came to a halt, and he cast a covert glance toward the nearby trees. He could not see his guards, but he could sense their increasingly restless presence. What would happen when Gabriel attempted to force him down the cliff?

He shivered at the looming potential for chaos.

Perhaps echoing his thoughts, Gabriel backed toward the edge of the cliff, briefly turning his attention toward his wife.

“Talia, you go down first.” When there was no re
sponse to his command, Gabriel swallowed his pride and sent her a desperate glance. “Please.”

Talia hesitated, clearly torn between an instinctual urge to protect her husband and the knowledge that he could not give his full attention to the lurking soldiers so long as she was near.

“Fine.”

Talia stiffly turned to make her way slowly down the cliff. There was an uncomfortable silence until they at last heard Hugo’s whistle to indicate Lady Ashcombe had reached the boat. Then Gabriel glanced toward his brother who was nervously aiming his pistol toward the nearby trees. Jacques held his breath, knowing it would take very little for the twitchy dandy to be startled into firing his weapon.

“Harry, you will be next.”

The younger man scowled at the sharp command. “We are not alone.”

“I see them,” Gabriel assured his brother. “Get to the boat.”

Harry shook his head. “No. You take Jacques and I will keep them at bay.”

Jacques gave a startled laugh. “
Sacré bleu.
Is it possible that the worm has at last acquired a spine?”

The two brothers ignored him as they glared at one another in growing frustration.

“Harry, do as I say,” Gabriel snapped.

Harry jutted his chin, looking strangely older in the faint wash of dawn.

“Not on this occasion,” Harry said, his expression set in stubborn lines.

“Dammit…” Gabriel gave a frustrated shake of his head before turning his attention to Jacques. “Come.”

A prickle of unease raced over Jacques’s skin as he
glanced toward Sophia. It felt as if they were standing on top of a powder keg, and that the slightest move might set off a fatal explosion.

He did not fear for himself. God knew that he had been courting an early grave since he’d tossed his lot in with Napoleon. He had long ago made peace with the notion he might never live long enough to witness the end of the war.

But the torturous thought of Sophia being put at risk tightened his chest until it was impossible to breathe.

He held up a warning hand as she took a hesitant step in his direction.

“Sophia, remain where you are,” he rasped. “You will be safe.”

Her dark eyes flashed with the passion he had taken for granted far too long.

“I do not want to be safe, I want to be with you.”

“
Non,
Sophia do not—”

As if her movement had triggered the brewing storm, there was a sharp staccato of weapons being fired from behind the nearest trees.

Panic slammed through Jacques as he launched himself forward and knocked Sophia to the ground, covering her slender body with his own.

“Arrêtez,”
he shouted, hearing the sound of Gabriel and Harry returning fire. Then as a bullet flew past his face close enough to singe his ear, he waved an arm in the air. “
Mon dieu.
Cease your fire, you idiots.”

A thick silence abruptly descended, the air filled with the acrid stench of gunpowder. Jacques risked a quick glance over his shoulder to watch as Harry clutched his chest and sank to the ground, Gabriel falling to his knees beside his wounded brother.

It was now or never, Jacques realized as he rose to his feet and grasped Sophia’s hand to pull her upright.

“This way,” a French soldier called from the distance.

Jacques took a step forward but faltered as Sophia stumbled and nearly fell.

“Sophia,” he breathed in fear, wrapping protective arms around her. “Were you hit?”

“It is only my ankle,” she breathed, pressing her hands against his chest. “Go ahead, the Englishmen will not harm me.”

“Foolish female,” he muttered as he scooped her off her feet.

“Jacques,” Sophia protested, attempting to wiggle out of his arms.

“
Non,
do not struggle,” he commanded as he charged toward the trees, half expecting a bullet to pierce his back with every step.

“But…”

“Shh.”

He refused to acknowledge her frustrated glare, keeping his gaze trained straight ahead. Did the silly fool truly believe he would leave her behind?

Reaching the edge of the small clearing, Jacques waded through the thicket of underbrush that ripped at his pantaloons and ruined the gloss of his boots. At last he entered the narrow band of trees, and one of the soldiers stepped forward to offer a shallow bow.

“I will need your horse,” he informed the young soldier who looked barely old enough to be out of the nursery.

“Of course.”

Obeying with admirable eagerness, the soldier darted deeper into the trees before he reappeared, leading a
chestnut mare by the reins. Two mounted soldiers followed behind them, both as young as the first.

“Do you wish us to capture the English swine?” a dark-haired soldier demanded, his avid expression revealing his innocence. A man who had killed another was never eager to repeat the experience. “
Non.
We could not reach them without casualties, and we shall soon be outmanned by Ashcombe’s crew.” With one smooth motion, he lifted Sophia into the saddle of the waiting horse, then sliding one foot into the stirrup, he grasped the horn and pulled himself up to swing his leg over the horse and settle behind her. The mare skittered to one side, but with a firm hold on the reins he swiftly brought her back under control. “We will return to Calais and alert the soldiers. They can send a warship in pursuit.”

