Bride for a Night

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO



AS WAS HIS USUAL habit, Hugo rose from his bed at an early hour and attired himself in a fitted blue coat and buff breeches that showed his large, muscular body to advantage. He had no patience for those fools who lay abed the entire morning, expecting a bevy of servants to tend to their needs as if they were helpless invalids.

He had to admit there were some advantages to being the first to rise. He strolled into the breakfast room that was decorated with pale green satin wall panels and gold-framed mirrors. The delicate rosewood table matched the chairs upholstered in a yellow-and-cream stripe in the center of the room.

He was not only able to enjoy his breakfast of thick sliced ham, fresh eggs and warm toast with a large dollop of honey without apologizing for his healthy appetite, but he was able to enjoy the fine view of the craggy cliffs and distant sea without being forced to make meaningless chitchat.

Polishing off the last of his food, he strolled past the sideboard that groaned beneath the brimming silver chafing dishes and out the French windows that led to the balcony beyond.

They had arrived at Carrick Park yesterday, but he had been too weary to do more than climb the steps to the bedchamber he often used during his stay in Devonshire and fall into bed. Now he leaned against the stone railing and considered his immediate plans.

He would have to return to London, of course. His abrupt departure with Gabriel would no doubt have stirred ridiculous rumors that must be squelched. Especially if they hoped to deceive the traitors into believing their treachery remained a secret, as Gabriel hoped.

And after that, he would be expected to return to his home in Derbyshire for a few weeks. His estates were not nearly so extensive as Carrick Park, but he possessed tenants and servants who depended upon him. And he enjoyed his time in the country. His father often claimed that Hugo was a farmer at heart.

But he doubted that Gabriel would be prepared to leave Carrick Park for at least a few days. Hell, Hugo doubted the man would be prepared to leave his wife’s bed for at least a week.

A rueful smile at the memory of Gabriel carrying his embarrassed bride up the marble staircase, his haste to reach the private chambers above obvious to the numerous servants who had gathered in the front foyer, curved his lips.

The image had barely formed in his mind when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning, he watched in surprise as Gabriel crossed the breakfast room and stepped onto the balcony.

The Earl of Ashcombe was as elegantly attired as always in a sable-brown jacket and ivory waistcoat, with a pair of dark breeches tucked into his glossy boots. His cravat was tied in a simple Oriental knot, but the linen was crisp, and a stunning emerald stickpin glittered among the folds.

But as he neared, Hugo could not fail to notice the hard line of his jaw or the disgruntled glint in his silver eyes.

Hugo leaned against the railing and folded his arms over his chest.

“I did not expect you to join me this morning,” he murmured.

“Neither did I,” Gabriel groused, his sullen gaze skimming over the untamed landscape before settling on his companion. “I assure you it was not my choice.”

Hugo gave a lift of his brows. “There is no need to growl,” he protested mildly. “If you thought I would be in need of your company, then you might as well return to your bride. I am perfectly capable of entertaining myself.”

“There is nothing I desire more than to spend the morning with my bride,” his friend informed him, “but I was very firmly turned out of her bedchamber.”

Hugo choked back a laugh, unable to believe any female would actually toss Gabriel from her bedchamber. The man had been ruthlessly pursued by women since he had left the schoolroom. “Holy hell.”

Gabriel glared at him with a decided lack of humor. “This is not amusing.”

“No, it is a tragic statement on your skills as a lover,” Hugo readily agreed. “If you wish, I can offer you a few suggestions to assist you in pleasing your wife. Perhaps then she will not boot you out of her bed.”

A startling color crawled beneath Gabriel’s lean face. Was the arrogant earl actually discomfited by Hugo’s teasing? Astonishing.


“I was not booted out of her bed,” he snapped. “And I most certainly do not need suggestions on pleasing my wife from a man who has become a misogynist over the past years.”

Hugo frowned, caught off guard by the accusation. Perhaps he had learned to avoid debutantes as if they carried the plague. And it had been a few months since he had given his last mistress her congé. But that did not mean that he disliked females. Bloody hell, he adored them when they were not attempting to trap him into marriage or pleading for yet another expensive bauble.

