Bride for a Night

CHAPTER FIFTEEN



HALTING JUST WITHIN the gates of Calais, Lord Rothwell tugged Talia into the shadows of a slumbering church, his expression set in obstinate lines as he repeated the same lecture she had endured since leaving the yacht and making their way along the rugged coastline.

“No,” she at last interrupted. She could not bear to listen any longer to Lord Rothwells’s tedious list of reasons why she must remain hidden near the gates while he explored the streets in search of Gabriel. “I will not be left behind.”

Dressed entirely in black, Hugo heaved a resigned sigh even as he studied her with odd fascination. Almost as if he did not quite know what to make of her.

“Dammit, are you always so stubborn?”

Talia squared her shoulders, prepared for battle. “I am not being stubborn, this is simply something I must do.”

“Because you care for Gabriel.”

It was a statement of fact, not a question, and Talia shrugged in embarrassment at the realization that he had so easily read her aching need to reach Gabriel.

“He is my husband.”

The nobleman shrugged, his handsome face shrouded in shadows.

“That has little meaning in society.”

There was no arguing with his logic. Marriages among the ton were made to consolidate power or wealth or social standing. Usually a combination of all three.

The union      s had nothing to do with something so foolish as love.

“It has meaning to me,” she muttered. So what if she was revealing emotions she preferred to keep hidden? Her pride was not nearly so important as rescuing her husband. “I cannot wait here doing nothing when Gabriel is in danger.”

Lord Rothwell gave a slow shake of his head. “He did warn me that you are unique.”

Talia flinched. Unique, of course, was just another means of branding her as peculiar. An insult she had endured since her arrival in London.

“I will not apologize for being concerned for my husband’s welfare,” she hissed.

Catching her by surprise, Rothwell abruptly reached out to give her hand a gentle squeeze.

“No, it is I who owe you an apology.”

“Why would you owe me an apology?” she demanded warily.

“Because I know the folly of society’s habit of judging others upon nothing more substantial than rumors and innuendoes.” He heaved another sigh. “And yet that is precisely what I did to you.”

Was the arrogant brute actually apologizing? She would have wagered her mother’s pearl necklace that such a man had never admitted to being wrong in his entire life.

Bemused, she met the steady golden gaze. “You were concerned for your friend.”

He dipped his head in agreement. “I was, but even after I realized he was far from unhappy with his marriage I continued to allow my prejudice to sway me.” He offered her a rueful smile. “It is not a mistake I will make again.”

Her answering smile was wistful. After his unexpected honesty, how could she be any less truthful?

“No, it was not a mistake,” she assured him softly, her gaze absently straying over the dark silhouette of the Place d’Armes that had once been the center of Calais with its medieval watchtower and tidy square that was lined with shops. “I will never be a suitable Countess of Ashcombe.”

“You are wrong.” He hooked a finger beneath her chin and tugged her face back to meet his somber expression. “I love Gabriel, but there is no ignoring that over the past few years he has become…lost.”

“Lost?”

Rothwell carefully considered his words. “He was always conscious of his responsibilities as heir apparent, but with the unexpected death of his father at such a young age he has become increasingly isolated and inclined to distrust others.”

It was precisely what his housekeeper had revealed to her the day of her wedding to Gabriel. At the time she’d had no notion that it would be her husband’s hidden vulnerabilities that would be her undoing.

“He was alone,” she whispered.

“Precisely,” Rothwell agreed. “And I suspect that the typical society marriage would only have ensured his continued loneliness. He did not need the frigid perfection of a society maiden. He needed the warmth of a woman.” His fingers briefly squeezed her chin before he was pulling away. “Your warmth.”

His soft words touched the place deep inside her that feared she would never be more than a shameful burden Gabriel would have to bear for the sake of his family.

The thought she could offer her husband a gift that a flawless young debutant could not was a belief she desperately wished to cling to.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“I speak nothing but the truth.” His expression hardened. “Which is why I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger. I do not know what would become of Gabriel if he lost you.”

Realizing that she had been subtly outmaneuvered, Talia narrowed her gaze.

“You are very clever, Lord Rothwell,” she chided. “I pity the female you decide to wed. She will have to be on constant guard to avoid being manipulated by your charm.”

He arched a brow. “There will be no need for manipulation. I intend to make certain my bride is delighted to obey my every command.”

