Jacques was wise enough not to inform his mistress that Talia had proven she was more than capable of depending upon her wits. Instead he shifted his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing the sensuous curve of her bottom lip.
“I do not doubt your ability to fend for yourself, Sophia, only the need to do so,” he gently corrected. “You will always have a place in my home.”
“As your mistress?”
“As my…” He hesitated, irritated by her refusal to simply accept his offer of protection. What did she want from him? “As my friend.”
Without warning she yanked herself from his grip, the candlelight shimmering off the hint of fire in her dark curls.
“You might wish to discuss my position in your household with Talia,” she retorted in biting tones. “There are few women who would desire a previous lover beneath her roof.”
“I have more than one home. You may choose to live wherever you please.”
His reasonable suggestion was met with a furious hiss as Sophia turned to slam down the lid of her case.
“Ah, a female for every establishment,” she taunted. “How terribly convenient for you.”
His own temper flared. Was he not doing everything in his power to ensure she was kept in luxury when any other gentleman would have tossed her into the street after he’d finished with her? She should be showering him with gratitude, not hissing at him like a wounded cat.
“You are deliberately attempting to misunderstand me,” he charged.
“Non, I understand perfectly. You no longer desire me, but you cannot bear the thought I might find another gentleman who does. Admit the truth, Jacques.”
He stiffened, refusing to consider the accuracy of her words.
If she desired to play the role of the martyr, then who was he to thwart her tragic exit?
“Very well. You have obviously made your decision.” He offered a stiff bow before heading toward the door. “I will have a carriage at your disposal.”
GABRIEL DID NOT attempt to smother his groan of relief as Hugo at last managed to loosen the ropes that had cut deep furrows into his wrists.
“Damn,” Hugo breathed, frowning as Gabriel pulled out his handkerchief to wipe away the crusted blood. “Those wounds will be infected if they are not properly cleaned.”
“A worry for later.” He tossed aside the soiled handkerchief, turning his attention to his companion’s ashen face. “How is your head?”
“Aching.” Hugo grimaced, straightening before he headed directly for the brandy bottle set on a walnut sideboard. “Although I believe this should help ease the pain.”
“Shh,” Gabriel murmured. “We do not want to alert the guards that you are awake and that I am free.”
“What does it matter?” Hugo took a swig of the spirits directly from the bottle, his features tight with pain. “Without a weapon we have no hope of getting past the soldiers.”
Gabriel struggled to his feet, stretching his cramped muscles even as he sent his companion a warning glare.
“I have no intention of leaving without Talia.”
Hugo lifted a slender hand. “Be at ease, Ashcombe, it never occurred to me that we would leave without your wife.”
“Forgive me.” Gabriel pressed the heel of his hand to his throbbing temple. “It has been a trying few days.”
Hugo took another swig of the brandy. “I should say it has been a trying few months.”
“True.” Gabriel heaved a rueful sigh, moving to cast a cautious glance out the window. He counted two guards on the front balcony and another near the gate that opened onto the public street before returning his attention to his companion. “My life has not been the same since Silas Dobson blackmailed me into marrying his daughter.”
Setting aside the bottle, Hugo leaned against the side table, obviously still weak from the blow he had taken to his head.
“I am not certain whether to envy you or thank God I have no infuriated father forcing me down the aisle.”
Gabriel sympathized with his confusion.
It was not that he regretted having Talia as his bride. Hell, she was nothing less than a miracle. Who could ever have imagined that she could fill his life with a joy he had never expected, let alone deserved?
But he knew deep in his heart that a part of her would never forgive or forget his boorish behavior during the days leading to their farce of a wedding and the manner in which he had neglected her for weeks after they had become man and wife.
And that no matter how readily she might respond to his touch or how loyal she might be to him and their relationship, she would always keep her heart protected. How could she not when he had destroyed her trust?
“Only a fool would envy either of us at the moment,” he said wryly.
“In that we agree.” Hugo paused, folding his arms over his chest. “Of course, if you would be reasonable, then there might be a solution to our current dilemma.”
Gabriel was shaking his head before his friend even finished speaking.
“No.”
Hugo pushed away from the side table, his brows lowered with irritation.
“You have not even heard my suggestion.”
“There is no need,” Gabriel assured his companion. “I am well enough acquainted with you to know you are about to make some ridiculous offer to distract the guards while I rescue Talia and escape to my yacht.”
Hugo squared his shoulders, preparing for a fight. “It is the only logical plan.”
Knowing it would be pointless to convince the man it was too risky, Gabriel instead heaved a deep sigh.
“Really, Hugo, martyrs are so tediously boring.”
“Not a martyr, a gambler,” he argued, his chin set to an aggressive angle. “Once you have escaped, the odds are in my favor that the soldiers will charge in pursuit of you and I shall be able to stroll away unnoticed. In truth, I will be in less danger than you.”
“No.” Gabriel once again shook his head. “If anyone is to offer the distraction, it will be me. It is my fault you were captured.”