It was just…

He gave a restless shrug. It was just that he was searching for a female he was beginning to fear did not exist, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind.

It was a voice he was swift to dismiss as he gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Not a misogynist,” he corrected. “Merely a man who has grown weary of fortune hunters and their overzealous mothers.” He paused, a taunting smile slowly curving his lips. “Of course, if there were more females such as Talia I might reconsider my cynical opinion of the opposite sex.”

Predictably, Gabriel narrowed his gaze in warning. “Careful, old friend.”

Hugo chuckled, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “I speak in general, not specific terms. I do not seek an early grave.”

Gabriel grunted, glancing over his shoulder as if hoping his bride might make a sudden appearance in the breakfast room.

“There are no other females to compare with my wife.”

“True,” Hugo agreed with a faint sigh.

He had not been entirely teasing when he had wished for a female such as Talia. It was not that he was in love with his friend’s wife, but she possessed a strength of character and an unwavering loyalty that he deeply admired. They were both all too rare qualities among society.

Then, with an effort, he shrugged off his peculiar mood and studied Gabriel’s sour expression. He could not deny a small measure of pleasure in witnessing his friend’s annoyance. Gabriel had become far too accustomed to having the world cater to his every pleasure. It did him good to have his puffed-up conceit occasionally deflated.

“She is certainly a woman of courage,” he pointed out in innocent tones. “There are few who would dare to ban you from their room.”

Gabriel scowled. “I was not banned by Talia, I was rousted by my own damned servants.”

“Your servants?”

“They began arriving at the crack of dawn.”

“Ah.” Hugo shrugged. “I suppose that is not surprising that they would desire to ensure you are well and unharmed after your adventures.”

“They were not concerned with my welfare, it was their beloved Lady Ashcombe whom they wished to ensure was unharmed,” Gabriel said with a grimace. “For God’s sake, Mrs. Donaldson was weeping in relief when I at last fled.”

Hugo’s eyes widened at the mere thought of the formidable housekeeper in tears. “Astonishing.”

“And to make matters worse, Talia has very firmly informed me that she intends to devote the rest of the day to visiting the tenants.”

Hugo shifted so he could glance toward the side of the house where the parkland gave way to a pretty pond. Beyond that the rolling fields were dotted with thatch-roofed cottages.

“Perhaps it is for the best,” he murmured, returning his attention to his companion. He easily recalled the tenants’ frantic searches for Talia when he and Gabriel had arrived at Carrick Park and their desperation for Gabriel to rescue her from the clutches of the evil French spy. “If she does not make an appearance, they will surely storm the house to reassure themselves that you have returned her as promised.”

Gabriel dismissed this logic with an impatient wave of his hand.

“She is still weary from her journey. She should be resting, not gadding about the countryside.”

Hugo chuckled, not fooled for a moment. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I wonder if you are annoyed because she is not being allowed to rest or because you are being forced to share her attentions with others.”

With an imperious lift of his brow, Gabriel tilted his chin to glare down the length of his nose.

“I am the Earl of Ashcombe. I do not need to beg for the attentions of my wife.”

“If that were true, then the Earl of Ashcombe would not be spending his morning pacing the breakfast room in a mood so foul that the Lord of Rothwell is considering the pleasure of tossing him off the balcony.”

Gabriel heaved a harsh sigh. “I suppose you are right.”

“Naturally,” Hugo said smugly. “I am always right.”

“Be careful, Rothwell,” his friend growled. “My mood is still foul.”

Hugo smiled, resisting the urge to continue with his teasing.

“When do you intend to return to London?”

“It must be soon.” Gabriel paced the length of the balcony, seemingly indifferent to the spill of morning sunlight or the rose-scented breeze that ruffled his golden hair. “The king and his council must know of the traitors as soon as possible.”

Hugo fully agreed. Every moment that passed was another moment that offered the traitors an opportunity to put British troops at risk.

“Why do you hesitate?”

Gabriel grimaced. “Talia will not be pleased when I tell her she must remain at Carrick Park.”

“Why would she not be pleased? She seems to prefer the countryside to the city.”

“Yes, but when I mentioned traveling to London without her, I was informed that she would not be hidden away like an embarrassing secret.”

