Her lips thinned at the absolute certainty in his voice. She did not doubt for a moment that he spoke the truth. After all, he was obviously well acquainted with the crew.
“Typical,” she snapped. “I knew a title would prove to be as worthless as it was pretentious.”
“If that was true you would never have trapped my friend into marriage.”
“I had nothing to do with—” She bit off her words in frustration, slapping away his hand so she could bend down to tug off her boots. “Believe what you will. There is no time.”
She heard him mutter a curse as she tossed aside the boots and reached beneath her skirt to pull off her stockings. Her father had insisted that she learn to swim at an early age. She was certain she had not forgotten how.
What she intended to do after she reached the shore without shoes or stockings was something she would decide once she was there.
“Wait,” Lord Rothwell growled. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Lifting her head she allowed him to see the staunch determination etched on her face.
“I will not allow Gabriel to travel to Calais alone,” she stormed.
He swore, glancing toward the shore that was becoming ever more distant.
“Is he in danger?”
“Perhaps not physical danger,” she admitted, “but he will have need of me.”
He returned his attention to her, his golden gaze sweeping over her pale face.
“You intend to swim back to shore?”
“If necessary.”
He stood utterly motionless, clearly torn between his pledge to Gabriel and his instincts to rush to the rescue.
At last, he gave a shake of his head and swept past Talia with a fierce sense of purpose.
“Captain…”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LIKE MANY HARBOR TOWNS Calais had endured its share of invasions.
Julius Caesar had occupied the city to launch his invasion of England. The British King Edward III had laid siege for nearly a year in 1346, starving the city into surrender. And the Spanish had claimed ownership in the late 1500s. But while each conquest had left its mark, the city remained a simple fishing village at heart, with its own unique charm.
Confined within its yellowed walls, the town faced the waiting sea with a vast pier lined with fishing boats and a heavy fortress complete with a drawbridge.
Gabriel moved through the narrow streets, past the Place d’Armes in the center of town, barely noting the black watchtower, or the old town hall as he studied the small houses with their white shutters and the occasional cafés that were filled with French soldiers. The night air was filled with distant chimes and the sound of laughter, the moonlight illuminating the stone archway as he turned onto the Rue de Guise.
It was all very quaint, but hardly the sort of peaceful setting to attract his brother. He needed to discover the less savory part of town.
Almost on cue a ragged street urchin darted from the shadows, clearly intent on picking his pocket. With ease, Gabriel grabbed the boy, who could not have been more than twelve, by the collar of his woolen coat, lifting him off his feet so they were eye to eye.
“Your name,” he growled in French, taking an inventory of the too-thin body and filthy, though intelligent little face. “And do not even consider lying unless you wish me to turn you over to the authorities.”
There was a pause as the boy studied him with a shrewd gaze that was far too knowing for his tender age. Then, clearly accepting that Gabriel was not a pervert with a taste for young boys, he regarded him with a defiant expression.
“Armand.”
“Armand, I have a small task for you.”
He narrowed his pale brown eyes.
“What sort of task?”
Within moments Gabriel had described his brother in detail as well as his usual preference of entertainment. Then, pulling several coins from his pocket as a promised reward, he sent Armand dashing through the streets. The boy was obviously well acquainted with the seedier sections of Calais and would be capable of tracking down Harry far more easily than Gabriel.
Standing in the shadows as he waited for Armand’s return, Gabriel briefly allowed his thoughts to stray to Talia.
By now she should be well on her way to England. Had she realized yet he was not aboard the yacht? And if she had, was she anxious at his absence? Or was she secretly pleased to be rid of her bully of a husband?
The thought made him frown, even as he told himself he was being an idiot.
Had Talia not risked her own life to rescue him from Jacques Gerard’s cellars? And had she not responded with a ready urgency to his touch?
She might not have forgiven or forgotten the less than favorable beginning of their marriage, but she had obviously accepted him as her husband.
What more did he desire?
Dismissing the odd ache in the center of his heart, Gabriel returned his attention to his dark surroundings. He would deal with his wife when he returned to England, for tonight he had enough to occupy his mind.
Prepared when the French lad abruptly darted from a nearby alley, Gabriel stepped from the shadows.
“You have found him?”
The boy gave a sharp nod. “Follow me.”
Gabriel grasped Armand’s arm before he could dart away, his expression grim with warning.
“Take care, Armand. I am not a pigeon ripe for plucking.”
“Non, monsieur.” The boy’s expression of innocence was obviously rehearsed, but there was no mistaking the hint of genuine alarm in his brown eyes. “You have my word of honor.”
Releasing his grip, Gabriel gave a nod of his head. “Then let us be on our way.”
Armand led him past the old church where King Richard II had wed Isabelle of Valois and beyond the spacious steeply roofed Hotel Dessein with its elegant facade that catered to the more respectable visitors.