Talia snorted at the imperious certainty in his tone. How typical of a nobleman to speak of his mythical wife as if she were a well-trained hound rather than a flesh-and-blood woman with her own needs.

And how pathetic so many females allowed themselves to be treated in such a fashion.

Thankfully, she was no longer hampered by the expectations of society.

She would do whatever it might take to find and rescue Gabriel, but she would never again be his meek, subservient bride.

“Now I truly do pity her, but Gabriel was not so fortunate,” she informed her companion. “I intend to go with you and that is the end of the matter.”

With a shake of his head, Rothwell grasped her arm in a firm grip and tugged her toward the nearby street, his mouth thin with frustration.

“Stubborn female.”

It was becoming a familiar accusation, and Talia merely smiled as she was hauled through the darkness, content with her small victory. Eventually Lord Rothwell would decide that the danger was too great, and he would put down his foot. She was certain at that point no amount of pleading would alter his mind.

They remained silent as they traveled away from the city walls, traveling through increasingly elegant neighborhoods as they left the busy docks and coffee shops behind. The large nobleman walked with a purpose, as if he had a particular destination in mind that was not among the terraced townhouses with their red-tiled roofs and high arched windows that allowed light to spill onto the streets.

Talia followed in his wake, absently searching every shadowed alcove and alley as they hurried through the darkness. She did not expect to actually stumble over Gabriel. Their luck could not possibly be that good. But that did not keep her heart from leaping each time she caught sight of a large gentleman strolling down the street or stepping from a house.

They turned a corner, on the point of heading out of the neighborhood, when Talia came to a shocked halt, her hand reaching to grasp her companion’s arm. “Wait.”

Standing at her side, Lord Rothwell regarded her with an impatient scowl.

“What is it?”

She pointed toward a large house on the corner that was built of pale sandstone with a wide balcony on the second floor and a steeply pitched roof. There was a small garden that separated it from the surrounding homes and a narrow path that led to the mews behind the establishment.


“Jacques Gerard is here.”

His scowl only deepened. “How can you be so certain?”

“I recognize the carriage.” She pointed toward the lavish maroon-and-gold vehicle that she had last seen in Jacques’s stables at the palace. It was impossible to believe that there were a large number of similar carriages in France. “Besides, his need to avenge himself against the French aristocracy would demand that he take command of the finest home in Calais.”

Rothwell stilled, almost as if he were a hunter on the sudden scent of his prey. The image made Talia shiver, for the first time realizing just how dangerous an enemy this man would be.

“His presence in town does not necessarily have anything to do with Gabriel,” the nobleman pointed out.

Talia shrugged. “Do you believe in coincidences?”

“No.”

“Neither do I.” Talia made no protest as Rothwell tugged her into the bushes planted along the fence surrounding the house, her thoughts consumed with fear for her husband. Had Jacques already found Gabriel? Was he holding him captive inside or had he…

As if sensing her swelling panic, Hugo placed a comforting arm around her shoulder, bending his head to whisper directly in her ears.

“Talia, do not leap to conclusions,” he murmured. “We do not know for certain that Gabriel is within.”

“Perhaps not, but we both know that Harry was more than likely sent here as a trap.” She tensed as a figure suddenly moved near the front door, his rigid stance suggesting he was a trained soldier. A guard. Her gaze shifted upward, belatedly realizing there was yet another soldier on the upper balcony, as well as two more by the carriage. Any doubt that Jacques Gerard was within was banished by the sight of the soldiers. No ordinary citizen would have need of armed guards. “Lord Rothwell, we must find a means to get inside one way or another.”

“Not an easy task. Maybe even an impossible task,” he muttered, his attention on the guards who surrounded the house. “There appear to be men at every entrance.”

She unconsciously bit her lower lip, considering the best means of sneaking past the lurking soldiers. “Not impossible.”

With a frown, Rothwell turned her so he could study her resolute expression.

“Why do I sense I am not going to like what you are plotting?”

“We need a distraction.”

His lips flattened. “And you intend to be that distraction?”

She shrugged. “It makes the most sense. Jacques will not harm me…”

“No.”

His tone warned that he would not compromise, but still Talia had to try. It was, after all, the best solution to slipping past the guards. With her sudden appearance, there would be enough of a stir that her companion could find a door or window that was untended.

“But…”

“No.”

She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Do you have a better plan?”