“What the devil does that mean?”

“I haven’t the least notion,” Gabriel muttered, “but I sense she will insist on accompanying me.”

Hugo watched his companion pace from one end of the balcony to the other, a frown marring his brow.

“Then why not allow her to go with you?” he asked. “It seems a simple enough solution.”

Gabriel turned to glare at Hugo. “Impossible.”

Hugo paused, baffled by the frustration he could sense simmering just below his friend’s fragile composure.

They had managed to rescue Talia, outwit a French spy and discovered a means to prevent Harry from being exposed as a traitor.

Surely the man should be celebrating, not looking as if he desired to smash his fist into the nearest object?

“Why is it impossible? You surely do not believe she is in danger?”

“I did not believe her in danger when I sent her to Carrick Park, but she managed to tumble into disaster.”

Good God, did the man intend to flog himself forever? Anyone would think he’d deliberately sent his wife into a trap.

“You could not possibly have predicted that there was a French spy lurking in the neighborhood.”

“She is my responsibility.” Gabriel stubbornly refused to admit it had been an unfortunate coincidence.

“Fine.” Hugo held up his hands in defeat. “But, if you truly fear for her safety, then I would think that would be even more reason to keep her close at hand so that you can protect her.”

An indefinable emotion darkened the silver eyes as Gabriel stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides.

“Pray, allow me to decide what is best for my own wife, Rothwell.”

“Not when you are being a damned fool,” Hugo growled in return. He had no desire to poke his nose in the private affairs of his friend, but neither did he intend to stand aside and watch Gabriel make a hash of his marriage. “Do you not recall the last occasion that you decided what was best for your wife?”


Gabriel muttered a curse as he crossed the balcony and returned to the breakfast room, clearly intent on avoiding the logic of Hugo’s accusation.

“This is not at all the same,” he argued.

Hugo followed behind him. “Explain how this is different.”

“I cannot bear for her to be hurt.”

“Hurt?” Hugo tensed, studying Gabriel’s grim expression with a puzzled unease. “What do you mean?”

Before he could respond, an elderly butler shuffled into the room, his body appearing bent, as if the blue-and-silver uniform was too heavy for his gaunt frame, and his hair a mere fringe of gray. But there was a lingering dignity in his precise movements and a shrewd glint in his pale eyes.

“Pardon me, my lord.”

Gabriel glanced toward the servant with a hint of surprise.

“Yes, McGordy?”

“There is a visitor to see Lady Ashcombe.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Gabriel scowled in exasperation. “If it is a tenant, you may bloody well inform them that they can wait their turn to speak with the countess.”

The stately McGordy did not so much as blink at the sharp words.

“It is not a tenant, my lord, it is a Miss Lansing.”

“Who?” Gabriel demanded in confusion.

Hugo was equally confused. He seemed to have a vague recollection of a Sir Lansing who was a minor baronet, but he surely had no connection to Silas Dobson or his daughter.

McGordy gently cleared his throat. “She claims to be a friend to her ladyship.”

“Oh.” Gabriel’s frown only deepened as he seemed to be struck by a sudden realization. “Yes, I have a vague recollection of her.”

Whatever his recollection of Miss Lansing, it obviously was not a pleasant one.

“Shall I inform the countess?” the butler inquired.

Gabriel gave a decisive shake of his head. “No, that will not be necessary. I will tend to Miss Lansing.”

“As you wish.”

“In fact, I prefer that my wife not be bothered with the knowledge that Miss Lansing was ever in Devonshire.”

Confusion briefly rippled over the servant’s face before he offered a stiff bow.

“As you wish.”

Waiting until they were once again alone, Hugo whirled to stab his companion with a black look.

“What the blazes is the matter with you?”

Gabriel folded his arms over his chest, his expression set in stubborn lines.

“I will not have Talia bothered.”

Hugo snorted. He did not consider himself an expert when it came to understanding the complicated female mind and what pleased them, but he was fairly confident that his mother and sisters adored receiving visitors, no matter what hour of the day.

“I doubt she would consider a visit from a friend as a bother.”

Gabriel shook his head, his features hardening with a frigid anger.

