Bride for a Night

CHAPTER FOURTEEN



LIKE MANY HARBOR TOWNS Calais had endured its share of invasions.

Julius Caesar had occupied the city to launch his invasion of England. The British King Edward III had laid siege for nearly a year in 1346, starving the city into surrender. And the Spanish had claimed ownership in the late 1500s. But while each conquest had left its mark, the city remained a simple fishing village at heart, with its own unique charm.

Confined within its yellowed walls, the town faced the waiting sea with a vast pier lined with fishing boats and a heavy fortress complete with a drawbridge.

Gabriel moved through the narrow streets, past the Place d’Armes in the center of town, barely noting the black watchtower, or the old town hall as he studied the small houses with their white shutters and the occasional cafés that were filled with French soldiers. The night air was filled with distant chimes and the sound of laughter, the moonlight illuminating the stone archway as he turned onto the Rue de Guise.

It was all very quaint, but hardly the sort of peaceful setting to attract his brother. He needed to discover the less savory part of town.

Almost on cue a ragged street urchin darted from the shadows, clearly intent on picking his pocket. With ease, Gabriel grabbed the boy, who could not have been more than twelve, by the collar of his woolen coat, lifting him off his feet so they were eye to eye.

“Your name,” he growled in French, taking an inventory of the too-thin body and filthy, though intelligent little face. “And do not even consider lying unless you wish me to turn you over to the authorities.”

There was a pause as the boy studied him with a shrewd gaze that was far too knowing for his tender age. Then, clearly accepting that Gabriel was not a pervert with a taste for young boys, he regarded him with a defiant expression.

“Armand.”

“Armand, I have a small task for you.”

He narrowed his pale brown eyes.

“What sort of task?”

Within moments Gabriel had described his brother in detail as well as his usual preference of entertainment. Then, pulling several coins from his pocket as a promised reward, he sent Armand dashing through the streets. The boy was obviously well acquainted with the seedier sections of Calais and would be capable of tracking down Harry far more easily than Gabriel.

Standing in the shadows as he waited for Armand’s return, Gabriel briefly allowed his thoughts to stray to Talia.

By now she should be well on her way to England. Had she realized yet he was not aboard the yacht? And if she had, was she anxious at his absence? Or was she secretly pleased to be rid of her bully of a husband?

The thought made him frown, even as he told himself he was being an idiot.

Had Talia not risked her own life to rescue him from Jacques Gerard’s cellars? And had she not responded with a ready urgency to his touch?

She might not have forgiven or forgotten the less than favorable beginning of their marriage, but she had obviously accepted him as her husband.

What more did he desire?

Dismissing the odd ache in the center of his heart, Gabriel returned his attention to his dark surroundings. He would deal with his wife when he returned to England, for tonight he had enough to occupy his mind.

Prepared when the French lad abruptly darted from a nearby alley, Gabriel stepped from the shadows.

“You have found him?”

The boy gave a sharp nod. “Follow me.”

Gabriel grasped Armand’s arm before he could dart away, his expression grim with warning.

“Take care, Armand. I am not a pigeon ripe for plucking.”

“Non, monsieur.” The boy’s expression of innocence was obviously rehearsed, but there was no mistaking the hint of genuine alarm in his brown eyes. “You have my word of honor.”

Releasing his grip, Gabriel gave a nod of his head. “Then let us be on our way.”

Armand led him past the old church where King Richard II had wed Isabelle of Valois and beyond the spacious steeply roofed Hotel Dessein with its elegant facade that catered to the more respectable visitors.

The farther from the center of town they traveled the narrower the streets and the shabbier the buildings until at last Armand slowed his rapid pace and Gabriel caught sight of the English-style building with hexagonal turrets and an inner courtyard where a number of drunken coxcombs mingled among the brightly lit gaming tables. Beyond the courtyard the open doors revealed a gaudily decorated salon. A number of females were temptingly posed to entice the gentlemen who had grown tired of the cards and dice and preferred a more intimate entertainment.

Cautiously, Gabriel inched toward the opening to the courtyard. He remained hidden in the shadows as Armand pointed toward the familiar young gentleman with tousled brown hair and pale eyes that were already glazed by drink.