The farther from the center of town they traveled the narrower the streets and the shabbier the buildings until at last Armand slowed his rapid pace and Gabriel caught sight of the English-style building with hexagonal turrets and an inner courtyard where a number of drunken coxcombs mingled among the brightly lit gaming tables. Beyond the courtyard the open doors revealed a gaudily decorated salon. A number of females were temptingly posed to entice the gentlemen who had grown tired of the cards and dice and preferred a more intimate entertainment.
Cautiously, Gabriel inched toward the opening to the courtyard. He remained hidden in the shadows as Armand pointed toward the familiar young gentleman with tousled brown hair and pale eyes that were already glazed by drink.
Harry.
“Voilà,” Armand breathed, a cocky smile curving his lips.
Gabriel briefly studied his brother who was elegantly attired in a gold jacket and a black waistcoat embroidered with golden thread, his blood running cold at Harry’s nonchalant comfort among the French dandies.
Did he have no shame whatsoever?
Bridling his urge to rush into the courtyard and drag his brother from the bordel, he instead forced himself to turn toward the lad at his side.
“Is there another entrance?”
“This way.”
With a familiarity that made Gabriel wonder how much time Armand spent with the local whores, the boy led him along the stone wall that surrounded the property, pausing at a narrow wooden door.
Waiting for Gabriel’s nod, Armand pushed open the door and led him into a private garden with a perfect view of the courtyard.
“Will this do?” he asked.
“It will do very well.” Gabriel pulled out a fistful of coins and pressed them into the boy’s hand. “It is late, return to your home, Armand.”
“Merci, monsieur,” Armand breathed, his expression stunned at the small fortune. “Merci.”
“Straight home,” he commanded, shaking his head as the boy offered a cheeky grin and dashed through the door.
Accepting that there was nothing he could do
for Armand, he turned to study his brother through the trellis.
He had managed to track down Harry, but now what? No matter what his fury, he was not stupid enough to create a scene when there were a few thousand French soldiers camped just outside the walls of the city.
Then again, he had no desire to stand in a damp garden for the entire night, waiting for his brother to grow weary of his entertainments and return to his lodgings.
Brooding on a possible means to lure his brother from the newly introduced La Roulette, Gabriel was slow to react when a slender form appeared from the stone steps behind him.
“Ah, bonjour,” a husky female voice murmured.
Gabriel reached beneath his jacket for his loaded pistol, and smoothly turned to confront the vixen behind him. Her curls were the color of summer wheat tumbling over her shoulders left bare by a sheer robe. Her features were delicately drawn and her hazel eyes charming, if one ignored the calculating manner they slid over the strange man standing in her garden. With one glance Gabriel was confident that she knew the precise worth of his wine jacket and ivory waistcoat that had been perfectly sculpted to his body and the small fortune needed to purchase the ruby sparkling in the folds of his cravat.
“You are in need of companionship?” A smile curved her lips as she ran a finger along her plunging neckline, drawing attention to the tempting curve of her breasts. “I am Monique.”
“Non,” he impatiently declined, only to realize the lovely female was precisely the bait he needed to attract his prey. “Wait, Monique.”
Turning back, the woman approached him with a smile of pure invitation.
“You have changed your mind?” she purred, her hands skimming over his jacket. “You will not regret your purchase.”
He lightly grasped her wrists, preventing her skillful touch from heading ever lower.
“I have a small task I wish you to perform.”
Her chuckle was perfectly pitched to stir a man’s deepest fantasies.
Or at least most men, he ruefully corrected.
He had already discovered that his interest in women, no matter how lovely or talented they might be, had been restricted to dark-haired gypsies with emerald eyes.
“I shall be pleased to perform any tasks you desire.”
“That will not be necessary,” he said, firmly putting her at a distance.
Her smile never faltered as her hands shifted to the velvet ribbon that held her nearly transparent gown together.
“You prefer that I…”
“No,” he hastily reached to grasp her hand before she was standing stark naked.
She frowned. “Then what do you desire?”
With a tug on her hand, he positioned her near the trellis, pointing his finger at his brother.
“Do you see the young gentleman standing near the roulette table?”
“Monsieur Richardson?”
His jaw clenched at her ready recognition. Obviously Harry was a regular customer.
“Yes.”
“Of course.” She tossed him a smug smile. “He has often wished to spend time in my company, but he must content himself with the less expensive companions.”
“Then it would appear that tonight his luck is about to turn,” Gabriel murmured. “Do you have a room near?”
Monique waved a hand toward the stone staircase. “On the top floor, the third door on the left.” Her eyes narrowed. “But if there are to be two gentlemen then I will demand double the price.”
Gabriel shrugged. “I will happily double the price, but all I ask of you is your assistance in luring the gentleman upstairs without revealing my presence and then the opportunity to speak with him in private.”
“And what of me?” she asked with obvious suspicion.
“You will have the luxury of enjoying an hour or so of peace.” His gaze studied the perfect oval of her face, noticing the fine lines that were just beginning to frame her eyes. “Surely a preferable means of spending your evening?”
Surprisingly the woman stepped close enough to brush her full breasts against his chest.