“My wife is too kindhearted to turn away a guest,” he said in lethal tones, “but I was witness to those females who pretended to be Talia’s friends when it was discovered she had been jilted by my brother.” He caught and held Hugo’s gaze, a shimmer of grim determination burning in the silver depths. “They filled her gardens and drank her champagne even as they laughed and mocked her humiliation.”

Fury raced through Hugo.

By God, he would ruin anyone who dared to insult the Countess of Ashcombe, he silently swore, refusing to recall his own scathing opinion of the shy, stammering Miss Dobson who had forced his friend into an unwanted marriage. Whatever his opinion in the past, he adored Talia. Those who thought they were at liberty to continue with their nasty ridicule would swiftly discover the error of their ways.

“This Miss Lansing mocked Talia?” he growled.

Gabriel shrugged. “Not within my hearing, but I will not take the risk of my wife being upset.”

Hugo fully agreed. No shrill-tongued harridan was going to disturb Talia while she was still fragile from her recent adventures.

“Leave it to me,” he announced.

Gabriel glanced at him in surprise. “You?”

“I will rid you of the vermin who seek to enter your home,” he promised, waving a hand toward a side door that led to a back staircase. “You join your wife and accompany her on her visit to the tenants.”

“Very well.” Gabriel did not hesitate to accept the generous offer, crossing the room to lay a hand on Hugo’s broad shoulder. “I am in your debt.”

Hugo smiled. “I assure you that I am keeping tally.”

Gabriel managed a strained chuckle, although it was obvious he remained troubled as he left the room. Hugo watched his friend’s retreat before leaving the breakfast room and heading down to the front salon.

He straightened his cuffs as he casually strolled into the long room with high arched windows that overlooked the circular drive. For all his dislike of society games, he was a master of playing them when the occasion demanded.

With the same nonchalance, he moved over the black-and-white tiled floor, strolling past the walnut marquetry bureau that matched the ornately carved cabinet and inlaid library table. Out of the corner of his eye, he took note of the elderly lady nearly lost among the layers of her black bombazine gown and veiled bonnet. She appeared to be napping in the corner of one of the small velvet sofas. It was not until he leaned against the mantel lined with marble busts of previous Earls of Ashcombe that he took a full survey of the female pacing the floor in obvious agitation.

His first reaction was one of surprise.

He had been expecting the typical society chit attired in a modest gown, with her pale curls perfectly groomed and her expression one of shy flirtation. He had been introduced to a hundred of them over the years, and they all seemed to be exactly the same, with only their names to offer a way to tell them apart.

This female…

His gaze narrowed as he skimmed over the wrinkled carriage gown in a dark shade of amber and the plump face that was stained with an angry color. She had clearly not bothered to rest or change before arriving after a long journey, which would explain the unruly brown curls that had tumbled from the knot at the base of her neck and the shadows beneath her dark eyes. And equally evident she was not pleased to have been kept waiting.

Peculiar.

This woman did not appear to be the sort of conceited, heartless jade that would seek out Talia to cause her pain. In truth, she appeared genuinely distraught as she glowered at him with evident impatience.

A portion of his simmering outrage eased, and he stepped forward to offer an elegant bow. “Miss Lansing?”

She bobbed a stiff curtsy, not seeming especially pleased to be confronted by an eligible bachelor who was considered one of the finest catches in London.

“Lord Rothwell,” she muttered.

He straightened, lifting a brow. “Have we been introduced?”

“We have, although it is obvious you have no recollection of the momentous occasion,” she said dryly.

Hugo stiffened. Had the audacious female just reprimanded him?

It was unthinkable. Females devoted themselves to fawning and preening and generally making a pest of themselves in order to please him.

“Forgive me, my lamentable memory…”

“Oh, never mind, it is of no account. You certainly are not the first gentleman who cannot be bothered to remember me,” she interrupted his smooth apology, giving a wave of her plump hand. “I am here to speak with Lady Ashcombe.”

“Where?”

It was her turn to be caught off guard. “I beg your pardon?”


He took a step closer, forgetting the reason he had agreed to meet with Miss Lansing as he studied her pale features that were unremarkable until one really looked. Her heavily lashed brown eyes were filled with a restless intelligence, and the hint of a dimple danced near her full, kissable lips.