Harry.

“Voilà,” Armand breathed, a cocky smile curving his lips.


Gabriel briefly studied his brother who was elegantly attired in a gold jacket and a black waistcoat embroidered with golden thread, his blood running cold at Harry’s nonchalant comfort among the French dandies.

Did he have no shame whatsoever?

Bridling his urge to rush into the courtyard and drag his brother from the bordel, he instead forced himself to turn toward the lad at his side.

“Is there another entrance?”

“This way.”

With a familiarity that made Gabriel wonder how much time Armand spent with the local whores, the boy led him along the stone wall that surrounded the property, pausing at a narrow wooden door.

Waiting for Gabriel’s nod, Armand pushed open the door and led him into a private garden with a perfect view of the courtyard.

“Will this do?” he asked.

“It will do very well.” Gabriel pulled out a fistful of coins and pressed them into the boy’s hand. “It is late, return to your home, Armand.”

“Merci, monsieur,” Armand breathed, his expression stunned at the small fortune. “Merci.”

“Straight home,” he commanded, shaking his head as the boy offered a cheeky grin and dashed through the door.

Accepting that there was nothing he could do for Armand, he turned to study his brother through the trellis.

He had managed to track down Harry, but now what? No matter what his fury, he was not stupid enough to create a scene when there were a few thousand French soldiers camped just outside the walls of the city.

Then again, he had no desire to stand in a damp garden for the entire night, waiting for his brother to grow weary of his entertainments and return to his lodgings.

Brooding on a possible means to lure his brother from the newly introduced La Roulette, Gabriel was slow to react when a slender form appeared from the stone steps behind him.

“Ah, bonjour,” a husky female voice murmured.

Gabriel reached beneath his jacket for his loaded pistol, and smoothly turned to confront the vixen behind him. Her curls were the color of summer wheat tumbling over her shoulders left bare by a sheer robe. Her features were delicately drawn and her hazel eyes charming, if one ignored the calculating manner they slid over the strange man standing in her garden. With one glance Gabriel was confident that she knew the precise worth of his wine jacket and ivory waistcoat that had been perfectly sculpted to his body and the small fortune needed to purchase the ruby sparkling in the folds of his cravat.

“You are in need of companionship?” A smile curved her lips as she ran a finger along her plunging neckline, drawing attention to the tempting curve of her breasts. “I am Monique.”

“Non,” he impatiently declined, only to realize the lovely female was precisely the bait he needed to attract his prey. “Wait, Monique.”

Turning back, the woman approached him with a smile of pure invitation.

“You have changed your mind?” she purred, her hands skimming over his jacket. “You will not regret your purchase.”

He lightly grasped her wrists, preventing her skillful touch from heading ever lower.

“I have a small task I wish you to perform.”

Her chuckle was perfectly pitched to stir a man’s deepest fantasies.

Or at least most men, he ruefully corrected.

He had already discovered that his interest in women, no matter how lovely or talented they might be, had been restricted to dark-haired gypsies with emerald eyes.

“I shall be pleased to perform any tasks you desire.”

“That will not be necessary,” he said, firmly putting her at a distance.

Her smile never faltered as her hands shifted to the velvet ribbon that held her nearly transparent gown together.

“You prefer that I…”

“No,” he hastily reached to grasp her hand before she was standing stark naked.

She frowned. “Then what do you desire?”

With a tug on her hand, he positioned her near the trellis, pointing his finger at his brother.

“Do you see the young gentleman standing near the roulette table?”

“Monsieur Richardson?”

His jaw clenched at her ready recognition. Obviously Harry was a regular customer.

“Yes.”

“Of course.” She tossed him a smug smile. “He has often wished to spend time in my company, but he must content himself with the less expensive companions.”

“Then it would appear that tonight his luck is about to turn,” Gabriel murmured. “Do you have a room near?”

Monique waved a hand toward the stone staircase. “On the top floor, the third door on the left.” Her eyes narrowed. “But if there are to be two gentlemen then I will demand double the price.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I will happily double the price, but all I ask of you is your assistance in luring the gentleman upstairs without revealing my presence and then the opportunity to speak with him in private.”