“I make my own decisions, Ashcombe,” Hugo growled. “And if anyone is to be held to blame it is your brother.”
“You would, of course, assume I am guilty,” an unexpected male voice drawled from behind them. “You never did like me, did you, Rothwell?”
Gabriel whirled on his heel. His brother was standing in a hidden doorway revealed by a narrow portion of the bookshelf that had just swung inward.
For an explosive moment Gabriel stared at Harry in disbelief, half expecting the sight of the slender young man with tousled brown hair and pugnacious expression to be a figment of his imagination.
Hugo charged past Gabriel in a gust of fury, clearly intent on pummeling the man he held fully responsible for their current troubles.
“You bastard.”
Not allowing himself the opportunity to consider the insanity of stepping in front of the large nobleman intent on murder, Gabriel wrapped his arms around his friend’s chest and struggled to bring him to a halt.
“Wait, Hugo,” he ground out, his muscles straining at the effort of keeping the man from escaping.
“Why?” Hugo demanded between clenched teeth. “He deserves to be skinned alive, like those damned natives do in the colonies.”
“I need to speak with him before you do any permanent harm.”
“Fine.”
Muttering his opinion of craven rats who should be shot on sight, Hugo stepped back, although the tension in his large body warned it would take little provocation to shatter his control.
Gabriel turned back toward Harry, grimly hoping he was not making a mistake in bringing a swift end to the reunion.
“What the hell are you doing sneaking up on us?”
Harry shrugged. “I would think that it was obvious. I did not want Jacques or his guards to know I have returned to the house.”
Gabriel narrowed his gaze. “How did you know about the hidden doorway?”
�
�I have had a fortnight to explore the house while waiting to hear from Jacques.” Harry glanced over his shoulder at the dark emptiness that stretched behind him. “I stumbled across the secret tunnel a few days ago. I assume the previous owner dabbled in smuggling.”
It was a reasonable assumption. Calais had long been the primary port for smuggled goods from England. There was, no doubt, any number of homes built with hidden tunnels.
Hugo snorted. “Why am I not surprised you would have found a means to sneak about?”
Harry stepped out of the tunnel, regarding Hugo with a mocking smile.
“Should I be like you, Rothwell?” he demanded. “Strutting about as if I own the damned world and expecting the lesser folk to worship at my feet?”
“Can we finish this squabble later?” Gabriel interrupted, his attention never wavering from his brother. “Where does the passageway lead?”
“To the cellars.”
Gabriel nodded, the faintest hope stirring in the pit of his stomach.
Was it possible they might slip past the guards unnoticed?
“Is there a way out of the house?”
“Yes, there is a coal chute that opens in the back garden.” Harry grimaced as he glanced down at his expensive jacket that was marred with black streaks. “Which explains why my once pristine coat is now ruined beyond repair.”
“Is it guarded?”
“No.” Harry brushed a clinging cobweb from his arm. “So far as I can determine no one has been in the passageway for years. I doubt Jacques is aware that they even exist.”
“Does one of the passages lead upstairs?”
Harry frowned at the abrupt question. “I have not inspected them that far.”
Without warning, Hugo had moved to grasp Gabriel’s arm, his expression rigid with disbelief.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” he barked. “You cannot mean to trust him.”
Gabriel scowled. “You believe this to be a trap?”
Hugo growled in disgust. “I think Harry would happily lead both of us to the slaughter if it meant him becoming the next Earl of Ashcombe,” he cruelly reminded Gabriel. “It is what he has always desired.”
“Dammit,” Harry burst out, appearing unbearably harassed. “Why would anyone believe that I would want your stupid title?” He waved his arms in a motion that nearly sent a carved crystal chess set tumbling from the pier table to the ground. “It is nothing but tedious duty and responsibility that I have sought to avoid my entire life, not to mention an endless parade of folks constantly demanding one thing or another. I should rather toss myself in the sea than be burdened with your position.”
Hugo’s laugh cut sharply through the library. “I could assist you into the sea…”
“Hugo,” Gabriel wearily muttered.
His friend had always taken great delight in antagonizing Harry, but now there was an added edge of violence he could barely constrain.
Harry, of course, did nothing to ease the tension. Indeed, the sardonic curl of his lips was a deliberate attempt to goad the large nobleman.
“Well, Gabriel,” he prodded. “Do you believe I am here to lead you into a trap?”
Gabriel’s lips twisted. “You have not made it easy to trust you, Harry.”
A flush crawled over Harry’s narrow face, making him appear young and oddly vulnerable.
“I may be a debauched scoundrel who has betrayed his country, but I have never wished you harm, brother,” he insisted, his voice harsh with sincerity. “Never, ever that.”
The two brothers stared at one another, the years briefly falling away to when they had been just two carefree lads running about the massive estate and causing mischief whenever they could slip away from the nursery. That had been before the old earl had determined it was time for Gabriel to begin his training as the heir apparent and Harry had been left in the hands of his overly indulgent mother.
When they had been…brothers.
The fragile connection was broken as Hugo’s fingers dug into Gabriel’s arm with obvious irritation.
