Bride for a Night

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN



TALIA FELT no guilt as she pressed her ear to the door and eavesdropped on the heated argument between Jacques and Sophia.


Her numerous governesses had never trained her in the proper manners of being held prisoner by a French spy, but her rare afternoons among the dockhands had taught her that a young female must be willing to toss aside polite manners when necessary.

Besides, she continued to hold on to the hope that the Frenchwoman could convince Jacques to release his prisoners and return to his palace. It did not matter to Talia why Sophia was desperate to be rid of her, only that she managed to convince Jacques he was better served by leaving them behind in Calais while he returned to his duties elsewhere.

It was a hope that died a swift death as she heard Jacques storm from the room and cross the corridor. He was headed directly toward the door where she was leaning.

Scrambling to tug the small cudgel from her reticule, Talia pressed herself against the wall, once again thinking back to those dockhands who had tutored her in defending herself. She would have only one opportunity to overcome a larger opponent. Once she lost the element of surprise, she was defeated.

Barely daring to breathe, she lifted her arm as the door was thrust open. Then, forcing herself to wait until Jacques had stepped fully into the room, she lunged forward, swinging the cudgel downward.

It would have been a successful attack if not for the full skirts that wrapped about her ankles at precisely the wrong time. A risk that the men who had taught her that particular attack never had to take into account.

Tripped off balance, her swing went wide, and with a muffled curse Jacques was turning to wrap her tightly in his arms, her weapon dropping to the carpet.

“Sacré bleu,” he breathed, his eyes glittering with irritation. “Is that any way to treat a gentleman who has treated you as an honored guest?”

She stood stiffly, meeting his chiding gaze without apology. Perhaps Jacques had been charmingly polite as he had escorted her into the townhouse and directly to these private chambers. But that had not deterred him from locking the door when he had left, nor from threatening to kill her husband and Lord Rothwell.

“An honored guest is not locked in her rooms.”

His brows lifted. “Would you have preferred that I tied you to the bed?”

“I would have preferred that you had allowed me to bash you in the head,” she retorted.

With an exasperated shake of his head, Jacques dropped his arms and stepped back.

“What have I done to be plagued with such troublesome females?”

Talia snorted at the genuine irritation in his voice. Only a male could degrade one woman while holding another captive and blame them both for being troublesome.

Such arrogance would never fail to astonish her.

“You do not deserve her, you know,” she accused.

“Pardon?”

“Sophia,” she clarified. “She adores you, but you treat her as if she is no more than a courtesan to be dismissed on a whim.”

He arched a brow. “I hesitate to shock you, ma petite, but that is precisely what she is.”

Talia was well beyond shock after the past weeks. “If you consider her as nothing more than a harlot, then you should not have made her fall in love with you.”

Jacques’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You hold me to blame?”

“Of course.” Talia gave a lift of her shoulder. “You obviously encouraged her affections.”

“Is that not what a gentleman is expected to do with a courtesan?”

“I do not mean…” She struggled for a delicate means to express her argument. “Physically.”

With a sharp laugh, he turned to pace across the Oriental carpet, choosing an enamel snuff box from the scrolled mantel and flicking open the lid.

“Thank goodness, since that is a customary part of the relationship,” he said, taking a delicate sniff of the scented tobacco.

She glanced toward the cudgel on the floor, regretting the lost opportunity to bang his thick skull. Not only because she had missed a chance to escape, but simply because he obviously needed a good smack to the head.

“I meant that you no doubt confided in her and shared far more than just your bed,” she accused.

He stiffened, his expression defensive. “And how would you know that?”

“Women can be quite foolish when it comes to men, but Sophia is too sophisticated to have risked her heart if she did not believe you considered her as more than a bed partner.”

“It no longer matters.” He abruptly set aside the enamel box, restlessly pacing toward the window that offered a view of the street shrouded in the heavy silence that came just before dawn. “She is returning to Paris in a few hours.”

She studied his tense profile. “Not if you ask her to stay.”

“I did.” He turned to meet her steady gaze. “She does not appreciate your presence in my home.”

Talia made a strangled sound, wondering if he were being deliberately obtuse.

“Of course she does not.” Talia planted her hands on her hips. “Do you have no feelings for her whatsoever?”