“And what of me?” she asked with obvious suspicion.

“You will have the luxury of enjoying an hour or so of peace.” His gaze studied the perfect oval of her face, noticing the fine lines that were just beginning to frame her eyes. “Surely a preferable means of spending your evening?”

Surprisingly the woman stepped close enough to brush her full breasts against his chest.

“It would be preferable on most evenings. However, tonight I believe I would rather have company, so long as it is you.”

He shook his head, once again pushing her firmly away. “A charming notion, but I have pressing business with Monsieur Richardson.”

Monique pouted at Gabriel’s discreet rejection. “If he owes you money, then I fear you are to be disappointed,” she warned. “He is heavily in debt to Francois.”

“Francois?”

Her lips twisted with disgust. “The owner of this charming establishment.”

“Of course.” He shook his head at Harry’s dismal predictability, even as he grimly reminded himself that yet another gambling debt was the least of his concerns. “It is a personal matter.”

Perhaps sensing his smoldering fury, the whore gave a lift of her brows.

“You do not intend to kill him, do you?”

“If I do, I promise to remove the body.” Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he removed several bank notes and held them in the light that spilled from the brightly lit torches. “Can you convince him to join you?”

Greed flared through her eyes before she was flashing Gabriel a smile of pure feminine conceit.

“Chérie, I could convince a saint to join me, and I assure you Monsieur Richardson is no saint.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” he muttered. “I will be waiting in your room.”

She gave a toss of her golden curls, plucking the notes from his fingers and tucking them into the bodice of her robe.

“And when you have finished your business, perhaps we can discover a means to enjoy the remainder of the night, eh?”

With a noncommittal smile, Gabriel waited for Monique to slip out of the garden and stroll across the courtyard before making his way up the spiral staircase and entering the top floor of the turret.

He made a cautious inventory of the low velvet sofas and tapestries that hung on the stone walls in a poor imitation of a sultan’s harem. Then stepping into the corridor, he made his way to Monique’s room, not surprised to discover it was simply yet elegantly decorated.

She was obviously the most expensive of the house whores, and the gold and ivory furnishings had been perfectly designed to set off her pale beauty.


Ignoring the wide bed draped in satin and the intimate tools of punishment that some gentlemen preferred, Gabriel paced the polished wood floor, a heavy dread tightening his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

He had been so intent on locating Harry and getting him alone, that he had not actually considered what was to come next.

Why hadn’t he simply returned to England with his wife? Even now they would be tucked in his narrow bunk, Talia’s lush body wrapped around him and his dark thoughts lost in the drowning pleasure of her touch.

He could have left Harry to travel his path to hell and concentrated on his own future.

Unfortunately, he was not na?ve enough to believe that ignoring his brother would be an end to the matter. How could he build a future with Talia when he was always waiting for the looming disaster to strike?

Besides, his conscience would never allow him to forget the damage Harry had caused, and the danger he posed so long as he remained a secret traitor to England.

He continued his pacing until at last he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and his brother’s familiar chuckle echoing through the hallway.

“Come, wench, just a taste.”

“Enough, monsieur,” Monique protested, “wait until we have reached my room.”

“A modest whore?” Harry mocked.

“Intimacy is always best savored in privacy.”

“Not always. I do not mind a public performance with a beautiful woman.” There was another chuckle. “Or two.”

Gabriel heard what sounded like Monique slapping away his brother’s hand, then the door to the bedchamber was being shoved open.

“Just through here, monsieur.”

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

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

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

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

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

Overwhelming shame? A plea for forgiveness?

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

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

Gabriel dipped his head. “Merci.”

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

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

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

Christ, he appeared twice his age.

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

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

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

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

Harry took another swig. “Bastard.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See what?”

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

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

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

“Jacques Gerard.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

“You know nothing,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gabriel shook his head, realizing it was too late.

Too late for all of them.

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

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

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

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

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

“That is hardly amusing, brother.”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t, but you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

Yet another burden to bear.

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

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

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

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

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

“We will leave for England in the morning.”

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

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

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