He traced the tip of her breast with his tongue. “At the moment, nothing.”
“But…” Talia bit off her words, grimly accepting the unpalatable truth that while Gabriel might be willing to share his passion, he obviously still found her an unworthy confidante. And why should he? He had, after all, made it quite clear that their marriage was nothing more than a necessary evil. She swallowed the stupid lump that was lodged in her throat. “Never mind.”
Lifting his head, Gabriel gazed down at her with a sudden frown.
“A typical female response that is intended to ensure that I do mind.”
She stiffened, offended by his unfair accusation. “I do not play such games. If you do not wish to share your thoughts, then so be it.”
A hint of color flared along his cheekbones, but braced for a scathing response, Talia was unprepared as Gabriel surged to his feet, roughly shoving his fingers through his hair.
“Have you considered the notion that I might wish to escape from my thoughts for a while?”
His voice was low, but she did not miss the edge of raw distress. Thrusting aside her ingrained modesty, Talia ignored the fact they were both stark naked and lifted herself off the wooden floor to stand directly before him.
Lightly she touched his arm. “Is it possible to escape from your thoughts?”
Without warning he wrapped his arms around her waist, hauling her against his body with a tormented urgency.
“It depends upon the distraction,” he rasped, his lips moving in a tender caress over her temple and down her cheek, until he reached the corner of her mouth. It was then that he realized she remained stiff in his arms, her hands pressed against his chest, not in denial but not in welcome. Yanking back his head, he regarded her with a simmering frustration. “Damnation. Why do I feel as if I am being managed?”
She tilted her chin. “I told you, I do not—”
“For a female who does not play games you are remarkably good at them,” he interrupted in sharp tones, then sensing how easily he had wounded her, he heaved a sigh and pressed his forehead to hers. “Forgive me, Talia. You are right, I am troubled.”
Talia carefully considered her words, unwilling to destroy this fragile moment.
“Do you fear that we will not be able to escape the French?” she at last inquired.
A brief flare of amusement shimmered in his eyes. “Are you attempting to be insulting?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. You may be assured I shall have you safely aboard my ship by nightfall,” he drawled.
“Then what is it?”
There was a tense silence as he fought against his in-bred instinct to deal with his troubles on his own. He had devoted a lifetime to shouldering responsibilities and protecting others. It would never be easy for him to share.
Wisely, Talia forced herself to wait, knowing he would only retreat if she pressed him.
Eventually he lifted his head, although he kept his arms wrapped around her, as if he needed the warmth of her body snuggled close.
“I discovered information concerning my brother that I have not yet managed to accept,” he confessed, his voice hoarse.
Her mouth went dry with horror. “Dear lord, he is not—”
“No,” he hastily interrupted, his expression impossible to read. “He enjoys the unjust health of most sinners, so far as I know.” His jaw clenched. “Indeed, I have learned he is currently residing in Calais.”
“Calais?” Talia blinked in confusion. “Calais, France?”
He gave a sharp nod. “Yes.”
“That’s absurd. What would he be doing in Calais?”
“Avoiding the men whom I sent in pursuit of him, for one thing. And for another…” He grimaced in disgust.
Talia lifted a hand to lightly touch his cheek. “Gabriel?”
A bleak emotion darkened his silver eyes, sending a chill of foreboding down Talia’s spine.
“For another he is attempting to fleece Jacques Gerard for the funds necessary to continue his extravagant lifestyle in France.”
Harry and Jacques were acquainted? It would be natural when they were in Devonshire, although Talia could not imagine Harry ever wishing to become friendly with a vicar, even if he did reside on his family’s estate. But they were in France, and if Harry knew that Jacques was here, then he must also know that he was a spy.
Which would mean…she cut off the thought before it could fully form.
“I do not understand.”
“I wish to hell I did not,” Gabriel muttered. “Harry is a traitor.”
Even with a suspicion of what was coming, Talia reeled from the shocking announcement.
“No.” She pulled away, shaking her head in denial. “It cannot be.”
As if predicting her disbelief, Gabriel was already moving to pull out a folded note from his jacket, shoving it into her hand. “Here.”
It took only a moment to skim through the signed confession, her heart sinking with every word. Dear lord, she had always thought Harry weak, but this…
She handed the note back to Gabriel with a dreary expression. “How could he do such a thing?”
“I have no answer,” Gabriel said bleakly. “Harry has always been spoiled by my mother, but so are any number of noblemen and they do not become spies.”
“Not you,” she said before she could halt the words.
He lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon?”
She wrapped her arms over her breasts, feeling oddly exposed.
“You were not overindulged,” she reluctantly clarified.
Gabriel gently draped his jacket around her shoulders, tucking it around her body.
“No, when I was not at school I was expected to spend my days with my father to learn the duties of an earl,” he agreed without a hint of regret at having been denied a childhood. Indeed, his expression softened with obvious fondness at the mention of his father. “My earliest memories are leading a team of mules through a field while my father helped the tenants toss hay onto the cart they pulled.”