“As you command.”

The dark-haired soldier did not bother to hide his disappointment, but trained to obey his superiors, he gave a nod of his head and turned to urge his horse toward the path leading back to Calais.

Jacques waited as the second mounted soldier paused to allow his compatriot to leap onto the saddle behind him and disappeared into the trees before he urged his own horse into a steady trot.

“Hold on tight,
ma belle,
” he murmured, not bothering to glance behind him.

To hell with the Earl of Ashcombe and his damnable brother. If there was any justice the pair of them would drown on their journey back to England.

“Forgive me, Jacques.” A soft female voice broke into his pleasant imaginings of Gabriel sinking to the bottom of the Channel.

With a frown he glanced down, studying the regret that darkened Sophia’s eyes.

“Forgive you?”

“This entire…” she searched for the proper word “…debacle is my fault.”

Debacle was an apt description, Jacques had to ruefully agree, but there was no one to blame but himself.

“What is your fault?”

“I should never have assisted Lord and Lady Ashcombe in escaping from the palace.”

With gentle care he cradled her against his chest, savoring the beauty of her pale face in the cresting dawn.

“That is in the past,” he assured her. “We will not speak of it again.”

“And tonight?” she persisted, almost as if she needed to punish herself. “If I had not intruded, they would not have been allowed to escape yet again.”

The path led them beyond the trees and between the rolling fields that were bathed in a glistening dew.

“You were concerned for me.”

“Only in part.” She heaved a sigh. “I knew you were in your private chambers with Talia and when I heard the sound of crashing glass I used it as an excuse to interrupt. I was afraid…”

“And you were afraid of what?” he prompted as her words faltered.

“I was afraid that you intended to take her to your bed.”

“And you thought you could prevent the seduction?”

“I was not thinking,” she professed huskily. “I was following my poor heart that could not bear the thought of you with another.”

He slowed the pace of his mount at her unexpected confession. The beautiful actress had always been suc
cessful in keeping her feelings hidden even as she pandered to his needs. Now he found himself instinctively shying from the emotions that smoldered in her dark eyes.

“Sophia.”

She averted her face to stare at the passing fields, effectively hiding her expression.

“I know you do not wish to be burdened with my unwanted affections, Jacques.” The words were so low he could barely catch them. “But I very nearly lost you this evening and I could not bear the thought of you dying without knowing that I love you.”

“I…” He shifted in the saddle, shying from her blunt confession. “We will discuss this later,” he muttered.

He felt her stiffen in his arms. “There is no need for discussion,
chérie.
”

But Jacques found himself annoyed by the stark resignation that hardened her profile. A preference to discuss such a…delicate subject in the comfort of his home rather than on the back of a horse when they were both so weary was considerably different than hoping to ignore it altogether.

“Are you so certain?”

“Oui.”
She turned back to meet his gaze, understandably confused by his unpredictable reactions. “I comprehend that I have overstepped the boundaries of our liaison.”

“I was not aware our liaison had boundaries.”

Her brows jerked together. “Do not mock me, Jacques.”

“That was not my intent—”

“A courtesan’s first lesson is never to allow her emotions to become entangled,” she interrupted, a faint color staining her cheeks. “Gentlemen seek our companionship for pleasure, not duty.”

Duty? His blood heated at the mere thought of their time together.

Both in and out of bed.

“Well, it is certainly true that I have never considered you a duty,
ma belle,
” he said wryly.

Her expression remained bleak. “And you never shall.” She tilted her chin. “It was not my place to interfere in your relationship with Talia. She is obviously a lady of quality and if you desire to claim her as your own then I shall wish you happiness.”

“Will you? You do not sound particularly happy,” he teased softly.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Please, Jacques.”

“No tears, Sophia,” he commanded gruffly, startled by her vulnerable state.

Over the years he had become accustomed to females who sought to sway him with tears and tantrums, but never, ever Sophia.

“There are no tears,” she ridiculously denied. “I never cry.”

Tenderness surged through him as he studied the female who snuggled against his chest, her dark hair spilling over his arm that he had circled around her shoulders. She appeared oddly fragile.

“Another lesson of courtesans?”

She blinked, giving a delicate sniff.
“Oui.”

“I have no desire to claim Talia,
ma belle,
” he said, realizing as he said the words that they were true. He had enjoyed the thought of rescuing Talia from the cruel hands of her neglectful husband. And savoring the knowledge that he was striking a painful blow at the English nobles by stealing a countess from beneath their arrogant noses. But his heart had already been stolen by another. “I have no desire to claim any woman but you.”

She flinched, almost as if he had slapped her. “Do not say such a thing.”

He barely noticed as they trailed ever farther behind his guards, the steady hoofbeats the only sound to stir the early-morning air.

Was the female being deliberately difficult?

She had just professed her love for him, had she not?

Now that he had admitted to his own desire, she was behaving as if he had threatened to drown her in the nearest well.

“Even if it is the truth?” he growled.