Bride for a Night

CHAPTER FIVE



Carrick Park Estate in Devonshire, England

TALIA HAD NOT KNOWN what to expect when she’d left London to travel to Gabriel’s remote estate in Devonshire.

In truth, she had barely given thought to her destination as the carriage had rattled over the cobblestones in the early-morning light. How could she when her thoughts were consumed with Gabriel and the hours she had spent in his arms?

It had all been so…extraordinary.

From the moment he had burst into her private chambers like a madman until he had disappeared without so much as a word just before dawn, it had all seemed like a strange dream that she might wake from at any moment.

He had been so coldly dismissive after the brief ceremony, she had never dreamed he would return with the expectation of sharing a marriage bed. And certainly she could never have anticipated his passion that had swept her away on a tidal wave of pleasure.

So why had he come to her?

Had it truly been out of fear that her father would demand proof of their consummation like some medieval villain? It seemed ridiculous. And besides, his seduction had not felt like a duty.

Even now, a month after arriving at her new home, she still lay in bed at night, recalling each branding kiss and every skillful touch.

Not that his reasons truly mattered, she told herself for the hundredth time, giving a shake of her head as she strolled along the narrow dirt path that led from the thatched cottage to Carrick Park.

For all the hours he had devoted to pleasuring her into mindless abandon, he had been swift enough to walk away from her bed, not even bothering to make an appearance as she was loaded into the carriage and taken from his home.

His message was painfully clear.

She was still his frumpy, ill-bred, unwanted wife who he intended to bury in the country.

The knowledge might very well have been the last blow needed to crush what remained of her fragile spirit, but her arrival in Devonshire had proven to be more a blessing than a punishment.

From the moment she’d set foot at Carrick Park her heart had lightened, and her fear of the future had mysteriously eased.

Perhaps it was her first sight of the grand manor house.

Constructed near the limestone cliff overlooking the English Channel, the house had once been a monastery of pale brown stone. The newer additions blended nicely with the original structure with rows of Elizabethan windows and slanted roofs. Ivy climbed along the front bays, softening the angular lines and allowing the structure to meld with the untamed parkland that surrounded the estate. The same ivy could be found on the rambling stables and outbuildings that were spread beyond the gardens.

It was not as large or as tidily manicured as some country estates, but Talia found herself immediately drawn to the rugged, natural beauty.

It felt like…home.

Far more so than her father’s gaudy house in Sloane Square. Or Gabriel’s frigidly elegant townhouse.

But, more likely it was the unexpected realization that so far away from the incessant criticism of her father and the smoldering fury of her husband, she could breathe freely. She was finally given the opportunity to make decisions for herself, which filled her with a strength she never dreamed possible.

Over the past month she’d slowly managed to earn the trust of the wary servants and tenants who had clearly been leery of meeting the latest Countess of Ashcombe.

They did not care that she was the daughter of Silas Dobson or that her ancestors could not be traced back to the Garden of Eden. For them, all that mattered was her genuine interest in their lives and her willingness to do what was within her power to ease their troubles.

Passing by the small redbrick church with a slate roof and an enclosed porch that framed the entrance, Talia came to a halt at the sight of a slender, dark-haired gentleman. He stepped through the high hedge that separated the church from the vicarage.

A smile curved her lips. Vicar Jack Gerard did not resemble any man of God that Talia had ever met.

He was very young, not more than a few years older than Talia, and so exquisitely handsome that there was little wonder the pews were overflowing on Sunday morning. What woman could resist the perfect male features and velvet brown eyes that held a hint of devilish humor? And while he was careful to wear simple black coats and breeches with a modestly tied cravat, he possessed such an innate sense of style and grace that he made even the finest noblemen appear more like preening peacocks than gentlemen of fashion.

Of course, he would not cast Gabriel in the shade, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind. For all his faults, her breathtakingly handsome husband possessed a dominating presence that commanded attention no matter where he might be.

It was a voice that Talia was swift to dismiss.

Gabriel clearly desired to pretend she did not exist. For her own peace of mind it would be wise for her to do the same.

Grimly turning her thoughts away from Gabriel, Talia studiously concentrated on the approaching vicar. Which allowed her to catch sight of his subtle change of expression when he realized he was not alone.

Was that…dismay?