She studied him. Truly studied him. The fallen-angel beauty of his face. The elegance of his body. The power he carried with such ease. And the confidence of a man who had been adored his entire life.
The sight reminded her of her earlier belief that Harry had lived his entire life in Gabriel’s shadow.
“Harry never joined you?”
Gabriel gave a lift of one shoulder. “He had no interest in the estates, only in the luxury they provided for him.”
“Or perhaps he resented your close relationship with your father,” she cautiously suggested. “It would explain why your mother was so eager to overindulge him.”
He instantly bristled. “My father was not to blame for Harry’s treachery.”
“Of course not,” she soothed. “But Harry’s resentment might have begun at an early age and been encouraged by your remarkable popularity among society.” She smiled wryly. “You do, after all, put most gentlemen in the shade.”
“And so now it is my fault?” he demanded, his expression caught between annoyance and pure male vanity.
“No.” She shook her head. “We all have burdens to bear from our childhood. For some, it makes them stronger, for others…” She clutched the jacket tighter, trying to disguise her horror at the evil that must infect Harry to allow him to betray his own country. Gabriel was suffering enough without her making him feel worse. “They use their past as an excuse to remain weak.”
He gave a restless shrug. “It no longer matters why he has chosen his path.”
“I suppose that is true.” She regarded him with concern. “The question is…”
“What I intend to do with him.”
“Yes.”
The pain returned to his face as he folded her back into his arms, laying his cheek on top of her head.
“I do not know,” he admitted. “There is no good solution.”
Well, that was certainly an understatement.
> Wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head over the steady beat of his heart, wishing she had the words to offer him comfort.
“I am sorry, Gabriel.”
His fingers threaded through her hair in an absent caress. “If he is tried and found guilty, the scandal will not only tarnish the Ashcombe name for generations to come, but it will destroy my mother.”
“Must his guilt be revealed?” she demanded softly.
She felt him shudder, his hands slipping beneath the jacket, seeking the warmth of her skin.
“Even if I could live with the shame of protecting my family at the cost of my country, such things have a way of being exposed,” he said harshly. “Indeed, I am shocked that Harry was capable of keeping his sins hidden for so long. He has never been discreet.”
An icy sense of premonition lodged in the pit of her stomach, although she had no need of foresight to know that having to expose his brother as a traitor would break something vital within Gabriel.
“Then allow fate to take its course,” she coaxed. “You need not be the one responsible to decide which it will be.”
His chest expanded beneath her head as he drew in a deep breath.
“I have always been responsible for my brother.”
She pulled back her head to regard him with a strained smile, not forgetting that she was yet another burden he had been forced to shoulder for his brother.
“Yes, I am well aware of the sacrifices you are willing to make for Harry.”
Braced for his ready agreement, Talia’s heart leaped as his eyes instead darkened to smoke, sending a breathless thrill singing through her.
“Some are not so burdensome as others,” he said lowly.
This time she made no protest as his mouth lightly teased over her cheek before settling on her lips.
Perhaps she could not ease his troubles or prevent the looming disaster, but for the moment she could give Gabriel a few moments of distraction.
Closing her mind to the bittersweet emotions tugging at her heart, Talia shrugged off the jacket, allowing it to slide to the ground as she wound her arms around his neck.
Even knowing that every moment spent with Gabriel was destined to entangle her stupid heart ever more tightly, she could not deny his need that she could feel with every burning kiss and every stroke of his hand.
In return she offered an eager response that made him groan with approval, gathering her close as he lowered her onto the hay-strewn floor.
“Talia…” he whispered, gazing down at her with a vulnerability that seared away any lingering barriers she tried to place between them. “My beautiful gypsy.”
She smiled wryly at his husky words. “You call me such charming names,” she said. “Mouse…shrew…gypsy…”
“Wife,” he added softly, bending down to claim her lips in a kiss of raw need.
The simple word made something shift deep inside her, and, desperate to divert her mind from the dangerous emotions, she focused on the sensation of his hands gliding down her back. Arching closer to the heat of his body, she explored the hard planes of his chest, smiling as she felt the vibrations of his groan beneath her palms.
She might never have Gabriel’s heart, but his body was eager to belong to her.
Refusing to consider how many other women had known him just as intimately in the past and how many were yet to know him in the future, Talia tilted back her head as he nibbled a path of kisses down the sensitive line of her throat.
For the moment he was hers. Completely and utterly.
His mouth traced the curve of her breast before he captured the tip of her nipple between his lips, making her gasp in sharp pleasure.
“Yes,” she muttered in approval.
Continuing to pleasure her, Gabriel reached to grasp her hand, guiding it down to his straining erection.
Talia paused, feeling oddly shy. Then, curiosity overcame her modesty, and with a hesitant touch she curled her fingers around his hard length.
Gabriel muttered a low curse as she stroked from the tip to the wider base, taking time to discover the soft pouch beneath his erection before stroking upward.
