Bride for a Night

CHAPTER TWELVE



SOPHIA WAS SEATED at the vanity, lazily pulling a brush through her damp curls, when the door to her private bedchamber was thrust open, banging with loud emphasis against the wall.

She barely flinched.

Despite the apprehension that had plagued her since leaving her bed, she had forced herself to follow her usual routine. She had enjoyed a cup of coffee while skimming through a letter from an acquaintance in Paris. She had chosen the gown she desired to be ironed by her maid, then there had been a hot bath before she had pulled on a gossamer dressing gown and began preparing for the day.


All the while she had been bracing herself for this confrontation.

Which was why she was able to calmly set aside her brush as Jacques stormed into the room, his face tight with fury.

“Did you think I would not discover your betrayal?” he accused.

Sophia rose to her feet with elegant composure. Absently she noted her companion’s black jacket and the dove-gray waistcoat that was fitted with tailored perfection to his lean body. His black pantaloons clung to his thighs before being hidden beneath his tall boots that held the gloss of the finest leather. He was, as always, breathtakingly beautiful.

“Non,” she answered, her husky voice the only indication of her unease. “I was fully aware you would learn of my visit to the Earl of Ashcombe.”

“More than a visit.” He stepped close enough for her to catch the light scent of bay water that clung to his skin. “You assisted him in escaping.”

Her sharp, humorless laugh filled the vast room. “Unfortunately I can take little credit for his release. It was your precious Talia who proved to be the true heroine.”

He stilled, regarding her with a hint of surprise. “You are jealous of her?”

Stupid man. Did he truly not realize the torture he was forcing her to endure?

“Naturellement.”

With a jerky movement, Sophia crossed the Savonnerie carpet that matched the pale lavender satin wall panels and the cream curtains that framed the tall windows. There was a large walnut bed set in the center of the room with a scrolled armoire and vanity along one wall. Sophia halted near the oval table that held a collection of tiny miniatures and aimlessly studied one of a cherubic child with wide blue eyes and an innocent smile. Her hand instinctively lifted to her empty womb.

“She is young, beautiful, courageous and yet tragically vulnerable,” she explained. “She is the sort of woman who men die for.”

“A pity her husband will not be so obliging,” Jacques muttered.

“His death will not give you what you desire, you know.”

“You are wrong. I desire very much for Talia to be a widow.”

She pressed a hand to her aching heart, turning to meet his stubborn glare.

“I witnessed the earl and his countess together, Jacques.”

He shrugged. “And?”

“She is desperately in love with him.”

His eyes flashed with annoyance. “Impossible. The bastard abandoned her mere hours after their wedding. She would never be so foolish as to offer such an arrogant pig her affection.”

A derisive smile tugged at her lips. “Women are renowned for offering unworthy men their affection.”

“He considers her beneath him. How could he possibly make her happy?”

“You could not be more mistaken,” she said softly. “I have seen the manner Lord Ashcombe stares at his wife. He is enchanted by her.” An unwelcome stab of envy made her shiver. “Just as every other man appears to be.”

A silence greeted her bitter words, then with slow, deliberate steps, Jacques prowled toward her.

“Why did you allow the prisoners to escape?”

Sophia’s heart fluttered. Merde. Why had she ever been foolish enough to allow her emotions to become entangled? Until Jacques, she had managed to walk away from her various affairs unscathed. Now…

Now she felt as raw and vulnerable as if her soul had been stripped bare.

“They were dangerous,” she murmured.

He grasped her shoulders, his expression hard. “They were worth a large fortune that we desperately need.”

“There was no certainty you would have received a ransom for the earl,” she argued, refusing to apologize. “He is, after all, a favorite of the prince. It is more likely we would have discovered an alarming number of British soldiers laying siege to the Palace.”

His eyes narrowed. “And Talia?”

“She distracted you from what is important.”

“From you?

“From your pledge to Napoleon.”

Disbelieving fury darkened his eyes. “You dare to speak to me of loyalty to our emperor after your betrayal?”

“I do not consider avoiding an unnecessary skirmish with the British army a betrayal.”

“And do you consider the theft of the small tokens that have ensured the loyalty of Mr. Richardson as betrayal?”

She flinched, abruptly lowering her head to hide her guilty flush. She had not expected him to realize the extent of her treachery so swiftly.

“What do you wish me to say?”