There seemed no other word to describe his response.

But his momentary reaction was swiftly hidden behind a brilliant smile of welcome, and Talia assured herself that it was nothing more than a trick of the growing dusk.


As if to prove her point, the vicar took her hand and lifted her fingers to his lips, his kiss lingering just a hint too long.

“Good evening, my lady,” he murmured, his low voice edged by an elusive accent.

It was rumored that his parents had fled the French revolution to settle in England, although Talia was painfully aware that gossip rarely held any truth. And so far as Talia was concerned his past did not matter.

From their first meeting he had treated her with a beguiling charm that she had greedily encouraged, allowing his flirtations to ease the wounds of Gabriel’s sharp rejection.

Not to mention the icy lack of welcome from her more aristocratic neighbors who had yet to issue an invitation to their exclusive gatherings.

She already considered him a dear friend.

“Vicar.”

Lifting his head, he slowly inspected her apple-green walking dress edged with silver lace along the scooped bodice. A matching ribbon encircled her waist. Her bonnet was a jaunty yellow that had been dyed to match her half boots that peeked from beneath the hem of her gown.

Until arriving in Devonshire she would never have chosen a dress in such a vivid color, and certainly she would never have dared to reveal so much of her full bosom.

But with the vicar’s gentle encouragement she had sought out the local dressmaker and ordered a complete new wardrobe. She had even started to wear her hair in a casual style that allowed several glossy strands to frame her face.

Now, the sight of the appreciation simmering in his eyes made each tedious hour spent being poked, prodded and measured worthwhile.

“I must say you are appearing particularly fine today,” he said, continuing to hold her fingers in a gentle grip. “That gown suits you.”

She shyly preened beneath the warmth of his gaze. “Do you think so?”

“I do. The shade brings out the emerald of your eyes.” A wicked smile tugged at his lips. “May I indulge my vanity and tell myself that I can take a small measure of credit for your lovely ensemble?”

She chuckled. “You can take full credit, sir.”

“Please, I really must insist that you call me Jack,” he interrupted, giving her fingers a squeeze. “We are friends, are we not?”

She paused, a warning that her husband would not be pleased to discover his new bride speaking so intimately with another man. Even so, she tilted her chin in an unconscious gesture of pride.

Gabriel had given up his right to dictate her behavior when he had driven her from London.

“Jack,” she breathed.

Satisfaction flared through his dark eyes. “Much better. Now, what were you saying?”

“I was admitting that I shall unfortunately never develop a talent for fashion. Which is why I am so thankful for your advice.”

“A foolish business.” He shrugged. “You have far more important talents.”

“You are very kind.”

“No, my dear, I speak with all sincerity,” he assured her. “Your presence at Carrick Park has enriched the entire neighborhood.”

“Jack…”

“Only this morning Mrs. Jordan was singing your praises for having so quickly acquired a suitable doctor.” He overrode her embarrassed protest. “And Mr. Stone is convinced you are an angel for the meals you have provided for his family. And, of course, your plans for the new school have the entire countryside twittering with excitement.”

With a laugh, Talia pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. Her entire life had been filled with criticism and the knowledge she was a disappointment to those who were supposed to love her.

She had no notion how to accept such admiration.

“Enough.”

He took a step closer, releasing her hand so he could cup her chin in his palm.

“I simply wish you to know that your servants and tenants consider you to be one of the finest Countesses of Ashcombe in memory.”

Genuine warmth filled her heart. The realization that she had the power to improve the lives of those who depended upon her had given a sense of purpose to her days. And more than that, it had offered a newfound confidence in herself.

Something she had never expected.

“It is pleasant to think that I am not an utter failure in my position.”

His brows snapped into a frown. “Failure? Why would you say such a thing?”

“How can I not? As you are well aware, I have yet to be welcomed by my more noble neighbors. They are obviously not so pleased by my presence.”

He studied her pale face. “Does that trouble you?”

She grimaced. “The thought of bringing shame to my husband’s family troubles me.”

Without warning Jack grasped her upper arms in a firm grip, his dark eyes blazing.

“Do not,” he growled.

“Vicar…Jack.”

“Forgive me, but I cannot allow you to talk such nonsense,” he barked, not sounding the least apologetic.