The golden eyes glittered with an unmistakable warning. “Yes, you will remain here and I will sneak through the servants’ entrance. Once I discover whether or not Gabriel is within I will return and we will decide what we are to do next.”

“Fine,” she growled, acknowledging defeat with ill grace.

Why could men never accept that they might on occasion need the assistance of a woman?

Easily reading her rebellious thoughts, the nobleman grasped her chin and glared down at her pale face.

“Talia?”

“What?”

“If you move so much as a muscle from this spot I will put you over my knee and beat you soundly. Do you comprehend?”

He refused to loosen his grip until she’d given a grudging nod, then pausing long enough to withdraw a pistol he had tucked beneath his jacket, he was slipping along the line of bushes toward the back of the house.

“Men,” she muttered in resignation, shivering despite the warm summer breeze.

She wanted to be confident that Lord Rothwell would manage to slip into the house undetected and return with the assurance that Gabriel was nowhere to be found in the townhouse, but even as the nobleman disappeared she felt a chill of dread inch down her spine.

Barely daring to breathe, she remained hidden in the bushes, her attention locked on the house as an odd sense of menace crawled over her skin.

Or perhaps not so odd, she was forced to accept as a pistol being cocked sounded directly behind her.

“Oh…damn,” she grumbled, slowly turning to meet the velvet brown gaze of Jacques Gerard.

A charming smile curved his lips as he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

“Bonsoir, ma belle. I thought I might find you lurking in the dark.”



THE LIBRARY WAS TYPICAL of aristocrats who were more concerned with impressing others than offering a comfortable room to enjoy the collection of leather-bound tomes.

Bookshelves towered two stories up to the frescoes of Greek muses painted on the ceiling. Delicate satinwood furnishings, upholstered in a pale green satin and carved by the finest French craftsmen, were formally arranged across the floral carpet. And a white marble banister lined the second-floor walkway before framing the wide steps that led down to the main room.

Even the crystal figurines on the scrolled marble chimney piece glowed with a cold, untouchable beauty in the light from the Venetian chandelier.

Of course, Gabriel might have been a bit more appreciative of his surroundings if he were not currently seated on the floor with his arms tied around a fluted column at his back. His dark mood was not improved when one of the double doors was pressed open and Jacques Gerard arrogantly strolled into the room. The bastard.

It had been less than three hours since the Frenchman had managed to capture him and forced him to this townhouse. But it seemed like an eternity since he had been roughly bound to the column by two French soldiers while Jacques had disappeared along with Harry, who’d refused to even glance in his direction.

During that time Gabriel had been left to stew in his frustrated fury, wavering between outrage at his brother’s utter lack of conscience and his own stupidity in being caught off guard.

Again.

“I trust you are comfortable?” Jacques taunted.

Gabriel hid his savage emotions behind a mocking smile.

“Is this not rather excessive?” He glanced at his bound hands. “I am a mere nobleman, not a rabid tiger.”

Jacques smiled, taking obvious pleasure in Gabriel’s humiliation.

“I try to learn from my mistakes, my lord. You will not be offered the opportunity to escape again.”

“So I am to remain shackled in your library until the end of the war? Or do you intend to return me to your cellars?”

Jacques folded his arms over his chest, his smile slowly fading.

“Neither, I fear.”

Gabriel frowned, attempting to read the man’s indecipherable expression. There was a sudden tension about the Frenchman that boded ill for someone, and Gabriel very much feared that someone was going to be him.

“Dare I ask what your intentions are?”

“You will be pleased to know that I took your words of warning to heart.”

“I am flattered, of course,” Gabriel said cautiously, not comforted by Jacques’s brittle tone. “But you will forgive me if I find that difficult to believe. If you had listened to me, then I would not be shackled like an animal.”

“I speak of returning Harry to London.”

Gabriel clenched his teeth against the stab of pain at the mention of his brother. Where was the younger man? Was he still at the townhouse or had he already forgotten that his brother was tied like an animal in the library and gone in search of entertainment?


“You can return him whenever you desire, but the word of his treachery will soon be common knowledge throughout England. He is no longer of use to you.”

Jacques gave a sharp laugh. “Do not be so hasty, Ashcombe. Harry may yet prove valuable.”

“Indeed?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Jacques gave a sharp command. With a faint shuffle, two soldiers entered the room carrying a large, unconscious man.

Jacques waved a hand. “Place him on the sofa.”