“He may not have wished your death, but you may be certain that if Jacques gave him the choice between his life or yours, he would choose his own every time,” he gritted.
“I was already given the choice, you arrogant ass,” Harry snapped. “I was told to turn a blind eye and allow you to be sacrificed or Jacques will put a bullet in my heart.” He squared his shoulders. “I am risking as much as you by being here.”
Gabriel turned a deaf ear to the squabbling, instead concentrating on the vague plans that were formulating in the back of his mind.
He understood Hugo’s reluctance to trust Harry. Christ, he didn’t trust his brother. But for the moment their only hope of escape lay in the hidden passageways, and he was not going to allow his doubt to prevent him from grasping the unexpected opportunity.
What the devil did they have to lose?
“Harry, I wish you to lead Hugo to the cellars.”
His brother frowned at the abrupt command. “What of you?”
Hugo shook his head, already suspecting Gabriel’s plan. “Dammit, no.”
Harry stepped forward in puzzlement. “What the devil is happening?”
Gabriel did not allow his attention to stray from Hugo. If his friend refused to cooperate, then his hasty scheme would be ruined before it could be given an opportunity to succeed.
“I have already warned you I will not leave without Talia,” he reminded the nobleman.
Hugo shrugged. “Then we will all go together to rescue her.”
“No, I will not argue.” Gabriel stubbornly refused to consider the offer. “You will accompany Harry to the cellars and wait for us there. If we do not arrive within half an hour, then the two of you will escape to the yacht.” He pointed a finger in Hugo’s face. “And this time, old friend, you will ensure that it sails.”
Hugo stiffened in outrage. “I most certainly will not.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Harry snapped. “We are all going to end up dead if we stand here like a gaggle of fishwives.”
“You would be eager to save your own neck,” Hugo muttered.
Harry stabbed him with an exasperated glare. “As any man of intelligence would be, but it is my familiarity with my brother’s arrogant belief he was born for the sole purpose of ordering others about that resigns me to the inevitable.” He pointedly glanced toward Gabriel, who made no effort to hide his stubborn determination. “Our choices would seem to be standing here and arguing or heading to the cellars so Gabriel can go in pursuit of his wife.”
“He is right,” Gabriel said, pushing his friend toward the opening in the bookcase. “Go with Harry and I will join you as swiftly as I can.”
“Fine.” Hugo reluctantly headed toward the passageway, glancing over his shoulder to reveal his disgruntled expression. “But, I make no promises that I will not have strangled your charming brother by the time you arrive.”
Gabriel paused long enough to snatch a candle from the nearby candelabra before following Hugo and his brother into the musty tunnel.
“Just so long as you do not alert the guards.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TALIA FELT no guilt as she pressed her ear to the door and eavesdropped on the heated argument between Jacques and Sophia.
Her numerous governesses had never trained her in the proper manners of being held prisoner by a French spy, but her rare afternoons among the dockhands had taught her that a young female must be willing to toss aside polite manners when necessary.
Besides, she continued to hold on to the hope that the Frenchwoman could convince Jacques to release his prisoners and return to his palace. It did not matter to Talia why Sophia was desperate to be rid of her, only that she managed to convince Jacques he was better served by leaving them behind in Calais while he returned to his duties elsewhere.
It was a hope that died a swift death as she heard Jacques storm from the room and cross the corridor. He was headed directl
y toward the door where she was leaning.
Scrambling to tug the small cudgel from her reticule, Talia pressed herself against the wall, once again thinking back to those dockhands who had tutored her in defending herself. She would have only one opportunity to overcome a larger opponent. Once she lost the element of surprise, she was defeated.
Barely daring to breathe, she lifted her arm as the door was thrust open. Then, forcing herself to wait until Jacques had stepped fully into the room, she lunged forward, swinging the cudgel downward.
It would have been a successful attack if not for the full skirts that wrapped about her ankles at precisely the wrong time. A risk that the men who had taught her that particular attack never had to take into account.
Tripped off balance, her swing went wide, and with a muffled curse Jacques was turning to wrap her tightly in his arms, her weapon dropping to the carpet.
“Sacré bleu,” he breathed, his eyes glittering with irritation. “Is that any way to treat a gentleman who has treated you as an honored guest?”
She stood stiffly, meeting his chiding gaze without apology. Perhaps Jacques had been charmingly polite as he had escorted her into the townhouse and directly to these private chambers. But that had not deterred him from locking the door when he had left, nor from threatening to kill her husband and Lord Rothwell.
“An honored guest is not locked in her rooms.”
His brows lifted. “Would you have preferred that I tied you to the bed?”
“I would have preferred that you had allowed me to bash you in the head,” she retorted.
With an exasperated shake of his head, Jacques dropped his arms and stepped back.
“What have I done to be plagued with such troublesome females?”
Talia snorted at the genuine irritation in his voice. Only a male could degrade one woman while holding another captive and blame them both for being troublesome.
Such arrogance would never fail to astonish her.
“You do not deserve her, you know,” she accused.
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