His hand shifted to cup her chin, gently forcing her face upward to meet his searching gaze. “The truth.”

“The truth is that I desired Lady Ashcombe to disappear from France, and releasing her husband seemed the most efficient means of accomplishing my goal,” she answered with a blunt honesty that caught them both off guard. “Are you satisfied?”

For the briefest of moments Jacques’s expression seemed to soften, and a fragile hope swelled in her heart. There was surely a hint of the affection he had once showered upon her lurking in the back of his beautiful eyes? Even perhaps a guilt for having hurt her.

Then, just as swiftly, his anger returned, and he stepped back with a sharp motion.

“Non,” he said harshly. “I am far from satisfied. Your selfishness has threatened to expose our greatest treasure in battling the British. I cannot allow Ashcombe to reach England.”

Disappointment lodged like a lead ball in the pit of her stomach.

“Harry Richardson cannot be a treasure if he is hiding in France.” Her voice was dull as she struggled against the horrid realization that she had taken a risk and lost it all. “Indeed, he is nothing more than a liability.”

He shrugged. “Once I have captured Ashcombe, then his brother can return to London and seek out a new spy in the Home Office.”

“The British government is already aware they have traitors in their midst.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling chilled despite the warm summer breeze blowing through the open window. “If Harry makes a sudden reappearance in London without his distinguished brother, do you not think it will be suspicious?”

“We will devise a believable story that will divert attention long enough to acquire the information we need so France will be victorious.”

She shook her head. “No, it is too late. Lord Ashcombe escaped hours ago.” She did not say the name that hung between the two of them—Talia—or the fact that Jacques’s determination to capture the prisoners had more to do with his frantic need to rescue Lady Ashcombe than to return Harry to London. It was like a barrier that rose between them. “You cannot possibly catch him now.”

“I will not have to catch him. I intend to be waiting for him.” His gaze flicked over her tense expression. “And you made it possible, ma belle.”

Sophia frowned in wary confusion. “Comment?”

“I am willing to wager that beyond revealing young Harry’s role as my cohort, you also shared the fact that he is currently residing in Calais,” he drawled.

She forced herself to meet his gaze with a proud indifference that masked her churning emotions.

“So what if I did?”

“The honorable Earl of Ashcombe will not be able to resist the compulsion to track down his brother and attempt to salvage his soul from the evil French,” he said and sneered.

“Lord Ashcombe is not stupid,” she protested. “I believe we all know that Harry Richardson is beyond salvation.”


“Then he will wish to wring his worthless neck,” Jacques said, offering her a shallow bow before heading toward the door. “In either event he will not leave France without finding his brother. When he does, he shall once again be my prisoner.”

Standing in the center of her bedchamber, Sophia allowed scalding tears to track down her cheeks for the first time in thirty years.



TALIA WAS UNCERTAIN how long she lay entangled in Gabriel’s arms, and in truth she did not try to keep track. It was enough to float in the sweet glow of contentment as the storm overhead faded in fury and at last passed.

She should perhaps regret giving herself with such eagerness to Gabriel, she acknowledged with a sigh. He had, after all, proven to be a miserable husband who had insulted her, abandoned her and overall treated her with a shocking lack of respect.

And she was far from forgiving him.

But in truth, she was too content to stir up the necessary remorse.

It was not the fact he had rushed to France in an attempt to save her, she hastily assured herself. Or that he had done everything in his power to see to her comfort despite their rough surroundings.

She was not so weak as to be swayed into believing this man had genuine concern for her. Such thoughts could only lead to disappointment. And God knew, she had endured enough disappointment for a lifetime.

But she was female enough to appreciate the touch of a skilled lover. And since she was expected to share the bed of her husband regardless of her own feelings, why not enjoy what he offered?

All very logical until his clever fingers brushed along the curve of her waist, sending a jolt of anticipation shivering through her body.

Meeting his silver gaze, Talia felt more than mere desire stirring deep within her. The dangerous warmth spoke of emotions that were best destroyed before they could break her heart.

“The rain has stopped,” she struggled to choke out.

He chuckled softly, his hand boldly cupping her breast and allowing his thumb to tease at her sensitive nipple.

“Has it?”

She shifted her gaze to the shuttered windows, attempting to ignore the pleasure coiling through the pit of her stomach at each stroke of his thumb.

