Bride for a Night

CHAPTER TEN



STANDING SO HE COULD keep an eye on both his unexpected intruder and the door, Gabriel narrowed his gaze and resisted the urge to throttle Sophia Reynard.

There was no doubt the female was a stunning beauty.

Her silky hair and dark eyes set against the pale alabaster of her skin gave her an exotic air that would make any man think of warm nights and satin sheets.

But Gabriel had never been a gentleman who allowed himself to be led by his cock.

So far the female had attempted to distract him with a peek of her bosom and a few seductive smiles. Now obviously she had turned her tactics to insulting his wife and attempting to make him question her honor.

“Be very careful what you imply, Sophia,” he rasped.

Her mouth tightened with something that might have been resentment.

“I merely speak the truth.”

“My wife is above reproach and if you think to say otherwise you will regret—”

“My lord,” she interrupted with brittle impatience. “I would never be so mad as to question the Countess of Ashcombe’s honor, but you must realize that she is precisely the sort of female to stir Jacques’s most protective instincts.”

Against his will, Gabriel found himself hesitating. He wanted to dismiss her words as a trick, but how could he? There was only one reason that the Frenchman had brought Talia to this palace and treated her as a welcome guest rather than a prisoner.

He wanted her for himself.

White-hot fury exploded through him.

“She belongs to me.”

“You have an odd means of claiming her,” Sophia said, her voice edged with annoyance. “I am not entirely certain why you chose to abandon your young and beautiful bride in the countryside. It was highly irresponsible and destined to rouse the primitive desires of every man the neighborhood over to rush to her rescue.”

He scowled, ignoring the unpleasant realization that she had a point.

“I did not abandon her.”

“She was alone and vulnerable, an irresistible target for a man who worships the memory of his father.”

He feverishly paced across the cellar, his heart giving a strange lurch at the thought of his wife feeling alone and vulnerable while he had been in London, pompously wallowing in his self-righteousness.

“What does his father have to do with Talia?”

“The previous Monsieur Gerard was willing to die to protect his wife from the cruelty of a villainous nobleman. How could Jacques not be eager to charge to the rescue of a damsel in distress?”

Gabriel snorted. “The bastard did not charge to the rescue. He kidnapped her and now is holding her prisoner.”

“In his mind he is the hero rescuing her from you, the evil blackguard threatening to destroy her life,” Sophia ruthlessly pressed.

Male possession clawed through him. Talia was his. And he would kill any man who thought otherwise.

“I assume that you have a purpose in seeking me out?” he seethed.

Her dark eyes smoldered with barely suppressed emotion as she stepped from the wall.

“I wish your wife to disappear from France and I believe you are the gentleman to accomplish the delicate task.”

“I would, of course, be delighted to return my wife to our home in England, but perhaps you might have noticed I am currently being held captive.” He waved a hand toward the door. “Unless you have magically made the guards disappear?”

“Non, but I am willing to distract them while you escape.”

He studied her with blatant suspicion. “Why?”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Pardon?”

“Why would you assist me?”

“I have told you, I desire the countess to be taken far away from France.”

“Mere jealousy would not compel you to betray your lover, and certainly not your country.”

A tragic smile curved her lips as she stood proudly beneath his accusing gaze. “You understand nothing of women if you are unaware that we will sacrifice everything for love.”

A pang of envy—or was it longing?—briefly pierced his heart before he angrily dismissed the sensation.

Love was nothing more than a pretty illusion that females used to disguise their primitive passions. Couples were drawn together by lust, by power or by wealth. It had nothing to do with rosebuds and moonbeams.

“Actually I understand enough of women to be suspicious when a beautiful female simply appears, offering precisely what I most desire,” he said and sneered. “There is always a price to be paid. Usually one I have no wish to pay.”

She made a sound of impatience. “What could I hope to gain by assisting you to escape?”

“It is not something I intend to discover.” He regarded her stubbornly. “Frankly, I do not trust you, Sophia Reynard.”

There was a long silence, as if the woman were pondering some deep problem, then at last she heaved a sigh.

