“Yes.” A sudden bitterness edged her voice. “Fathers can often have unreasonable expectations of their children.”
His hand reached to touch her leg, meeting her gaze with a silent promise.
“Silas Dobson will never be allowed to bully you again,” he swore, already having planned to speak with Dobson the moment they returned to England. The man would understand that he was not to go near Talia unless Gabriel was at her side. “I can assure you of that.”
An unexpected blush touched her cheeks at his low words, her lashes lowering to hide her expressive eyes.
“Why do you believe Lord Rothwell will not be welcoming?” she demanded. “Does he disapprove of my lack of noble blood?”
Gabriel swallowed a sigh, wishing that he could trust his friend to behave himself so he did not have to have this uncomfortable conversation. It was bound to remind her of his own prejudices when they wed.
Unfortunately, he did not doubt for a moment that Hugo would make very clear that Talia was aware of his disapproval.
“He was offended by our hasty wedding,” he reluctantly admitted.
He felt her stiffen beneath his hand. “And by the fact my father blackmailed you into taking me as your bride?”
“It did not improve his opinion.”
There was a moment of silence before she heaved a sigh. “I do not hold him to blame. It is an opinion shared by most of society, no doubt.”
“Do not fear.” He lifted a shoulder. “Once Hugo comes to know you, he will swiftly conclude that you are far too good for me.”
She shook her head at his deliberately light words. “Highly unlikely.”
“Trust me.”
“And the rest of society?” she asked.
“It is quite possible my choice of bride will be the last concern of society,” he reminded her, his senses suddenly tingling with alarm.
He ground to a halt, hurriedly studying their surroundings. A hint of dusk was just beginning to brush the sky, adding violet hues to the fog steadily creeping through the trees. In the distance the sound of small animals could be heard scampering through the thick vegetation, but closer to hand there was nothing but silence.
Something or someone was near.
“Talia, do not move,” he warned, fiercely regretting he had not taken the time to find a weapon to replace those taken by Jacques Gerard.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He deliberately stepped in front of the horse, prepared to send the beast bolting if necessary.
“Show yourself,” he commanded in loud tones.
There was a rustle behind a nearby tree, then with a smooth motion an impressively large man with ruffled brown hair and a mocking smile stepped onto the path.
“Your instincts are growing slow with your old age, Ashcombe.” Hugo made a show of returning his dueling pistol to the pocket of his dark cloak he had pulled over his pale green jacket and gray breeches. “I could have used you for target practice.”
Gabriel felt a flood of relief at the sight of his friend, although his expression was chiding as he met the steady golden gaze.
“And your advanced years have utterly destroyed your hearing,” he countered. “I commanded you to return to England.”
Hugo shrugged. “I never doubted you would outwit a handful of French coxcombs.”
“Actually it was Talia who managed our escape,” he corrected, turning back toward his silent companion and plucking her out of the saddle. He barely allowed her feet to touch the muddy path before he had her tucked against his side. “She has proven to be amazingly resourceful.”
Hugo’s eyes narrowed as he watched Gabriel’s protective manner. “Yes, I can imagine.”
Gabriel’s expression hardened with warning. “Hugo.”
Talia cleared her throat as the two men glared at one another.
“Is the yacht nearby?”
“Just beyond the trees,” Hugo answered grudgingly, his gaze never leaving Gabriel.
“Thank God,” she murmured. Then as the silence returned she heaved a deep sigh. “What about the horse? We cannot just abandon him.”
Giving the horse a pat on his flank, Gabriel watched as the beast slowly turned and plodded back down the trail.
“He will find his way home,” he assured his tender-hearted companion.
“You are certain?”
“Who else would want the spiritless creature?”
She smiled, no doubt sensing his amusement at her concern.
“It is just that I do not like to think about him wandering through the countryside alone.”
Hugo snorted. Gabriel sent him an annoyed scowl, aware his friend was watching their exchange with pronounced disapproval.
“Hugo, return to the yacht and ensure that a hot bath is waiting for my wife.”
Hugo’s hands clenched at his sides, but, unwilling to argue in the midst of enemy territory, he gave a stiff nod of his head.
“As you wish.”
Waiting until his friend had disappeared around a bend in the road, Gabriel grasped Talia’s elbow and followed in Hugo’s wake.
“Do not allow him to trouble you.”
She smiled wryly. “Simple for you to say. He is rather…intimidating.”
Intimidating was not precisely the description that Gabriel would have used at the moment.
Obnoxious jackass came to mind.
“I will speak with him.”
“No.” She adamantly declined his offer. “I would rather you did not.”
“Why?”
“He is your friend and he is concerned for your happiness.” Her expression was impossible to read. “I do not fault him for that.”
“I will not allow him—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “I would prefer to think of the hot bath awaiting me than dwell on Lord Rothwell’s disapproval. That is a problem for another day.”
Gabriel swallowed his words of argument. What was the use in upsetting his wife? He would deal with Hugo in private.
They traveled in silence, at last stepping out of the trees to discover the rocky coastline directly before them.