“Yes.” She swallowed a low moan, lowering her eyes to meet his smoldering gaze. “Should we not be leaving?”

A stark, haunting pain rippled over his beautiful features before he was determinedly lowering his head to nuzzle a line of kisses along her collarbone.

“No doubt we should,” he murmured, his breath sending prickles of pleasure over the upper curve of her breast.

Talia threaded her fingers through his hair and attempted to bring a halt to his caresses before she became utterly lost in his exquisite seduction.

There was something Gabriel was attempting to hide from her. Something that was clearly causing him great distress.

“Gabriel,” she said when he ignored her tugs on his hair.

“Hmm?”

“What is troubling you?”

He traced the tip of her breast with his tongue. “At the moment, nothing.”

“But…” Talia bit off her words, grimly accepting the unpalatable truth that while Gabriel might be willing to share his passion, he obviously still found her an unworthy confidante. And why should he? He had, after all, made it quite clear that their marriage was nothing more than a necessary evil. She swallowed the stupid lump that was lodged in her throat. “Never mind.”

Lifting his head, Gabriel gazed down at her with a sudden frown.

“A typical female response that is intended to ensure that I do mind.”

She stiffened, offended by his unfair accusation. “I do not play such games. If you do not wish to share your thoughts, then so be it.”

A hint of color flared along his cheekbones, but braced for a scathing response, Talia was unprepared as Gabriel surged to his feet, roughly shoving his fingers through his hair.

“Have you considered the notion that I might wish to escape from my thoughts for a while?”

His voice was low, but she did not miss the edge of raw distress. Thrusting aside her ingrained modesty, Talia ignored the fact they were both stark naked and lifted herself off the wooden floor to stand directly before him.

Lightly she touched his arm. “Is it possible to escape from your thoughts?”

Without warning he wrapped his arms around her waist, hauling her against his body with a tormented urgency.

“It depends upon the distraction,” he rasped, his lips moving in a tender caress over her temple and down her cheek, until he reached the corner of her mouth. It was then that he realized she remained stiff in his arms, her hands pressed against his chest, not in denial but not in welcome. Yanking back his head, he regarded her with a simmering frustration. “Damnation. Why do I feel as if I am being managed?”

She tilted her chin. “I told you, I do not—”

“For a female who does not play games you are remarkably good at them,” he interrupted in sharp tones, then sensing how easily he had wounded her, he heaved a sigh and pressed his forehead to hers. “Forgive me, Talia. You are right, I am troubled.”

Talia carefully considered her words, unwilling to destroy this fragile moment.

“Do you fear that we will not be able to escape the French?” she at last inquired.

A brief flare of amusement shimmered in his eyes. “Are you attempting to be insulting?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. You may be assured I shall have you safely aboard my ship by nightfall,” he drawled.

“Then what is it?”

There was a tense silence as he fought against his in-bred instinct to deal with his troubles on his own. He had devoted a lifetime to shouldering responsibilities and protecting others. It would never be easy for him to share.

Wisely, Talia forced herself to wait, knowing he would only retreat if she pressed him.

Eventually he lifted his head, although he kept his arms wrapped around her, as if he needed the warmth of her body snuggled close.

“I discovered information concerning my brother that I have not yet managed to accept,” he confessed, his voice hoarse.

Her mouth went dry with horror. “Dear lord, he is not—”

“No,” he hastily interrupted, his expression impossible to read. “He enjoys the unjust health of most sinners, so far as I know.” His jaw clenched. “Indeed, I have learned he is currently residing in Calais.”

“Calais?” Talia blinked in confusion. “Calais, France?”

He gave a sharp nod. “Yes.”

“That’s absurd. What would he be doing in Calais?”

“Avoiding the men whom I sent in pursuit of him, for one thing. And for another…” He grimaced in disgust.

Talia lifted a hand to lightly touch his cheek. “Gabriel?”

A bleak emotion darkened his silver eyes, sending a chill of foreboding down Talia’s spine.

“For another he is attempting to fleece Jacques Gerard for the funds necessary to continue his extravagant lifestyle in France.”

Harry and Jacques were acquainted? It would be natural when they were in Devonshire, although Talia could not imagine Harry ever wishing to become friendly with a vicar, even if he did reside on his family’s estate. But they were in France, and if Harry knew that Jacques was here, then he must also know that he was a spy.

Which would mean…she cut off the thought before it could fully form.