“Christ,” he breathed, his hand shifting to part her legs. “You have only to touch me and I am lost.”
He was not the only one lost, she acknowledged as his hand sought the heart of her femininity that was already damp with her aching need. A moan wrenched from her throat as a slender finger dipped into the heat of her body, her hips instinctively lifting in silent invitation.
Oh, yes. Her eyes fluttered shut. Already she could feel the delectable pressure beginning to build in the center of her womb, and her fingers tightened on his arousal making him moan in pleasure.
“Wait, Talia,” he pleaded, covering her hand.
She frowned. “Wait?”
“My control is not as impervious as I had so arrogantly assumed,” he murmured, his lips teasing along the line of her shoulder as he gently turned her to lie on her side.
“Gabriel?” she breathed in confusion.
“I promise to please you,” he said, his lips brushing her ear as he molded himself against her back.
Talia did not doubt Gabriel’s skill. How could she when her entire body trembled on the precipice of bliss? But she found herself floundering as he gently tugged her leg up and over his hip.
Surely this could not be right?
Of course, the feel of his lips nuzzling at the curve of her neck was delectable, and his hands were expertly exploring her full breasts, tugging her nipples into full arousal before they were sliding down her body with wicked intent.
She swallowed a gasp as his fingers slid between her legs, parting her most intimate flesh. Then with exquisite slowness he pressed his erection deep into her moist channel.
“Oh…lord.”
She struggled to form her words only to have them evaporate entirely when his fingers discovered the center of her pleasure, and he stroked her in tempo with his shallow thrusts.
“Do you want more, Talia?”
More? She whimpered, not certain she could bear more without shattering into a thousand pieces. Then he shifted the angle of his thrusts, plunging deeper, and she reached backward to dig her nails into the muscles of his hip.
“Yes, please, yes.”
The rasp of their heavy breaths filled the air along with the scent of hay and passion. Talia squeezed her eyes shut, her body moving to meet his thrusts with increasing urgency.
“Talia,” he groaned, his hips slamming upward as his seed poured into her, triggering her own release.
She cried out in ecstasy, indifferent to their rough surroundings or the dangers that waited just outside the door.
For now nothing mattered beyond the feel of Gabriel’s arms wrapped around her and the wild beat of his heart against her back.
Keeping her eyes closed, Talia oddly thought of her grandmother, and how she would have assured Talia to live in the moment.
They were, after all, two people alone in the world, brought together by a quirk of fate and yet, somehow destined to have arrived at this precise place.
Why try to deny what was meant to be?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LEAVING TALIA TO wash and change into her clean gown, Gabriel crept through the countryside, not returning until he had managed to steal a horse from a small village not far from the main road.
Not that the plodding farm animal offered the speed he would have wished for, but the beast was sure-footed, and even with the burden of both Gabriel and Talia, he managed a steady pace that had them arriving at the coast just south of Calais well before dusk.
Halting long enough to vault to the ground, Gabriel took the reins and led the animal along the narrow path that led to the water.
“Are you certain your ship will be waiting?” Talia demanded, her face pale with weariness, although her spine remained stiff with the determination that made him smile.
His beautiful, courageous gypsy.
&nb
sp; Of course, her newly exposed spirit was not entirely a blessing.
One might expect that after their breathtaking intimacy she would prove to be far more compliant and eager to please him. It was, after all, the behavior he had become accustomed to in his mistresses.
Talia, however, had spent the first of the journey chastising him for stealing a horse from a poor French family who were no doubt deeply suffering the loss and the second half sunk in her own thoughts, her manner so distant it made him long to drag her from the horse and crush her in his arms until she was once again moaning in eager anticipation of his touch.
He could not explain why, but it annoyed him that she was capable of putting a distance between them. She was his wife. She should belong to him completely.
Aggravated by his ridiculous thoughts, Gabriel forced himself to concentrate on far more important matters.
“Yes, it will be waiting,” he assured her. “Despite my commands that my crew return to England should I be captured, I am quite certain they will have refused to leave without me.”
“You should be honored by such loyalty,” she murmured.
He grimaced, not for the first time considering Hugo’s reaction to their arrival.
“I am, under most circumstances.” He grimaced. “But I fear I should warn you that one of my companions might not be entirely welcoming.”
She swayed in the saddle, so tired she could barely sit upright.
“Which companion?”
He protectively moved to catch her should she fall. “Hugo, Lord Rothwell.”
“He is your associate?”
“We have been friends since our days at school.” His gaze scanned the thickening trees that lined the path, his steps slowing. They were too close to escape to walk into a trap now. “Actually Hugo has always been more a brother to me than Harry.”
“No doubt you both had more in common.”
“True.” He sent her a startled glance. Few people understood his close relationship with Hugo. Certainly not his mother, who constantly complained that he should be devoting his time and attention to his brother. “We were both our father’s heirs and expected to behave in a manner befitting our stations. Not always an easy task for two high-spirited boys who wished to join in the antics of the other students.”
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