“A pity,” she muttered. “I had hoped to avoid this.”

“Avoid what?”

She visibly squared her shoulder. “I will prove that I am willing to sacrifice all to reclaim my lover.”

His brow arched. “A charming offer, but one that does not interest me.”

Her expression hardened with annoyance. “I do not intend to share my body.”

“Then what?”

“I…”

“Yes?”

“I can reveal the English traitor who is Jacques’s partner.”

Hardly an earth-shattering offer considering they had already dealt with the immoral bastards.

“We have captured his partners.”

“Non, you captured a few trifling employees.”

He stiffened at her derisive tone. “A clerk in the Home Office is hardly trifling.”

“Perhaps not, but he is easily replaced.” She paused. “So long as one is acquainted with a gentleman who is in the proper position to replace him.”

“Jacques?” he asked, baffled by her vague hints.

She gave a vehement shake of her head. “Jacques avoids London like the plague. It is essential that he maintain a discreet presence in England so as not to attract unwanted attention.”

“Why?”

“His mother resides in London. She has no notion of his…”

Gabriel was not entirely surprised that the Frenchman would have family in England. His English had been far too polished for him not to have spent several years in England.

“Treachery?” he suggested.

“Of his daring crusade,” she corrected sharply. “And of course, the ruffians he employs to transport the information from London could never cultivate the necessary contacts within the government and military.” She stepped forward, holding his gaze. “Non, only a gentleman of noble birth could provide the access that Jacques needs.”

His lips parted to deny the mere thought that a noble gentleman could ever be involved in such a sordid scheme, but he stopped short. He, better than anyone, understood that some of the greatest thieves, murderers and cutthroats were not in the stews, but traveled the hallowed streets of Mayfair.

Besides, she had a point. Jacques had to have a powerful patron to have become such a successful spy.

“Very well, I accept that there must be a gentleman of considerable social standing to have connections within the Home Office,” he grudgingly conceded.

“And if I offer you the identity of the traitor you will leave France with your wife?” she demanded. “Your word?”


Gabriel hesitated. He had assumed from the moment the beautiful woman had entered the cellar that this was a trap. He would be a fool not to.

But could he in all conscience ignore any opportunity to discover a traitor to the crown?

Who knew how many British soldiers had been lost because of the mysterious bastard? And how many more would be put at risk in the future?

He had no choice but to allow her to take the lead in the farce they were playing.

At least for now.

“My word.”

“The traitor is…”

She allowed her words to dangle, feigning a reluctance that was no doubt intended to whet his appetite. Instead it just annoyed him.

“Yes?” he snapped.

“Mr. Harry Richardson.”

Silence filled the cellar as Gabriel struggled to accept she had dared accuse his brother. Then, with a murderous fury he grasped her arms and hauled her forward to glare down at her treacherous beauty.

“You bitch,” he rasped. “I knew this was a trick.”

Her face paled to a sickly shade of ash, but she grimly refused to admit the truth. “Non. You must listen to me.”

“Listen to the filthy lies that drip with such ease from those lovely lips?” He shifted his hand to wrap his fingers around her neck, his grip just hard enough to reveal how easily he could put an end to her lies. “I have a better notion. Why do I not choke the truth from you?”

He felt her swallow convulsively, her eyes darkening in genuine fear.

“My pocket,” she managed to squeeze out.

“What?”

“Reach into my pocket.”

“Why?” he mocked. “Do you have a viper hidden?”

“I have proof.”

Gabriel gave a sharp laugh, not certain why he was surprised that his enemies would sink to accusing his own brother of such treachery.

Was there not a saying that “the rules of fair play do not apply in love and war?”

Keeping one hand wrapped around her throat, Gabriel used the other to slip into the pocket of her dressing gown.

“I had already planned to kill Jacques Gerard, now I intend to make certain that the process is as slow and painful as…” He forgot how to speak as he pulled out the small, round object he found in her pocket and glanced at the antique gold ring carved with a familiar signet. “What the hell?”

“You recognize the ring?” she asked softly.