Grunting beneath the strain, the soldiers lowered the motionless body of Lord Rothwell on the green-and-gold striped sofa, the delicate piece of furniture groaning beneath Hugo’s heavy frame.

Rage blasted through Gabriel at the sight of the blood that dripped down Hugo’s face from an obvious blow to his temple.

“Damn you,” he rasped, indifferent to the ropes that were rubbing his wrists raw as he struggled to reach his friend.

“There is no need to behave as a madman,” Jacques chastised. “Your friend lives. At least for now.”

Gabriel sagged back against the marble column as he allowed the knowledge that Hugo was alive to ease his grief.

Christ, he would never have forgiven himself if his friend had been killed because of his stupidity.

Then, as the terror receded, his mind cleared, and he realized the implications of Hugo’s presence in Calais.

What the hell was his friend doing here?

He was supposed to be on the yacht with Talia, ensuring that she was safely returned to England.

“Where did you capture him?” he growled.

“Lord Rothwell was kind enough to drop into my hands like a ripe plum. Much like yourself,” Jacques said, sneering. “So you see, the word of Harry’s fine efforts for France remain a secret.”

“No.” Gabriel refused to accept defeat. “Lady Ashcombe and my crew are out of your reach. She will not allow Harry to continue his betrayal.”

Jacques snorted at Gabriel’s bravado. “You forget that I know Talia better than you, Ashcombe.”

The Frenchman was fortunate that Gabriel was bound to the column. Otherwise he would surely be dead.

Talia belonged to him.

And the fact that this man would dare to believe he could take her away was like a match being tossed onto a powder keg.

“You know nothing of my wife, you bastard.”

Jacques’s secretive smile was a deliberate reminder that Talia had turned to the Frenchman for much-needed comfort after her husband had discarded her.

“I know she felt compelled to ensure that a poor country vicar was not being harmed by a pair of ruffians despite the obvious danger to herself,” he smoothly pointed out. “And that she risked her own neck to rescue a husband who is utterly unworthy of her concern. She would never have left France if she feared you were in danger.”

A cold premonition stabbed through his heart. He knew Talia would never leave him in jeopardy. Hell, that was the reason he had not told her of his plans.

But even if she had discovered his absence before the ship had set sail, he could not believe his crew or his friend would have been so excessively stupid as to allow her to come in search of him.

“Whatever her preference, Hugo would have insisted that Talia return to England.”

“He could have insisted all he desired, but she would not have left you behind.”

The smug assurance in the Frenchman’s voice sliced through Gabriel, his vague sense of unease becoming a hard knot of dread.

“You have captured her.”

Jacques offered a mocking dip of his head. “Oui.”

Gabriel growled low in his throat, his fear for Talia a tangible force that threatened to choke him.

Bloody hell. He should never have left the yacht. Pride and his ever-present sense of duty might have demanded that he capture his brother and return him to England so he could face his punishment, but his heart had warned him to remain with Talia.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten how to listen to his heart the day he’d buried his father.

Now his wife was once again paying for his inability to be the husband she needed.

“Where is she?”

“Safely tucked in my private suite.” There was a taunting pause. “Where she belongs.”

Gabriel silently contemplated the pleasure of smashing the smug grin off Jacques Gerard’s too-handsome face. Or maybe he would wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck and squeeze the life from him.

Yes, that was precisely what he needed to soothe his gnawing frustration.

Instead he forced himself to thrust aside the maddening thought of his wife once again in this man’s clutches and attempted to concentrate on his limited options.

He could do nothing to help Talia until he managed to escape. Or better yet, to convince Jacques to release him.

“Even without our return to England, you cannot hope to return Harry to London as your spy,” he said with the unwavering confidence that he used when arguing a bill before the House of Lords.

It was amazing what could be accomplished with sheer audacity.

Jacques shrugged. “They have no reason to suspect your brother as anything more than a cad who left his bride at the altar and then disappeared with her dowry.” Jacques squared his shoulders, a disturbingly grim expression replacing his mocking smile. “Still, his current state of disgrace might impede his ability to move without restraint among society, which is why I intend to ensure that no door will be closed to him.”

“And how do you intend to accomplish such a feat?”

A prickling tension filled the vast library before Jacques met Gabriel’s searching gaze with a defiant tilt of his chin.

“I intend to make him the Earl of Ashcombe,” he said. “No one will dare snub him once he stands in your shoes.”

