“What did he demand in return?”
“Nothing until I was preparing to leave school and take my place in society. Then he requested that I carry a packet of letters to London.”
“What letters?”
“I do not know,” Harry admitted in a dismissive voice. “And I doubt they were of any importance.”
Gabriel frowned at his flippant tone. Had his brother learned nothing? Jacques clearly had a well-practiced routine of using dupes to transport vital information.
“How can you be certain?”
“Because his true purpose was to ensure that I was introduced to Juliette,” Harry said bitterly.
It took a moment for Gabriel to realize that his brother was referring to the voluptuous French widow of an English diplomat. Gabriel had been dimly aware that the golden-haired beauty had drifted in and out of his brother’s bed over the years, but he had always assumed it had been nothing more than a casual affair.
At least until he had discovered that the woman had traveled with Harry to France.
“Madame Martine,” he spat in disgust.
“I was such an idiot.” Harry closed his eyes, visibly pained by his memories. “Jacques was well aware that I was ripe to be seduced by such a beautiful woman who could easily manipulate me.”
“Not an uncommon failing among young men.”
Harry snorted. “Not you.”
“Do not be so certain,” Gabriel argued. “My first mistress managed to coax me into buying her several pieces of fine jewelry as well as a new carriage and matching horses to pull it before I realized she was sharing her favors with several other gentlemen at the same time.”
“Juliette cost me more than my yearly allowance.” Harry lifted his lashes to reveal the torment in his eyes. “It was with her urging that I became such a reckless fool. I was desperate to impress her with my daring deeds and my boundless wealth.” His jaw tightened. “And of course, she was clever enough to be forever prodding my jealousy toward you. I would have done anything to prove I was as worthy as you in her eyes.”
Gabriel heaved a rough sigh, shoving aside his stab of guilt as he considered the implications of his brother’s confession.
“Including an offer to establish Jacques as the local vicar of Carrick Park?” he asked.
“Yes.” Harry shook his head, then bit off a curse as the movement jostled his wound. “A difficult task, I might add,” he seethed.
It should have been an impossible task, Gabriel silently acknowledged, detesting the thought that church officials might have been bribed or bullied into turning a blind eye to Vicar Gerard of Carrick Park.
“Someday I wish to hear how you accomplished such a feat,” he warned.
“Someday.”
Gabriel allowed his brother to remain evasive. He would eventually discover the truth of the matter. But he was suddenly struck by a more pressing question.
“I do not comprehend why you agreed to wed Talia if you were being supported by Jacques.”
Harry flushed, revealing a genuine embarrassment for his heartless behavior.
“I had a brief moment of conscience,” he said, smiling wryly at Gabriel’s sudden scowl. “It is true, although I do not blame you if you find it difficult to believe. I thought that once I had my hands on Dobson’s money I could cut my ties to Jacques and walk away unscathed.”
“You thought he could be bribed?”
“Absurd, of course.” His sharp laugh cut through the hushed silence. “I was assured that there was no means to end my…partnership with the damned Frenchman.”
“And that is when you fled to Calais?”
“Yes, once again forcing you to pay for my sins,” Harry acknowledged, his expression hardening. “But no more. I have learned my lesson, I swear. Things will be different in the future.”
Gabriel shied from his brother’s heartfelt promise. He desperately wanted to believe that Harry had truly changed, but how often had he been disappointed in the past?
“Enough of this, you must conserve your strength while I fetch some help,” he said brusquely.
Once again Harry’s fingers dug into Gabriel’s arm, keeping him from rising.
“First I must give you this,” Harry said, wincing as he fumbled beneath his jacket and at last pulled out a folded piece of parchment that he shoved into Gabriel’s hand.
Shifting to catch the faint light cresting the horizon, Gabriel unfolded the paper and scanned the list of names that were written in a neat column.
He frowned as he recognized several of the gentlemen. “What is it?”
“The names of those Englishmen hired by Jacques.”
Even suspecting the truth, Gabriel felt an icy dread settle in his heart. Christ, just how deeply had the rot penetrated?
The men on the list were gentlemen of society, some of them members of parliament. Gentlemen of power and influence who could cause untold damage if they truly had sold their loyalty to Napoleon.
The question was how Jacques Gerard managed to lure, or perhaps even force, them into becoming traitors and how willing they had been to betray their country.
“How did you get your hands on this?” he rasped.
Harry returned his hand to cover his wound, his breath hissing between his teeth in pain.
“I made a search of the vicarage at Carrick Park after I became engaged to Talia,” he said, a fine sheen of sweat visible on his brow. “I knew I must destroy the letter that I had written to confess my guilt if I hoped to be rid of Jacques. Unfortunately I was unable to find my letter, but I did discover the names tucked in a prayer book.”