Recognize it? Of course he damned well recognized the thing. Hadn’t he personally put it on his brother’s finger after his father’s funeral? He had worn it himself until he had been forced to accept the ring bearing the Ashcombe crest.

He barely dared to breathe as he fought back the deluge of emotions that threatened to drown him.

Shock. Disbelief. Rage.

Insufferable regret.

“Where did you find it?”

“Jacques demanded it of your brother when Harry agreed to become a spy for France.”

He was shaking his head in denial before she ever finished her vile accusation. “No.”

“Jacques sensed that Harry might prove to be an unreliable ally so he desired a token to ensure your brother would not decide to betray his new employer,” she pressed.

His gut twisted, his blood running cold even as he told himself that it was a cruel trick.

Whatever Harry’s numerous sins, he would never betray his country. Never.

He clenched his fingers around the ring. “Why this?”

Sophia shrugged. “The ring would expose Harry’s own sins should he ever decide to be…indiscreet.”

“It proves nothing,” he forced himself to mutter. “The ring could easily have been stolen from Carrick Park. No doubt Vicar—” he mockingly stressed the title “—Gerard was often welcomed into my home.”

She regarded him with something perilously close to pity as she reached into her other pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment.

“And this?”

With a curse he snatched the paper from her hand, still attempting to convince himself that this was a deception. It only took a glance, however, for harsh reality to slam into him with agonizing force.

It was not just Harry’s signature or the stamped wax seal next to it that convinced him the note confessing his brother’s willing pledge to the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte and his agreement to offer Jacques Gerard any assistance he might require that convinced him that it was not a forgery. It was the careless, nearly illegible penmanship that was distinctly his brother’s. It would be near impossible to duplicate. Damnation.

His mind reeled as the appalling implications of his brother’s treachery bit deep into his heart.

Soldiers had died. He shuddered to think how many. The Corsican monster had been allowed to continue his rampage across Europe and now the Peninsula, because England and her allies had been constantly one step behind. And masses had been driven from their homes to flee from the raging battles.

Was there any worse crime that could be committed?

Unwelcome memories of Harry seared through Gabriel’s mind. Images of Harry arriving home in the early morning hours appearing drunk and disheveled with the stench of cheap perfume on his clothing. Of the young man badgering his mother for yet another loan to pay for a flamboyant carriage or box at the theater. Of the burly men who arrived on the doorstep demanding payment from one gambling hell or another.

Weak and self-indulgent.

Two faults that had proven more dangerous than any murderous madman.

Unable to stand still, Gabriel paced across the dirt floor, his mind in turmoil.

Was it possible his brother had been forced into becoming a spy? Had he been blackmailed into writing the damned note?

As unlikely as it might seem, it was the slim thread he could grasp at.

“Tell me from the beginning.”

Sophia cleared her throat, no doubt relieved that Gabriel had not chosen to kill the messenger.

“From what Jacques has revealed, he and Harry attended school together.”

Gabriel frowned, unable to believe that the intensely driven Jacques could ever have chosen a shallow gamester who considered nothing beyond his own pleasures as a companion.

“They were friends?”

“I do not know the entire story, but they were at least acquainted closely enough for your brother to be aware of Jacques’s sympathies for the revolution, as well as his return to France and loyalty to Napoleon.”

Gabriel glanced toward his companion. “How can you be certain?”

“Because he made a most surprising visit to this palace over a year ago.”

Harry had traveled to France?

“Exactly when?” he demanded.

Sophia took a moment to consider her answer. “Two years ago this past April,” she at last revealed. “I cannot give you the precise day.”

It was Gabriel’s turn to hesitate as he shifted through his memories, wanting to be able to prove that Harry had been safely in London when this woman claimed he was here bartering away his soul.

Unfortunately he had a vague recollection of his mother pouting for weeks because her beloved Harry had refused to accompany her to London for the beginning of the season. Gabriel had been equally surprised by his brother’s insistence to remain at Carrick Park, considering his intense dislike for the countryside.

If he’d had any notion the evil that his brother had been plotting…

With a hiss he shoved aside his worthless regrets.