“Where were we introduced?”

“What does it matter?”

“Because I find it incomprehensible that I would have forgotten. You are quite…” He struggled for the appropriate word. She was not a beauty. At least not in the traditional manner. And he had yet to see any attempt at charm. But there was something that captured and held his bemused attention. “Unique.”

“It was at Lady Jersey’s ball last season,” she grudgingly revealed.

He shook his head. “I must have been in my cups not to have swept you onto the dance floor.”

She folded her arms beneath her ample bosom. The sight of the pale flesh pressing against the lace edging her bodice caused Hugo to harden with a swift, unnerving arousal.

God almighty.

Thankfully unaware of his predicament, she offered a baleful glare.

“I believe you were too busy attempting to sweep Lady Sandford into the nearest bedchamber,” she accused. “And, if you hope to flatter me into forgetting my mission, my lord, you are wide of the mark.”

“Why? Are you impervious to flattery?”

“Enough of this foolishness.” She planted her fists on her hips. “You will inform Lady Ashcombe that I have called or I will—”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“I will scream until she makes an appearance.”

Would she? The fact that Hugo was not absolutely certain she would not create a scene if necessary only deepened his fascination.

“Why are you so determined to speak with her?”

Her rounded chin tilted. “Because I am concerned, if you must know.”

He searched her belligerent expression, realizing that there was indeed an unmistakable concern beneath her bluster and even a measure of fear. Whatever Gabriel’s assumption about Miss Lansing, she had not traveled to Carrick Park to harm Talia.

“You were concerned for her welfare?”

“Yes.”

“That is absurd.”

“Is it?” She stood her ground, her eyes flashing with dark fire. “Talia disappeared from London mere hours after her secretive wedding to the Earl of Ashcombe. And despite the numerous letters I have written over the past month pleading for her to reassure me that she is well, I have heard nothing from her.”

Hugo cast a brief glance toward the female still sleeping in the corner before stepping close enough he could capture her chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“And what is it you fear, Miss Lansing?” he asked in low tones. “Do you suspect that Lord Ashcombe has locked his vulnerable young bride in the dungeons? Or perhaps you imagined he had thrown her off the cliff?”

The color beneath her skin darkened, and he was struck by a savage need to know if the flush was a mere reaction to her anger or a display of the same arousal that plagued him.

“Who is to say?” she challenged. “I was with Talia when the earl forced his way into her private chambers and demanded that I leave. He certainly seemed angry enough to wish her harm.”

Hugo shook his head, caught between indignation that she would believe for a moment that Gabriel was capable of violence toward a woman and amusement at her bold claim.

The only other female who could have dared to stand before him, bedraggled from her long journey and spitting fire, was Talia.

It was little wonder the two had been drawn to one another.

“There is no gentleman who has not been angered at some time or another,” he pointed out, his thumb tracing the line of her full lower lip. “That does not necessarily lead him to commit a heinous crime. We are, after all, a civilized society.”

She made a sound of disgust and pulled away. “Being civilized does not stop gentlemen from behaving as barbarians.”

How could Hugo argue with her logic? He had ample proof that supposed noblemen were as capable of treachery, cruelty and shocking brutality as any savage.

Still, he found himself piqued by her obvious disdain for the opposite sex. Was it an all-encompassing contempt for gentlemen as a whole, or specifically noblemen?

“Tell me, my kitten, are you a reader of novels?” he gently mocked.

Her chin tilted a notch higher, revealing her taste for melodrama.

“Why?”

“Because not all men are the villains portrayed by the current rash of female authors.”

Her lips flattened with displeasure at his teasing. “This is not amusing.”

“Actually, I have to disagree,” he argued. “It is rather humorous that you would suspect Ashcombe of murdering his wife.”

“I have endured enough of your mockery,” she replied angrily, abruptly turning to march toward the door.

Hugo was in swift pursuit, barely managing to dart in front of her before she could barrel through the doorway.

With her escape route blocked, she regarded him with a gaze that warned she was considering boxing his ears.

“Move aside,” she snapped.

