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 h
is 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?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AFTER RECOVERING FROM the considerable drop from her window, Talia had hastily searched for her belongings that Gabriel had left in the garden after being captured. It had taken only a few moments before she was sneaking through the darkness in search of the cellars.
Along the way she had dodged and darted past the various guards while inwardly preparing herself to accept that Gabriel might very well be in dire condition.
Who knew what Jacques might have done to him?
He could be chained to the walls. Or recovering from a brutal beating. Or maimed from some hideous torture.
Her imagination had conjured any number of terrible fates, but she had never once considered the possibility that he would be passing his time with a beautiful, near-naked woman wrapped in his arms. Worthless pig.
Coming to an awkward halt, she regarded her husband with a proud tilt of her chin.
“Forgive me,” she uttered through gritted teeth. “I had the most ridiculous notion that you might desire to be rescued.” Her gaze shifted to the woman at his side, not at all comforted by the realization that she was a good ten years her senior. What did it matter? The woman was the sort of sensual siren who would be tempting men until the day she died. “It did not occur that you might be occupied.”
The unknown woman ran a dark, scrutinizing gaze over Talia, a mysterious smile curving her lips.
“You must be the Countess of Ashcombe.”
“I am,” Talia admitted. “And you are?”
“Sophia Reynard.”
Even her name was temptingly exotic, Talia acknowledged, pettily wishing the woman at least possessed a wart to mar her perfection.
Having the decency to remove his arms from his lover, Gabriel stepped toward her with a forbidding frown.
“Talia, how the devil did you escape your rooms?”
“I crawled out the window.”
He sucked in a harsh breath. “Dammit, you could have broken you neck.”
Well, so much for gratitude. Unappreciative sod.
“You were the one urging me to leap from the window not three hours ago.”
“Yes, when I was there to catch you,” he growled, looking as if he could not quite believe her lack of intelligence.
She sniffed. “Obviously you were too busy to be of assistance, so I had little choice but to risk my neck.”
“What of the guards?” Sophia interrupted.
Talia returned her attention to Gabriel’s companion with a shrug.
“It was easy enough to slip past most of them.”
The female lifted her brows. “And the soldier at the door?”
Talia bit her lip at the stab of regret that pierced her heart.
“Yes, well, I do feel rather badly about poor Pierre,” she admitted. “He has been so kind to me.”
At her words both Gabriel and Sophia skirted past her. Talia turned to watch Gabriel fully yank open the door, while Sophia gazed down at the large soldier who lay crumpled on the ground.
“Sacré bleu,” she muttered. “Is he dead?”
Talia stiffened in outrage. “Certainly not. He will soon awaken.” She grimaced as she considered what awaited him. “Although I fear he might have a dreadfully thick head. I do hope his wife knows to brew him a tincture of lavender.”
“Christ.” Gabriel glanced back at Talia with an expression of disbelief. “I am not certain I could have floored the brute. How the hell did you do it?”
She reached into the folds of the dress that was wrapped around her belongings and pulled out the small, smoothly carved wooden cudgel.
“I am not proud of myself, but I pretended that I had something in my slipper and when he bent down to assist me I hit him with this.”
“What is it?” Sophia demanded.
“When I was younger I spent time with my father upon the docks. I was befriended by a Portuguese sailor who carved this for me and taught me the best means of striking a man.” Talia smiled at the memory of Santos, who’d been endlessly patient with a lonely girl in desperate need of affection. “My father always insisted that I carry it with me for protection.”
Gabriel studied the tiny weapon with an unreadable expression. “You had that hidden on your person at our wedding?”
“It was in my reticule.” She frowned at the strange question. “Why?”
He grimaced. “Good God.”
Without warning Sophia’s throaty chuckle filled the air. “Do you know, my lady, I was quite prepared to detest you, but I discover myself as helplessly enchanted as everyone else.” She turned her head to toss Gabriel a mocking glance. “I trust you to take her far away from France and do not allow her to return.”
“I—”
Talia’s angry retort was interrupted as Gabriel moved to take her arm.
“Can you distract the guards?” he asked of Sophia.
The older woman smiled. “Actually, I think I can do better than that.” She tugged the torch from the wall bracket and stepped through the door. “This way.”
With little choice, Talia allowed Gabriel to tug her from the room and down the low passageway.
No one spoke as they turned off the main pathway into a narrow tunnel that was filled with cobwebs and goodness knew what nasty creatures. Talia instinctively pressed closer to Gabriel, for the moment more afraid of the small furry rats scurrying around her feet than the one walking at her side.
After what seemed to be an eternity, Sophia led them out of the tunnel into an abandoned garden that was situated behind the kitchens. Pausing long enough to make certain there were no guards near, Sophia led them through the overgrown pathway, pushing open an ivy-covered gate and scurrying toward the nearby woods.
Shifting the bundle in her arms, Talia lifted her skirts to keep pace as they wove their way through the thick trees, only coming to a halt when they were well out of sight of the palace.
Sophia turned, shoving the torch into Gabriel’s hand. “I will leave you here.”
“You will say nothing of our conversation to anyo
ne,” Gabriel commanded, sharing a glance with the older woman that spoke of mutual understanding and hidden meanings.
“I have no more desire than you to share our secrets.” With a glance toward the stewing Talia, Sophia leaned forward to place a lingering kiss on Gabriel’s cheek. “Bon voyage, my lord.”
With a last smug smile toward Talia, the aggravating witch slid smoothly into the shadows and disappeared. At the same moment Gabriel hurried Talia in the opposite direction, ignoring her protests as her skirts were shredded to tatters from the underbrush.
He continued the punishing pace for the next two hours, battling a path for them with sheer brute force. Talia might have been impressed with his prowess if she had not been plagued by the memory of Sophia.
Had the two of them just risen from the narrow cot when she’d entered the cellar, or had she intruded before they could become intimate?
And why did either option make her desire to blacken his eye?
She had known when they’d wed that Gabriel was bound to have dozens of mistresses. Fidelity was considered a puritanical concept among society, and nothing could be more bourgeoisie than to display affection for one’s own wife or husband.
Besides, Gabriel had made it clear when he’d visited her with that damnable marriage contract that, while he was capable of demanding her loyalty, he had no desire to promise his own.
Of course he was bound to fill his bed with one beautiful woman after another.
Unfortunately, logic did not ease her simmering anger, and when he at last paused to offer her a rest, she was in no humor for his stern disapproval.
“You look like a ragamuffin,” he growled, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to scrub at the dirt marring her cheek.
“Perhaps you would have preferred to be running through the woods with the lovely Sophia? She would never dare look like a ragamuffin,” she snapped.
He scowled, but his fingers were gentle as he moved the handkerchief to a spot near her lips.
“I would prefer that you discontinue your habit of rushing headlong into danger.”
Bride for a Night Page 14