Gabriel tensed, disbelief slamming into him.

Holy hell, he was an idiot.

He had been prepared for Jacques to hold him hostage. And even for the predictable demands for money to ensure his release. It was what any nobleman could expect after being captured by the enemy.

But he had never truly considered he would be sacrificed so Harry could return to London as the Earl of Ashcombe.

Now he struggled to accept Jacques’s bloodthirsty plot.

“You intend to murder me?”

“War is a brutal affair. Sacrifices must be made.” Jacques glanced toward Hugo, who remained unconscious on the sofa. “A pity really. The two of you would have brought a fine ransom.”

Gabriel’s disbelief was forgotten as a flare of panic seared through him. It was one thing for his life to be threatened, it was quite another to watch in frustration as his friend lay helpless and unable to protect himself.

“And Talia?” he rasped. “Will she be a brutal sacrifice as well?”

“Non,” Jacques snapped, appearing ridiculously offended by the question. “She will not be harmed, although she will not be allowed to leave France.” Regaining command of his composure, the Frenchman managed a faint smile. “In time she will not wish to.”

His fury remained potent at the knowledge Talia was being held captive, but Jacques’s taunt went wide of the mark.

The tantalizing memory of Talia wrapped in his arms, her sweet cries of pleasure filling the air as she’d responded to him without reservation assured him that she had given him more than the pleasure of her body.

She had given him her trust and her loyalty.

Two gifts that were more precious than any amount of treasure.

“Your conceit is as bloated as it is misplaced,” he warned in cold derision. “No matter how undeserving I might be of Talia, she is a woman of utter devotion. She will never forgive the man who murdered her husband.”


Jacques smoothed a hand over his elegantly tied cravat, a large diamond glittering from the ring on his slender finger.

“I can be quite persuasive when I choose.” He spoke with the confidence of a man accustomed to success among the opposite sex. “And surely you would wish her to be happy?”

Gabriel curled his upper lip in disgust. “What I wish is for you to rot in hell.”

Jacques waved a dismissive hand. “My inevitable fate, no doubt, but not before I have led France into her glorious future.”

“Using my brother as your pawn?”

“Precisely.” The Frenchman dipped his head in agreement. “He shall make quite a dashing Earl of Ashcombe, do you not think? And with his position in the House of Lords, he will have access to the most closely guarded secrets of the British Empire. I predict our partnership will be excessively profitable for both of us.”

Gabriel’s blood ran cold.

Jacques was right, damn his black heart. Although Harry’s position as the younger brother to the Earl of Ashcombe had always ensured him a place among the ton, his habit of spending his evenings in a drunken haze, not to mention his preference for gambling dens and whorehouses to polite society, had kept his name off the guest list of many hostesses.

And of course, there would be no gentleman who would willingly discuss confidential information with a scandal-seeking gamester who was notoriously in need of funds.

But as the Earl of Ashcombe…

Harry would suddenly find himself in demand at the most elite gatherings where political conversations often turned to the ongoing war. And, as Jacques had so smugly pointed out, he would be a member of parliament with the ability to mingle among those in command of the British troops.

Hell, he could request an audience with the prince without causing undue curiosity.

And all it would take would be one indiscreet conversation, or a set of maps left carelessly on a table, and disaster would strike.

Gabriel shook his head. Jacques’s plan promised a spiderweb of horrifying possibilities, but his thoughts refused to consider the future.

Not when he had yet to accept the dastardly plot was more than just a product of the Frenchman’s deluded imagination.

“Have you discussed this latest scheme with my brother?” he demanded, his voice oddly harsh.

Jacques arched a brow. “Do you nurture the hope that Harry will balk at stepping into your shoes?” he taunted. “I assure you that you could not be more mistaken. I believe he would pull the trigger if necessary to gain the title he has always coveted.”

Gabriel gave a sharp shake of his head. He refused to consider his last ugly encounter with his brother. Or the barely concealed bitterness that had marred their relationship for far too long.

Whatever their differences, they were family. In the end, Harry would do what was right.

How could he believe otherwise?

“You are a fool.” He tugged against the ropes that bound his wrists, indifferent to the raw, weeping wounds that marred his skin. “Whatever Harry’s sins, he would never wish for my death.”

A humorless smile curved Jacques’s lips as he turned to head for the door.

“Then it would appear that you know as little about your brother as you do your wife.”