He stiffened, almost as if he were offended by her question. Ridiculous man. Then, narrowing his eyes, he smiled in cold amusement.

“Ah, very clever.”

“Clever?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “You hope that if you can rouse my loyalty to Sophia that I will agree to release you and appease her jealousy.”

It was, of course, precisely what she desired, but Talia was not stupid enough to admit as much. Jacques was not certain his desire for Sophia was greater than his overpowering need to avenge his father’s death.

“Am I not allowed to feel sympathy for a woman who is being abandoned by the man she was silly enough to trust?” she asked instead. “I do, after all, have some experience with that kind of disappointment.”

A surprising fury darkened his eyes. “Do not compare me to Harry Richardson.”

“Then be a better man than he.”

Her challenging words rang through the air as he studied her with an odd expression.

“You are not the wounded child who first set foot in Devonshire.”

A faint smile curved her lips as she recalled her arrival at Carrick Park. She had truly felt like a child who was being unfairly punished. She had been lost and alone and unable to contemplate a future that promised any happiness.

Now she could only be thankful that she was no longer that timid girl who allowed others to determine her worth. She had discovered a strength within herself.

A strength that did not depend on others’ opinions.

“No. That child has thankfully matured into a woman,” she agreed. “And a wife.”

His lips tightened. “The Countess of Ashcombe?”

“That is merely a title.” She shrugged. “I shall always be Talia.”

“Thank God,” he growled. “You are too fine a female to be wasted upon the aristocracy.”

About to inform him that when she spoke of becoming Gabriel’s wife that it had nothing to do with her rise to nobility, Talia bit off her words as she caught sight of a wooden panel sliding open across the room.

At first she thought it must have been a trick of the flickering firelight, but she realized the paneling had truly shifted to reveal a passageway beyond. And that there was the outline of a male form in the shadowed darkness.

A scream rose to her throat. God almighty, was there a soldier attempting to sneak into her private rooms? Or was it some savage off the streets?

Thankfully the scream remained lodged in her throat as the intruder shifted just enough that she could recognize the elegant features and golden hair. Gabriel? Good…lord.


Her mouth snapped shut as he lifted a slender finger to his lips and silently slid the paneling closed, hiding him and the passageway from prying eyes.

Not that his arrival had gone entirely unnoticed, she realized as she checked her startled reaction.

Returning her attention to Jacques, her heart missed a terrified beat at the sight of his suspicious expression.

“Talia?” He frowned down at her pale face. “What is wrong?”

Sensing he would not be satisfied by a simple denial of her startled reaction, she deliberately swayed, pressing a hand to her head.

“Oh.”

“Tell me, ma petite. Has something frightened you?”

“No. I…I suddenly feel dizzy.”

Her ploy appeared to be successful as Jacques swiftly grasped her arms and steered her toward the bed with tender care.

“Sit down,” he murmured, pressing her arms until she was perched on the edge of the mattress. His hand shifted to brush against her forehead. “You have no fever.”

She managed a stiff smile, wondering if she were imagining the lingering suspicion beneath his display of concern.

“I am not ill, only hungry,” she assured him. “I have had only an apple to eat today.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I assumed that you starve all your prisoners.”

Her words had been teasing, but Jacques scowled, clearly offended by her implication she had been abused. Of course, he was a gentleman who took his need to protect women very much to heart, she reminded herself, feeling a stab of unwelcome sympathy.

“I have offered you nothing but my protection, ma petite.”

She grimaced, attempting to appear wan and defenseless without overplaying her role.

“Perhaps, but the situation is…difficult.”

“Oui.” He studied her upturned face with an unnerving intensity. “I understand.”

She licked her dry lips. “Could I have a tray?”

His hesitation was so fleeting, Talia managed to convince herself that she had imagined it.

“Of course.” He brushed his fingers down her cheek before offering a shallow bow. “I will return in a few moments.”

“Thank you.”

Watching as he left the room and closed the door, Talia gingerly rose and crossed the room to listen to his retreating footsteps that echoed down the hall. Only when she was certain he was truly gone did she turn and hurry toward the panel, giving it a light tap to indicate that Jacques was gone.

With a faint whisper the panel slid open, and Gabriel stepped into the room, catching her off guard as he muttered a curse and wrapped her in his arms, his grip so tight that it became a challenge to breathe.