“It would be preferable on most evenings. However, tonight I believe I would rather have company, so long as it is you.”
He shook his head, once again pushing her firmly away. “A charming notion, but I have pressing business with Monsieur Richardson.”
Monique pouted at Gabriel’s discreet rejection. “If he owes you money, then I fear you are to be disappointed,” she warned. “He is heavily in debt to Francois.”
“Francois?”
Her lips twisted with disgust. “The owner of this charming establishment.”
“Of course.” He shook his head at Harry’s dismal predictability, even as he grimly reminded himself that yet another gambling debt was the least of his concerns. “It is a personal matter.”
Perhaps sensing his smoldering fury, the whore gave a lift of her brows.
“You do not intend to kill him, do you?”
“If I do, I promise to remove the body.” Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he removed several bank notes and held them in the light that spilled from the brightly lit torches. “Can you convince him to join you?”
Greed flared through her eyes before she was flashing Gabriel a smile of pure feminine conceit.
“Chérie, I could convince a saint to join me, and I assure you Monsieur Richardson is no saint.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” he muttered. “I will be waiting in your room.”
She gave a toss of her golden curls, plucking the notes from his fingers and tucking them into the bodice of her robe.
“And when you have finished your business, perhaps we can discover a means to enjoy the remainder of the night, eh?”
With a noncommittal smile, Gabriel waited for Monique to slip out of the garden and stroll across the courtyard before making his way up the spiral staircase and entering the top floor of the turret.
He made a cautious inventory of the low velvet sofas and tapestries that hung on the stone walls in a poor imitation of a sultan’s harem. Then stepping into the corridor, he made his way to Monique’s room, not surprised to discover it was simply yet elegantly decorated.
She was obviously the most expensive of the house whores, and the gold and ivory furnishings had been perfectly designed to set off her pale beauty.
Ignoring the wide bed draped in satin and the intimate tools of punishment that some gentlemen preferred, Gabriel paced the polished wood floor, a heavy dread tightening his chest and making it difficult to breathe.
He had been so intent on locating Harry and getting him alone, that he had not actually considered what was to come next.
Why hadn’t he simply returned to England with his wife? Even now they would be tucked in his narrow bunk, Talia’s lush body wrapped around him and his dark thoughts lost in the drowning pleasure of her touch.
He could have left Harry to travel his path to hell and concentrated on his own future.
Unfortunately, he was not naïve enough to believe that ignoring his brother would be an end to the matter. How could he build a future with Talia when he was always waiting for the looming disaster to strike?
Besides, his conscience would never allow him to forget the damage Harry had caused, and the danger he posed so long as he remained a secret traitor to England.
He continued his pacing until at last he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and his brother’s familiar chuckle echoing through the hallway.
“Come, wench, just a taste.”
“Enough, monsieur,” Monique protested, “wait until we have reached my room.”
“A modest whore?” Harry mocked.
“Intimacy is always best savored in privacy.”
“Not always. I do not mind a public performance with a beautiful woman.” There was another chuckle. “Or two.”
Gabriel heard what sounded like Monique slapping away his brother’s hand, then the door to the bedchamber was being shoved open
.
“Just through here, monsieur.”
“I hope you have more than an hour, I—”
Strolling into the room, Harry came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Gabriel. For one timeless moment, the two brothers stared at one another, Harry flushing with guilt in the same manner he’d exhibited when Gabriel had caught him in some misdemeanor as a child.
It lasted less than a heartbeat before Harry was retreating behind a brittle pretense of indifference.
“Well, well. I did not expect you to join in our fun, Gabriel.”
Gabriel’s gaze shifted to Monique, stupidly disappointed by his brother’s response to his sudden appearance. But then, what had he expected?
Overwhelming shame? A plea for forgiveness?
“That will be all, my dear,” he assured the female.
The woman sent him a lingering smile. “I shall be in the private salon at the end of the hall if you wish to find me when you have concluded your business.”
Gabriel dipped his head. “Merci.”
They waited in silence for Monique to leave the room closing the door behind her. Then, with a derisive snort, Harry crossed to the side table to grasp a bottle of whiskey, yanking out the cork and taking a deep drink.
“Yet another victim of the irresistible Ashcombe charm?” he rasped.
“Merely a female seeking to earn a living,” Gabriel countered, his eyes narrowing as the light from the candles played over his brother’s face, revealing his sallow complexion and lines of dissipation beside his pale eyes.
Christ, he appeared twice his age.
“You have no need to remind me you are not only blessed with overwhelming attraction, but with bottomless coffers, as well,” Harry muttered.
“Hardly bottomless and you have had more than your fair share of my coffers,” Gabriel reminded him. “All of which you have tossed away on selfish pursuits of pleasure.”
“And what else is the purpose of a younger son other than to pursue his pleasure?” he demanded. “It is not as if I was ever wanted or needed as more than a spare in the ghastly event something should happen to the glorious heir.”
“Very poetic.” Gabriel’s lips thinned. “Did you rehearse this little speech?”
Bride for a Night Page 19