“I do not understand.”

“I wish to hell I did not,” Gabriel muttered. “Harry is a traitor.”

Even with a suspicion of what was coming, Talia reeled from the shocking announcement.


“No.” She pulled away, shaking her head in denial. “It cannot be.”

As if predicting her disbelief, Gabriel was already moving to pull out a folded note from his jacket, shoving it into her hand. “Here.”

It took only a moment to skim through the signed confession, her heart sinking with every word. Dear lord, she had always thought Harry weak, but this…

She handed the note back to Gabriel with a dreary expression. “How could he do such a thing?”

“I have no answer,” Gabriel said bleakly. “Harry has always been spoiled by my mother, but so are any number of noblemen and they do not become spies.”

“Not you,” she said before she could halt the words.

He lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

She wrapped her arms over her breasts, feeling oddly exposed.

“You were not overindulged,” she reluctantly clarified.

Gabriel gently draped his jacket around her shoulders, tucking it around her body.

“No, when I was not at school I was expected to spend my days with my father to learn the duties of an earl,” he agreed without a hint of regret at having been denied a childhood. Indeed, his expression softened with obvious fondness at the mention of his father. “My earliest memories are leading a team of mules through a field while my father helped the tenants toss hay onto the cart they pulled.”

She studied him. Truly studied him. The fallen-angel beauty of his face. The elegance of his body. The power he carried with such ease. And the confidence of a man who had been adored his entire life.

The sight reminded her of her earlier belief that Harry had lived his entire life in Gabriel’s shadow.

“Harry never joined you?”

Gabriel gave a lift of one shoulder. “He had no interest in the estates, only in the luxury they provided for him.”

“Or perhaps he resented your close relationship with your father,” she cautiously suggested. “It would explain why your mother was so eager to overindulge him.”

He instantly bristled. “My father was not to blame for Harry’s treachery.”

“Of course not,” she soothed. “But Harry’s resentment might have begun at an early age and been encouraged by your remarkable popularity among society.” She smiled wryly. “You do, after all, put most gentlemen in the shade.”

“And so now it is my fault?” he demanded, his expression caught between annoyance and pure male vanity.

“No.” She shook her head. “We all have burdens to bear from our childhood. For some, it makes them stronger, for others…” She clutched the jacket tighter, trying to disguise her horror at the evil that must infect Harry to allow him to betray his own country. Gabriel was suffering enough without her making him feel worse. “They use their past as an excuse to remain weak.”

He gave a restless shrug. “It no longer matters why he has chosen his path.”

“I suppose that is true.” She regarded him with concern. “The question is…”

“What I intend to do with him.”

“Yes.”

The pain returned to his face as he folded her back into his arms, laying his cheek on top of her head.

“I do not know,” he admitted. “There is no good solution.”

Well, that was certainly an understatement.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head over the steady beat of his heart, wishing she had the words to offer him comfort.

“I am sorry, Gabriel.”

His fingers threaded through her hair in an absent caress. “If he is tried and found guilty, the scandal will not only tarnish the Ashcombe name for generations to come, but it will destroy my mother.”

“Must his guilt be revealed?” she demanded softly.

She felt him shudder, his hands slipping beneath the jacket, seeking the warmth of her skin.

“Even if I could live with the shame of protecting my family at the cost of my country, such things have a way of being exposed,” he said harshly. “Indeed, I am shocked that Harry was capable of keeping his sins hidden for so long. He has never been discreet.”

An icy sense of premonition lodged in the pit of her stomach, although she had no need of foresight to know that having to expose his brother as a traitor would break something vital within Gabriel.

“Then allow fate to take its course,” she coaxed. “You need not be the one responsible to decide which it will be.”

His chest expanded beneath her head as he drew in a deep breath.

“I have always been responsible for my brother.”

She pulled back her head to regard him with a strained smile, not forgetting that she was yet another burden he had been forced to shoulder for his brother.

“Yes, I am well aware of the sacrifices you are willing to make for Harry.”

Braced for his ready agreement, Talia’s heart leaped as his eyes instead darkened to smoke, sending a breathless thrill singing through her.

“Some are not so burdensome as others,” he said lowly.

This time she made no protest as his mouth lightly teased over her cheek before settling on her lips.

Perhaps she could not ease his troubles or prevent the looming disaster, but for the moment she could give Gabriel a few moments of distraction.