Talia grimaced at the sight of the steep cliff, but with her typical habit of facing the difficulties in her life without complaint, she firmly grasped his arm and allowed him to lead her down the narrow trail.
The footing was loose, and a shower of pebbles greeted every treacherous step, but slowly they managed to wind their way to the bottom of the cliff.
Gabriel allowed Talia only a few moments to catch her breath before steering her around a large boulder that jutted nearly to the edge of the water. As he had suspected, a small rowboat awaited them along with a burly sailor who silently assisted Talia into the boat. Once Gabriel was settled beside her, the man rowed them toward the nearby yacht with swift efficiency.
Turning his head, Gabriel watched as Talia caught sight of the sleek vessel that had been made by the finest craftsmen in England.
Her eyes widened in suitable wonder, taking in the teardrop-shaped hull and the huge mast that could withstand the most fearsome storm. It was not, perhaps, as large as many crafts, but it was built for speed and comfort, not to impress others.
His brows drew together as he realized the crew was bustling along the decks, preparing to return the earl and his countess back to England. Calculating his next move, his features hardened briefly before he was able to smooth his expression. Talia was too perceptive not to suspect his plans if he did not take care.
There was a bustle of activity as they reached the yacht as a dozen sailors all rushed to help them climb aboard, their wide grins revealing their pride in his ability to sneak beneath the very noses of the French and return unscathed.
Of course, they did not yet know the full tale, he acknowledged wryly, leading Talia away from the curious sailors to the cabins below.
They passed through the galley and then the front saloon that was decorated in pale shades of blue and gray before reaching h
is private cabin. Pressing open the door, he allowed Talia to enter first, his lips twitching as she sucked in a startled breath.
“Good heavens.”
He stepped next to her, his gaze skimming over the polished walnut paneling and cleverly built-in furniture that was constructed on the same sleek, elegant lines of the actual yacht. Only the brass fittings and the moss-green blanket on the bed offered a hint of color, allowing the beauty of the wood to command attention.
“Does it please you?” he asked.
She moved forward, her hand stroking over the writing desk inlaid with teak.
“Very much.”
“It was built by my design.”
She sent him a startled glance. “Yours?”
His lips twisted, more at his ridiculous urge to boast than by her astonishment.
“Why does that surprise you?”
“It is remarkably…”
“What?”
“Comfortable.”
He nodded, his blood heating at the sight of her slender fingers caressing the glossy wood. The same fingers that had touched him with such eager passion just hours ago.
The image of her poised above him, her face flushed with pleasure, seared through his mind. He cursed, shifting as he hardened with a painful arousal. It was surely indecent to desire his own wife with such ferocity, but only the knowledge that his servants were even now preparing her bath kept him from slamming shut the door and tossing her on the bed.
Instead, he forced himself to lead her through the connecting door to the attached cabin that was designed along the same lines as his own.
“Being the Earl of Ashcombe means a burdensome amount of formality,” he said tightly. “This is one of my few means of escape.”
She lifted her brows, as if caught off guard by his response.
“I never considered that you would find it burdensome.”
His lips twisted. Did she truly think he enjoyed being surrounded by cold marble and simpering sycophants? That he truly desired a horde of servants constantly underfoot who were deeply offended by his slightest attempt to decrease the pomp and ceremony?
“The title comes with great gifts along with a great duty,” he informed her. “I do not take either for granted.”
She shifted, touching his jaw with the tips of her fingers in a gentle gesture of understanding. His chest tightened with a dangerous emotion as he lifted his hand to press her fingers against his cheek.
He was uncertain how long they stood there, silently lost in one another, but the fragile moment was interrupted by the large sailors who set the copper tub into the center of the cabin followed by two more who carried the buckets of hot water.
Scowling at the curious gazes from his crew, he stepped back, waving a hand toward the shelves cut into the paneling.
“You will find your belongings next to the bunk.” His hand shifted toward the rope hanging near the small window. “If there is anything else you need, just pull the bell and a servant will answer.”
She frowned. “Where are you going?”
“I must speak with my captain.”
“We’ll be leaving soon?”
“Quite soon.”
She shivered. “Thank God.”
He was wasting precious time, but unable to resist temptation, Gabriel reached to grasp her shoulders, jerking her forward to claim her lips in a swift, branding kiss before he was setting her away and turning toward the door.
“Enjoy your bath and then have a rest,” he ordered on his way out of the cabin. “I will have a tray delivered once we have set sail.”
TALIA FINISHED her bath and pulled on an ivory muslin gown with jade ribbons edging cap sleeves and a frilled hem. The unease that had been stewing in the pit of her stomach became unbearable.
Swiftly braiding her damp hair, she tugged on a pair of calfskin boots and went in search of her missing husband.
No doubt she was being ridiculous.
It was perfectly reasonable that Gabriel was still speaking with the captain. Or even overseeing the crew that she could hear scurrying overhead. Or maybe he had been caught by Lord Rothwell, who was attempting to convince him of all the fine reasons to leave the current Countess of Ashcombe in France.