Talia regarded him with a measure of surprise, taken off guard by the sudden vehemence in his tone.

“It is not nonsense to be concerned for my position as the Countess of Ashcombe.”

“Surely your position means tending to those in need, which you have done with admirably, rather than wasting your time and resources on impressing those unworthy of your concern?”

Talia frowned, suddenly suspicious that Jack Gerard hid dark depths behind his smooth charm. But she soon shrugged aside her brief moment of disquiet.

What was the matter with her? Jack was a handsome, excessively pleasant gentleman whom she counted a friend.

“I am not so certain my husband would agree with you,” she said, returning her attention to their conversation.

“Then he is a fool.”

“Jack,” she gently chastised.

“My lady…Talia…” He paused, as if searching for the proper words. “I have only been here a short while, but the people tend to confide in me.”

She laughed. It was rare that the church was not filled with eager females seeking a word alone with the handsome vicar.

“Yes, you do have a skill for earning the trust of others, especially if they happen to be the fairer sex,” she teased.

His expression never eased. “Then you will believe me when I tell you that the locals had few kind words for the previous countess.”

Her breath caught at his blunt confession. The sensible part of her knew she should gently turn the conversation in another direction. It was hardly polite to gossip about her mother-in-law with the local vicar. But a larger part of her was consumed with curiosity about the woman who had yet to acknowledge Talia as a member of her family.

“Why?”

“She is like far too many in society.” His voice was edged with disgust. “She cares for nothing beyond her own comforts and her social standing. In less than a month you have managed to spend more time among the tenants than she has in the past thirty years. Certainly she has never taken the effort to learn their names or to discover their needs.” He grimaced. “To be honest, I doubt she is even aware of them as more than additions to the barnyard animals.”

Talia frowned. She had always thought the Countess of Ashcombe a conceited, overly proud woman when she had seen her in London, but it was disturbing to think she had no concern for the poor and vulnerable.

“I do not believe she could be entirely oblivious to those who depend upon her.”

“No?” Jack pointed across the distant fields that provided a perfect view of Carrick Park. The sight was magnificent as the last rays of sunlight brushed the windows in pinks and violets, and the water cascading in the marble fountains sparkled like jewels. “Last winter she insisted that old Lucas be forced from the cottage that had been in his family for two hundred years because it spoiled her view of the church.”


“Surely she did not realize…”

“The poor man begged on his knees to have his home spared, but he was tossed like so much rubbish into his daughter’s care and his cottage was destroyed.” He deliberately held her troubled gaze. “He died less than a fortnight later.”

“I cannot accept she would be so cruel.”

“It was more indifference than cruelty,” he mused. “For aristocrats such as the countess, those without blue blood running through their veins are simply unworthy of their consideration.”

She tugged from his lingering grip, licking her dry lips. She barely noticed that his dark gaze seemed fascinated by the small gesture.

“And what of my…” She still struggled with what to call the man who had taken her as his bride, then stolen her innocence before shipping her off to the country. “Of the earl? The servants and tenants speak of him with great respect.”

“As if they have a choice,” he said dryly.

A sickness settled in the pit of her stomach. She could not explain why, but the thought of Gabriel as yet another worthless aristocrat living off the sweat of his tenants without offering them the assistance and appreciation they deserved made her heart ache with disappointment.

“Oh.”

There was a brief hesitation, then without warning Jack heaved a harsh sigh.

“Forgive me, Talia. I am not being entirely fair.”

She blinked in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“From all I have heard your husband is a decent landlord who has done much to introduce the latest farming techniques to his tenants.”

“But?” she prompted, sensing he was not revealing the full truth.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What are you not telling me?”

He gave a lift of his hands. “The earl tends to be an intimidating figure to most in the neighborhood. Few would dare approach him without invitation. Which means many have continued to suffer.”

A portion of Talia’s distress faded upon hearing Gabriel was merely aloof and not a callous brute. Surely with a bit of encouragement he could earn the trust of those in his care? Not that she intended to be the unfortunate individual making the suggestion, she acknowledged with a tiny shiver.

Nor would her companion. Not if his barely hidden sneer was any indication.

“You disapprove of my husband?” she demanded, wondering if the two men had ever crossed paths.

“I have little use for those who treat their power as a God-given right rather than a duty to others.”