Later he could wallow in guilt and self-recriminations. For now he needed to discover how this nightmare had started and where it was headed.

“He arrived without invitation?”


“He traveled with Madame Martine, who was his current lover,” Sophia said, watching his restless movements with a wary gaze. “I believe she was the one to suggest that Harry could ease his financial difficulties by forming an alliance with Jacques. Your brother is a gentleman with a love for the extravagant.”

Gabriel snorted. “I am painfully aware of my brother’s expensive habits, but I find it difficult to believe that he would ever reach the level of depravity necessary to betray one’s own country. Not unless he was being forced.”

“There was no force necessary, as you must know, my lord,” she said with a hint of sympathy. “There are those men whose souls are barren. They seek to fill the emptiness with ever more exotic pleasures, but nothing can offer them peace.”

His hands clenched as her words sliced through his heart with painful precision.

“You know nothing of my brother,” he argued, even knowing he could no longer deny the truth.

“I would suspect that I know him better than you, my lord.” A sad smile curved her lips. “I, at least, can see him for who he is.”

“I do not doubt you have vast experience in knowing a great number of men,” he snidely retorted.

Her lips thinned at his insult, but she refused to be silenced.

“Have you considered the notion that your brother not only betrayed his country, but his family, as well?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“How do you believe Jacques acquired his position as vicar upon your estate?”

Gabriel had assumed that there was nothing left to shock him when it came to his brother’s lack of morals. A foolish presumption that left him unprepared for the accusation that Harry would not only abuse his position in Gabriel’s family, but that he would expose his mother and their tenants to the dangers of ruthless spies and immoral traitors on his land.

Sickening pain shifted to lethal fury.

When he got his hands on his brother he intended to…what?

Hand him over to the authorities and submit his mother to watching her child hanged as a traitor and then endure the shame of being shunned by society?

Allow him to once again walk away with no repercussions?

God almighty. What a mess.

“Damnation,” he breathed.

Sophia stepped toward him. “Do you accept that I speak the truth?”

“It would seem I have no choice.” With a motion devoid of his usual grace, Gabriel shoved the ring and note into the pocket of his breeches. “I can, however, ensure that your lover release my brother from the threat of exposure.”

She shrugged. “You can take them if you wish, but it will not protect Harry.”

His brows snapped together. “There are other items?”

“If there are none now, there soon will be.”

“An empty bluff,” he growled.

“Poor Lord Ashcombe.” Sophia regarded him with a pity that set his teeth on edge. “Only this morning Jacques received word from your brother demanding money and a place to remain hidden from the ‘devils his brother had sent in pursuit of him.’”

A humorless smile stretched Gabriel’s lips at the irony of the situation. He had sent his servants to find his brother so he could punish him for having forced Gabriel into an unwanted wedding.

Who could have guessed that jilting Talia would prove to be the least of his sins?

“And Jacques agreed to assist Harry?”

“Of course. As the brother of the Earl of Ashcombe, Harry is a priceless associate.”

“Where did the letter come from?”

“Here.”

Gabriel went rigid at the unexpected word. “In the palace?”

“Non. The letter was delivered from Calais.” They both froze as the muffled sound of voices floated through the door. “My lord, someone approaches. We can delay no longer.”

With a low curse, Gabriel yanked his thoughts from his brother and concentrated on the dangers at hand. He would not have to worry about Harry if he ended up in an unmarked French grave. “Fine.”

Still unwilling to fully trust Sophia, he moved to wrap an imprisoning arm around her shoulders as he led her toward the door. He did not intend to have an enemy follow him.

He had been stabbed in the back enough for one day.

Besides, she would make a handy hostage if the need arose.

He had nearly reached the opposite side of the cellar when there was a squeak of the hinges, and the heavy door was being pushed open.

Cursing his lack of a weapon, Gabriel had no choice but to helplessly watch as the door swung slowly inward.

Prepared for one of the guards or even Jacques, Gabriel was stunned into immobility at the sight of the familiar female with a mass of untamed curls and emerald green eyes clutching a small bundle in her arms.

“God almighty…” he breathed. “Talia?”