Not that she protested. Pressing her face against the solid wall of his chest, she ran her hands down his back, anxious to assure herself he was unharmed.

“Dear God. I was so worried,” she breathed. “How did you escape?”

His lips brushed her temple before he pulled back, revealing his tense expression.

“That is something we can discuss once we are out of here.”

“Yes.”

He glanced around the elegant room, his lips thinning at the unmistakable sight of Jacques’s clothing hanging in the wardrobe and his boots standing beside the fireplace.

“Is there anything that you need?” he rasped.

She reached up to press her lips to the hard line of his jaw.

“Nothing but you.”

His silver eyes flashed with an emotion that made her heart leap.

“Talia…”

The flicker of the candles was the only warning as the door to the room was abruptly shoved open, and Jacques stepped over the threshold. Talia silently cursed her stupidity as the Frenchman’s gaze fell upon Gabriel with a resignation that proved he had not been deceived by her pretense of hunger for even a moment.

So foolish. She had sensed his wariness, had she not? But she had allowed her eagerness to be rid of his unwelcome presence to dismiss her fears. And in doing so, she had all but invited Gabriel into the waiting trap.

Shutting the door, Jacques pulled a pistol from a pocket of his jacket, pointing it toward Gabriel.

“What a touching reunion      .”



GABRIEL’S ARMS instinctively tightened around Talia as the Frenchman moved to the center of the room, resisting the urge to yank her into the tunnel and attempt to escape before the Frenchman could call for his guards. He would not risk Talia being hit by a stray bullet intended for him.

“I truly am growing weary of you, Jacques Gerard.”

“The feeling is quite mutual, Lord Ashcombe.” Jacques gave a small wave of the pistol. “Release Talia and step away from her.”

Talia made a small sound of distress, clinging tightly to his arm.

“No.”

“Talia, do not fear,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek before untangling her fingers from his jacket and pushing her out of the line of fire. “Everything will be fine.”

Fearless as always, she turned to send their captor a fierce glare.

“Please do not hurt him.”

“He has left me little option, ma petite.”

Gabriel’s hands clenched at Jacques’s intimate glance toward Talia. By God, when would the bastard accept that Talia was his wife and that she would never willingly belong to another man?

“Do not blame me for your murderous tendencies,” he snarled. “And keep your endearments for your mistress. You will refer to my wife as Lady Ashcombe.”

Jacques smiled, clearly amused by Gabriel’s fierce jealousy.

“How did you discover the passageway?”

With a mocking smile Gabriel gave a smooth lift of his shoulder.

“Hugo is a remarkably stubborn gentleman who refused to accept we were trapped.” The words were not entirely a lie. “He searched until he found the entrance to the passageway in the library.”

Jacques considered a long moment before giving a sharp shake of his head.

“Non. It is too much a coincidence that you should simply stumble across a hidden passageway when you have need of one. Only someone who has spent time exploring the house could have known of it.” His eyes narrowed. “So who is the traitor? A guard? A servant? Ah…” A disdainful smile twisted his lips. “Harry.”

“Harry?” Gabriel lifted his brows. “He has made his decision to offer you his loyalty. I no longer consider him my brother.”

Jacques shook his head, too clever to be so easily fooled.

“So I believed, but then I have discovered never to place my faith in the cowardly sod,” he drawled. “He would betray me as easily as he betrayed you. Where is he?”

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

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

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

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

“It would appear we must.”

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

“Forgive me, Talia,” Jacques murmured.

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

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

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

“Jacques, are you—”

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

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

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

“Move and I will slice open your throat.”



TALIA WATCHED in frozen fear as Gabriel knocked Jacques to the ground. Was he demented? For God’s sake, Jacques was holding a loaded gun. He could have been killed.

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

And it certainly did not include risking his fool neck.

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

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

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

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

Time seemed to stop as Talia skidded to a halt.

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

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

She shuddered, refusing to admit she was helpless.

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

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

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

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

Or at least, she hoped it would be easier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You wouldn’t,” he rasped at last.

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

There was another silence before Sophia released an unsteady laugh.

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

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

Perhaps even to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I cannot do that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make your choice.”

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


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

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

“I swear.”

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

“Of course.”

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

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

“Leave us, Sophia.”

“No,” Gabriel snapped. “She remains.”

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

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

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

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

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