She narrowed her gaze at the intensity in his voice. “Are you a Jacobin?”

His charming smile returned in the blink of an eye. “I am a humble vicar who is devoted to his flock, not a revolutionary.”

“Hmm.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why do I sense there is much you keep hidden?”

Before she could realize his intent, Jack had reached to tug at a stray curl that rested against her cheek.

“I will admit that my estimation of the earl has risen considerably since your arrival at Carrick Park,” he murmured, his dark gaze regarding her with blatant admiration. “I would never have suspected that he possessed the good sense to wed a lady of such value, rather than a typical debutante.”

Talia blushed, vividly aware of the intimate touch of his hand against her cheek.

“You must know that I was not the bride of his choice,” she said in flustered tones.

His thumb brushed her lower lip. “Are you so certain?”

“Of course.” She regarded him in bewildered shock. He could not possibly mean that Gabriel was anything but horrified to be married to Silas Dobson’s daughter. “He barely noted my existence until my father bullied him into marrying me.”

“It is my experience that gentlemen such as Lord Ashcombe rarely allow themselves to be bullied into any situation, let alone into marriage.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You have not yet had the untoward pleasure of meeting my father.”

“I do not doubt he is a man of considerable…”

“Pigheaded stubbornness combined with a brute lack of morals?” she offered wryly.

“Whatever his power, he could never truly take on a wealthy peer of the realm,” he smoothly continued. “He might have given Lord Ashcombe an excuse to take you as his bride, but the earl would never have wed you unless that was what he desired to do.”

Talia’s heart gave a strange leap of excitement before she hastily quelled the ridiculous reaction.

Jack clearly underestimated Gabriel’s pride. He would have wed a savage from the colonies to avoid a nasty scandal. Now he hated her for the sacrifice he had been forced to make. And she did not blame him.

“You are quite mistaken.”

His lips twisted. “Perhaps.”

Giving a shake of her head, Talia parted her lips to continue her protests only to be distracted by the heavy tread of footsteps approaching from the cemetery behind the church.

With a frown she turned to watch two men dressed in rough woolen sailor coats and loose trousers come to an abrupt halt as they noticed her.

A strange chill inched down her spine at the sight of their heavily muscled bodies and their weathered faces that spoke of endless hours toiling in the sun. Still, it was not their rough appearances that made her consider the need to flee for safety, it was instead the unmistakable air of violence that hovered about them.

She took an instinctive step backward, not sure what to expect. Then surprisingly, she felt Jack move to stand protectively at her back, his hand circling her waist.

One of the two men glanced toward the vicar, and Talia tensed, terrified that they were about to be attacked.

Instead there was a taut moment of silence before they gave a respectful dip of their heads and turned to make their way into the church.

Talia gave a baffled shake of her head, not entirely certain what had just happened.

“Good heavens.” She turned to meet Jack’s wary gaze. “Who were those gentlemen?”

“No one who need concern you,” he assured her.

Talia was far from comforted. “Are you certain? They look to be ruffians.”

Jack shrugged. “Ruffians have as much need of spiritual guidance as any other. Even more so.”

“But…”

“It grows late, Talia.” Without warning, Jack leaned down to brush a soft kiss over her cheek. “Return to your home.”

She ignored his forward manner, sensing that he was deliberately attempting to be rid of her. Why?

Did he fear the men might still be a danger to her? Or was there some other reason for his desire to send her on her way?

“You do not wish me to call for the constable?”

“No.” He gave her a small push down the narrow lane. “I will be fine. I will see you tomorrow.”

Talia obediently headed up the pathway, waiting until she turned the sweeping corner that hid her from Jack’s view before she darted into the nearby copse of trees and started to creep back toward the church.

There was something distinctly suspicious about the strangers. And while she admired Jack for his willingness to offer sanctuary to all who came to his church, she could not bear the thought that his kindness would leave him vulnerable to harm.

Or death.

Holding up her skirts to avoid becoming tangled in the thick undergrowth, Talia weaved her way through the trees, ignoring the odd sense of premonition that clutched at her heart. Who would not be unnerved at creeping through the gathering gloom?

Still, for the first time since she’d left London, she was conscious of the scurry of unseen animals among the bushes and the distant cry of an owl that filled the silence. And even more disturbing was the awareness of just how alone she was.