But she could not forget his thinly veiled agitation that had remained even after they were safely aboard and the fierce kiss that had felt like…goodbye.
He had been hiding something from her, and she had a horrible suspicion she knew precisely what it was.
Finding the connecting cabin empty, Talia moved through the saloon and the galley before making her way up to the deck that bustled with activity. She was not particularly surprised to discover that the sky was painted with shades of deepening plum as dusk spread across the countryside, but her heart lurched at the feel of movement beneath her feet.
God, no. They were slipping away from shore.
For a moment she stood still, her gaze desperately searching for the sight of Gabriel’s familiar profile, her blood running cold as she was forced to accept he was not among the sailors.
Now what did she do?
“You should be belowdecks, my lady.” The large form of Lord Rothwell appeared at her side, his expression hard. “We are preparing to cast off.”
Ignoring the near tangible judgment in the air, Talia stabbed him with an impatient frown.
“Where is Gabriel?”
The large man shrugged. “In his cabin. He said he was in dire need of a bath and I agreed.”
She pressed a hand to her quivering stomach. Oh, lord, she was too late.
“You must stop the boat.”
Not surprisingly Lord Rothwell regarded her as if she had taken leave of her senses.
“It is a yacht,” he corrected in icy tones, “and it cannot simply be stopped.”
Only a few weeks ago, Talia would have wilted beneath the barely hidden contempt. She would have gone to any lengths to avoid a disturbing confrontation.
Now she squared her shoulders and pointed a finger directly in Lord Rothwell’s handsome face. Gabriel needed her. She would face down the devil himself if necessary.
“I do not care what it is called or what you need do to bar us from leaving, just do it,” she spat out. “I must return to the shore.”
His brows jerked together, obviously shocked by her fierce response. “Why?
“Because Gabriel is not in his cabin.”
“Then he is no doubt with the captain.”
Talia clenched her hands at her sides, her gaze trained on the distant cliffs that appeared like a forbidding barrier in the gathering gloom.
Did she dare?
Gabriel had offered her his trust when he had shared the truth of Harry’s treachery. It had been a rare gift that he offered to few in his life, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt if she betrayed that trust their relationship would be destroyed beyond repair.
But could she allow herself to be meekly hauled back to England with the knowledge that Gabriel was confronting his brother alone? Or worse, walking into a trap carefully laid by Jacques?
She shivered, an unbearable dread swelling in her heart.
No. No matter what the cost, she could not abandon Gabriel. She would deal with the consequences when he was safely returned to the yacht.
Slowly turning, she met Lord Rothwell’s golden gaze. “No, Gabriel is not with the captain.” She paused to gather her shaky courage. “He is on his way to Calais.”
A thunderous silence greeted her words, then grasping her elbow, Lord Rothwell tugged her away from the curious sailors, his voice pitched low to ensure it would not travel.
“Why the devil would he be going to Calais?”
She licked her dry lips. “Because his brother is hiding there.”
“Harry?” He shook his head. “Harry is in Calais?”
The yacht swayed as the sails were unfurled, and Talia desperately glanced toward the shore.
“I will explain later.” She pressed a hand to her rac
ing heart, her expression pleading. “For now you must tell them to stop.”
She sensed him tense, his entire body poised for battle. Just as Gabriel would have been, she thought with a wistful pang. The two men clearly shared more in common than their titles.
There was the same ruthless, driving power that Gabriel possessed. Not to mention the air of arrogant authority that came as naturally as breathing.
He did not, however, shout for the sailors to halt their business, or command the captain to drop the anchor as she had hoped.
Instead he studied her in grim silence before sucking in a deep breath. “No.”
“No?” What the devil was the matter with the man? “Did you hear me? Gabriel is not aboard.”
“He obviously gave the command to cast off, which means he understood the yacht would leave without him.”
She shook her head in confusion. “What does it matter?”
“He desires you to be safe.”
She ignored the edge in his voice that revealed he would rather toss her to the wolves and go in search of his friend. What did she care what he thought of her so long as he assisted her in finding Gabriel?
“He is not thinking clearly at the moment.”
“Granted, but I cannot go against his wishes.”
“But you already have,” she boldly reminded him. “Gabriel told me that he ordered you to return to En gland and yet you remained.”
His jaw jutted in a stubborn motion. “I am at liberty to risk my own life, but I sense that Gabriel would never forgive me if I risked yours.”
Tossing her hands in the air, she turned away from the aggravating brute.
“This is absurd.”
She had barely taken a step when Lord Rothwell clamped a hand on her upper arm and whirled her about.
“Where are you going?”
“If you will not order the captain to stop this nonsense, then I will.”
“He will not listen.”
She stiffened her spine. “I am the Countess of Ashcombe, I will make him listen.”
His brow furrowed as he regarded her with an odd intensity. Almost as if he had never seen her before.
“You may be the countess, but the servants will not disobey Gabriel.”
Bride for a Night Page 18