Closing her mind to the bittersweet emotions tugging at her heart, Talia shrugged off the jacket, allowing it to slide to the ground as she wound her arms around his neck.

Even knowing that every moment spent with Gabriel was destined to entangle her stupid heart ever more tightly, she could not deny his need that she could feel with every burning kiss and every stroke of his hand.

In return she offered an eager response that made him groan with approval, gathering her close as he lowered her onto the hay-strewn floor.

“Talia…” he whispered, gazing down at her with a vulnerability that seared away any lingering barriers she tried to place between them. “My beautiful gypsy.”

She smiled wryly at his husky words. “You call me such charming names,” she said. “Mouse…shrew…gypsy…”

“Wife,” he added softly, bending down to claim her lips in a kiss of raw need.

The simple word made something shift deep inside her, and, desperate to divert her mind from the dangerous emotions, she focused on the sensation of his hands gliding down her back. Arching closer to the heat of his body, she explored the hard planes of his chest, smiling as she felt the vibrations of his groan beneath her palms.

She might never have Gabriel’s heart, but his body was eager to belong to her.

Refusing to consider how many other women had known him just as intimately in the past and how many were yet to know him in the future, Talia tilted back her head as he nibbled a path of kisses down the sensitive line of her throat.

For the moment he was hers. Completely and utterly.

His mouth traced the curve of her breast before he captured the tip of her nipple between his lips, making her gasp in sharp pleasure.

“Yes,” she muttered in approval.

Continuing to pleasure her, Gabriel reached to grasp her hand, guiding it down to his straining erection.

Talia paused, feeling oddly shy. Then, curiosity overcame her modesty, and with a hesitant touch she curled her fingers around his hard length.

Gabriel muttered a low curse as she stroked from the tip to the wider base, taking time to discover the soft pouch beneath his erection before stroking upward.

“Christ,” he breathed, his hand shifting to part her legs. “You have only to touch me and I am lost.”


He was not the only one lost, she acknowledged as his hand sought the heart of her femininity that was already damp with her aching need. A moan wrenched from her throat as a slender finger dipped into the heat of her body, her hips instinctively lifting in silent invitation.

Oh, yes. Her eyes fluttered shut. Already she could feel the delectable pressure beginning to build in the center of her womb, and her fingers tightened on his arousal making him moan in pleasure.

“Wait, Talia,” he pleaded, covering her hand.

She frowned. “Wait?”

“My control is not as impervious as I had so arrogantly assumed,” he murmured, his lips teasing along the line of her shoulder as he gently turned her to lie on her side.

“Gabriel?” she breathed in confusion.

“I promise to please you,” he said, his lips brushing her ear as he molded himself against her back.

Talia did not doubt Gabriel’s skill. How could she when her entire body trembled on the precipice of bliss? But she found herself floundering as he gently tugged her leg up and over his hip.

Surely this could not be right?

Of course, the feel of his lips nuzzling at the curve of her neck was delectable, and his hands were expertly exploring her full breasts, tugging her nipples into full arousal before they were sliding down her body with wicked intent.

She swallowed a gasp as his fingers slid between her legs, parting her most intimate flesh. Then with exquisite slowness he pressed his erection deep into her moist channel.

“Oh…lord.”

She struggled to form her words only to have them evaporate entirely when his fingers discovered the center of her pleasure, and he stroked her in tempo with his shallow thrusts.

“Do you want more, Talia?”

More? She whimpered, not certain she could bear more without shattering into a thousand pieces. Then he shifted the angle of his thrusts, plunging deeper, and she reached backward to dig her nails into the muscles of his hip.

“Yes, please, yes.”

The rasp of their heavy breaths filled the air along with the scent of hay and passion. Talia squeezed her eyes shut, her body moving to meet his thrusts with increasing urgency.

“Talia,” he groaned, his hips slamming upward as his seed poured into her, triggering her own release.

She cried out in ecstasy, indifferent to their rough surroundings or the dangers that waited just outside the door.

For now nothing mattered beyond the feel of Gabriel’s arms wrapped around her and the wild beat of his heart against her back.

Keeping her eyes closed, Talia oddly thought of her grandmother, and how she would have assured Talia to live in the moment.

They were, after all, two people alone in the world, brought together by a quirk of fate and yet, somehow destined to have arrived at this precise place.

Why try to deny what was meant to be?