In response, he leaned a broad shoulder against the doorjamb, careful to ensure his large form managed to consume the entire entryway. He suspected she intended to slip past him the moment he was distracted.

And oh, it would be so easy to distract him, he acknowledged, his gaze lingering on those full, sensuous lips.

“Where do you think you are going?” he demanded.

“If you will not bring Talia to me, then I will find her myself.”

His gaze lifted to meet her furious glare. “Why are you so concerned?”

“Why?” She appeared briefly baffled by his question. “She is my friend.”

“Forgive my confusion, but it is my understanding that Talia’s friends have made her life in London a misery.”

She stiffened, clearly offended to be included among those who had bullied Talia.

“If you speak of those spiteful vipers who make a sport of tormenting the less-favored females, they were never Talia’s friends, nor was she ever foolish enough to consider them as such,” she retorted sharply. “It was her father who forced her to spend time in their company.”

“And you?”

“I think it should be perfectly obvious that I was a fellow wallflower who endured a similar fate as Talia,” she said, a hint of resolute pride in her voice. “We are friends because we comprehend what it means to be outcasts from society.”

A strange, distinctly alarming emotion flared to life in the center of his heart. An emotion that Hugo was certain was far more dangerous than all English traitors and French spies combined.

Attempting to ignore the sensation, he reached to straighten the cameo that was pinned to the amber ribbon encircling her neck, his fingers lingering on the satin heat of her skin.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I should not have teased you.”

Her pulse leaped beneath the light brush of his fingers. But with an obvious effort not to be diverted, she reached up to bat away his hand.

“I do not desire your pity,” she informed him sharply. “I wish to see Talia.”

He shrugged. He no longer believed that Miss Lansing was anything but a concerned friend who had traveled to Devonshire to make certain that Talia was not being mistreated by her husband. But he had promised Gabriel that he would be rid of the female.

He intended to keep his word, although he was willing to offer Miss Lansing the assurance that Talia was alive and well.


“I fear that is impossible at the moment. However, I promise—”

He cut off his soothing words as she parted her lips, her eyes dark with warning. Bloody hell, she actually intended to carry out her threat.

Without conscious thought he swooped his head downward, locking his mouth over her parted lips to prevent her determined scream.

He had no intention beyond stopping her from alarming the servants and disturbing Talia. At least that was what he told himself as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into the warm cavern of her mouth.

The convenient excuse, however, did not explain why he wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her against his stirring body. Or why he closed his eyes to savor the tangy scent of lemons that clung to her soft curls.

Despite her short stature, she fit against his large form with startling perfection, he mused, enjoying the sensation of generous curves filling his arms rather than the wispy fragility of most society women. A man of his size disliked the sensation he was about to crush his lover.

Lover…

The word teased the edge of his mind, sending a jolt of warning through his aching body. Dammit, what the hell was he doing?

A gentleman did not seduce infuriating virgins in the front salon of his best friend’s home. At least not before luncheon.

With a low moan, he forced himself to release her enticing lips and lifted his head. Before he could let her go, however, she reached up to slap his face with enough force to make his teeth rattle.

“How dare you!”

His lips twisted as he studied her astonished expression with a brooding gaze. She was naturally outraged at his bold caresses, but he did not miss the heated awareness that burned in the back of her dark eyes.

She was not entirely impervious to his touch.

“It was my intent to prevent you from causing an unpleasant scene,” he murmured. “But I believe I have just been hoisted on my own petard.”

He sensed her hesitation before she wisely decided to ignore his wry confession. Now was not the time to discuss the powerful attraction that had struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Of course, he was not especially pleased when she placed her hands against his chest and attempted to wiggle from his grip.

“Release me,” she commanded.

“Do you promise not to scream?”

“No, I most certainly do not.”

His lips twitched. Stubborn vixen.

“Miss Lansing, I assure you that Talia is in perfect health and that she is in no danger from Gabriel,” he said, attempting to ease her fears. “In fact, he happens to be embarrassingly besotted with her.”

“Then why has she not answered the letters I sent?”

Hugo shrugged, regretting that he and Gabriel had yet to discuss the story they intended to invent in explanation of their sudden disappearance.

How the hell was he to put off this female with vague lies and bluster?