If something happened, who would hear her screams?

She gave a shake of her head. She would not allow Jack to be injured because she was frightened of shadows.

At last reaching the edge of the trees, Talia squared her shoulders and darted across the open yard to the back of the church. She pressed her back against the bricks, her heart lodged in her throat.

From inside the building she could hear the sound of voices, and before she lost her courage, she forced herself to inch toward the open window, sending up a silent prayer that no one would happen by.

How the devil would she explain the Countess of Ashcombe creeping through the dark and eavesdropping upon the local vicar?

She stopped at the edge of the window and tilted her head to peer into the room, easily recognizing the sacristy. How…odd. Why would the vicar take two strange men into a storage room for the church’s most sacred possessions?

The most reasonable explanation would be that the men had forced Jack to the room in the hopes of discovering something of value. The church might be small, but there were several items made of silver as well as a few rare artifacts that a collector would pay a goodly sum to acquire. Which meant she should be dashing toward the nearest cottage to seek assistance.

But as her gaze shifted toward the three men who filled the room, she hesitated.

Jack did not look as if he were being held against his will. In fact, he appeared to be in charge of his companions as one of the men reached beneath his coat to toss a leather satchel at the vicar.

Jack eagerly tugged open the satchel and pulled out a stack of papers.

“These are the most recent maps?” he demanded, unfolding one of the papers and studying it with deep concentration.

The larger of the two men gave a grunt of agreement. “They were copied directly by a clerk at the Home Office.”

Talia stilled. Dear lord. She might know very little of politics, but she was well aware that the Home Office was headquarters to the various leaders who plotted war against Napoleon.

Jack was nodding, his attention still on the map. “And this clerk is certain no one suspects that he duplicated them?”

“Aye.” The stranger made a sound of annoyance. “Cost me a bloody fortune.”

An icy sense of disbelief spread through Talia as she watched Jack shrug, vaguely recognizing this was not the kindly vicar she thought she knew.

The glimpse of ruthless authority she had so readily dismissed earlier was in full evidence as he carefully spread the papers across the narrow table in the center of the room. And his French accent was far more pronounced.

It was as if he had been playing in a masquerade, and now the true man beneath the disguise was exposed.

“Do not fear, you will be well rewarded once I can be certain these are genuine,” Jack muttered.

The smaller stranger leaned over the table with a frown on his ruddy face.

“That ain’t France, is it?”

“Very astute, Monsieur Henderson,” Jack drawled, his tone mocking. “It happens to be Portugal.”

“And why would the Frenchies be wanting a map of Portugal?”

A smile of satisfaction curved Jack’s lips. “Because this tells us precisely where and when Sir Arthur Wellesley intends to land his army. And the battle strategy that he hopes to employ.” He stroked a slender finger over the map. “Most informative.”

Traitor…

The word whispered through her mind as Talia pressed a hand to her mouth. It was all so unbelievable. More like a plot from one of the thrilling novels she kept hidden in the privacy of her bedchamber than reality.

Who could ever suspect that the charming vicar in a remote village in Devonshire was attempting to destroy the British Empire?

The larger of the men folded his arms over his chest as he glared at the various maps spread across the table.

“Looks to me like a bumbling mess, but if you are satisfied, then so be it.”

“I am.” Jack offered a dip of his head. “And the emperor thanks you for your service.”

The man snorted. “I ain’t wantin’ the thanks of bloody Napoleon. I want me money, nothing else.”

“Of course, I…”

Jack came to an abrupt halt, then without warning his head turned toward the window, almost as if he sensed Talia’s presence. It was too late for Talia to duck away, and their shocked gazes locked before something that might have been regret flashed through his dark eyes.

“Mon Dieu,” he breathed, shoving away from the table and heading toward the side door.

Talia gave a small shriek as she gathered her skirts and darted toward the nearby path. There was no thought to where she was headed, only a terrified need to escape.

Of course, it was a futile effort.

Even if she were not hampered by her layers of skirts and petticoats, she was no match for an athletic gentleman in his prime.

She was still in the churchyard when she felt strong arms circling her waist and hauling her squirming body against a hard chest. Then Jack leaned down his head to whisper directly in her ear.

“I truly wish you had heeded my advice, ma petite.”