And of course it did not help that he was perilously distracted by the feel of her palms that remained pressed against his chest and the curvaceous hips that were perfectly fitted between his thighs.

“She has spent the past weeks away from Carrick Park,” he announced.

“Really?” She narrowed her gaze in disbelief. “Where did she go?”

“She was sailing with her husband upon their yacht.”

“Sailing?”

“It is customary for newlyweds to enjoy a honeymoon trip,” he retorted with the thought it would be unshakable logic. “And what better place to find privacy than in the midst of the ocean?”

Naturally she leaped upon the fatal flaw of his story.

“And you joined them on this supposed honeymoon trip?”

“Of course.” His smile was closer to a grimace. “I am a devoted sailor.”

She rolled her eyes. “I do not believe you.”

And why should she? Hugo ground his teeth, his usually clever wits refusing to cooperate as he searched for an explanation. Then, like a gift from God, he caught sight of Gabriel and Talia strolling toward the stables beside the manor house.

Perhaps his luck was changing.

“Then believe this,” he muttered, grasping her hand and towing her toward the window. “Does Talia appear to be frightened or unhappy?”

She jerked from his grasp, but as she caught sight of the couple strolling arm in arm her belligerent expression softened, the tension easing from her luscious body.

As well it should, he wryly acknowledged. Not even Miss Lansing could fail to notice the devotion in Gabriel’s expression as he gazed down at his wife, or the manner that she snuggled into his side, as if she could not be close enough to his larger form.

In silence they watched as the two disappeared through the stone archway leading to the stable yard. Then, clenching her hands at her sides, Miss Lansing turned to stab him with a puzzled glower.

“Why do you refuse to allow me to speak with her?”

He considered a variety of clever lies before heaving a sigh. She deserved at least a portion of the truth for her obvious loyalty to her friend.

“Gabriel has never been in love before,” he said. “He has yet to overcome his rather primitive urge to jealously guard his bride from the world.”

“Oh.” Miss Lansing faltered, something akin to longing briefly rippling over her plump face. The same longing that had tormented Hugo since his return from France. “She is…content?”

“She is content,” Hugo readily assured her. “And once she has properly trained her stubborn husband, I suspect that she will be deliriously happy.”

“Good.” Hugo watched as she squared her shoulders. “If you will call for my carriage I must return to London.”

Hugo’s brows snapped together. He had presumed that she was staying with friends or family in the neighborhood. Now his blood ran cold at the thought of her journeying such a distance without protection.

Had the female taken leave of her senses? The roads were overrun with highwaymen and smugglers and bloodthirsty cutthroats. Not even coaching inns were safe from overly forward noblemen who would press their advances on any vulnerable young lady.

“You are traveling alone?” he demanded, moving so he could stand directly before her.

She appeared confused by the question, waving a hand toward the slumbering crone on the sofa.

“Obviously not. I have a companion.”

“Companion?” he snarled. “Not even the most lenient of guardians could consider that…” He struggled to temper his description of the woman. For all he knew, she was some sort of relation to Miss Lansing. “That ancient female a proper companion.”

She sniffed. “Thankfully you are not my guardian and who I choose as my companion is none of your concern.”

“You are mistaken.” The words tumbled from his lips before he realized what he was about to say. “I have decided to make it my concern.”

She appeared as startled as he was by his overbearing declaration.

“Excuse me?”

He hesitated. It would be simple enough to retract his arrogant claim. Or to chuckle and pretend it had been nothing more than a feeble jest.

Then he could pat Miss Lansing upon the head, send her and her lethargic companion on their way, and perhaps find his lost sanity.

But even as the thought passed through his mind, he dismissed it.

Miss Lansing was not stepping outside the door without him at her side.

“It just so happens that I was about to leave for London,” he announced, his firm tone warning he had made his decision. “We shall travel together.”

She took a hasty step backward, horror spreading over her face.


“We most certainly shall not.”

He smiled, moving to cup her cheek in his hand. “Kitten, you will eventually learn to simply concede defeat once I have made my decision. It will make our future together far more pleasant.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Have you gone utterly mad?”

He gazed deep into the wary brown eyes, his chest so tight he could barely breathe.

“There is a good possibility.”