“Does he know that you have this?”
“No.” There was a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “I made a copy and returned the original to the book. I intended to use this as a bargaining chip when I felt the time was right.”
It was a powerful bargaining chip, indeed. Gabriel did not doubt that Jacques would be willing to barter a great deal to ensure the list did not fall into the hands of British officials.
And the fact that Harry had handed it over to Gabriel rather than keeping it to use for his own benefit was almost as shocking as the names on the list.
“And now?” he demanded, wondering if this was to be a trap.
“Now it is yours.” Harry regarded him with a wry smile before being racked by a deep cough that chilled Gabriel’s blood. “You will do what is right,” he at last gasped. “You always do.”
“No, Harry—”
“That was not an insult, Gabriel,” his brother interrupted hoarsely. “I have always admired your unwavering integrity, even when it infuriated me. I only hope someday you will be as proud of me as I have always been of you.”
An excruciating pain sliced through his heart.
Did his brother fear he was dying? Was that why he had demanded the opportunity to confess his sin and hand over the secret list?
No. Gabriel gave an unconscious shake of his head.
He would not allow it.
His brother was going to live, by God. Even if he had to follow him to hell and haul him back. “Remain still.”
Gabriel rose to his feet, moving to retrieve the loaded pistol his brother had dropped when he was shot and returned to press it into Harry’s hand before he headed toward the edge of the cliff.
“Gabriel…”
“I will return as swiftly as I am able.”
Not giving Harry an opportunity to argue, Gabriel angled along the edge of the steep precipice, at last stumbling across the path that led down to the muddy shore. His boots were ruined and his jacket torn from the rocks protruding from the side of the cliff, but at last he slid to a halt near the rowboat that was waiting in the shallow water.
“You.” He pointed at one of the two crewmen who were seated in the boat. “Come with me.”
“Aye, my lord.”
With stoic movements that helped to leash the sickening dread spreading through his heart, Gabriel retraced his steps up the path
of the cliff, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to ensure the sailor was close behind.
Everything would be fine, he assured himself. He would collect Harry and they would return to the yacht where the captain would clean and bind his wound. The fool might have a scar to display to his friends, but it would be a small price to pay.
Keeping the thought forefront in his mind, Gabriel reached the top of the cliff and jogged back toward the carriage. The entire trip had taken less than a quarter of an hour, but he was anxious to return to his brother.
He became even more anxious when he arrived at the precise spot where he had left Harry only to discover the carriage, along with his brother, was gone.
What the hell?
“Search the woods for Master Harry,” he directed the puzzled sailor with a wave of his hand.
“Master Harry?”
“I left him here. He was injured.”
“Oh. Aye.”
The young man hurried to obey the sharp command, while Gabriel bent down to inspect the dirt path that led away from the clearing.
He found a faint trace of blood as well as several separate footprints, but there was nothing to indicate a struggle. Not that he had expected to find evidence of a battle.
No. If his brother had been attacked while Gabriel was going for assistance he would have called out. Or at least fired the pistol that Gabriel had left with him.
The most logical explanation for Harry’s disappearance was that he had waited for Gabriel to go for help and then used the carriage to escape.
He had been expertly deceived.
Again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TALIA PACED THE cramped floor of her cabin, avoiding the narrow bunk bed despite her relentless fatigue that urged her to crawl beneath the covers.
Over the past hour she had allowed Lord Rothwell to bully her into eating a light supper followed by a hot bath. She had even changed into a linen night gown, but she stubbornly refused to go to bed until Gabriel had returned to the yacht.
Why bother? She would never be able to sleep. Not when she was consumed with fear for her husband.
Turning on her heel, she tossed back her loose curls and cursed herself for having allowed Gabriel to convince her to join Lord Rothwell in the tiny boat.
At the time, of course, she had assumed the others were following directly behind her. But, she had barely managed to settle on the wooden bench when the first shot had echoed through the air. Dismissing her protests, Rothwell had thrust the oars into the water and rowed them toward the distant yacht with firm strokes.
Worse, the overbearing wretch had threatened her with physical violence if she dared to attempt a return to shore.
Now she was trapped on the boat, or yacht, or whatever the blazes Gabriel insisted that the ship be called, with no knowledge of what was happening on the cliffs that were barely visible through the porthole.
She had lost track of time, although she was aware that morning sunlight was spilling into the cabin. The sound of her door opening had her spinning around with a startled gasp.
Gabriel.
Her heart stopped as her frantic gaze skimmed over his ruffled golden hair. His lean face was shadowed with the hint of his unshaved whiskers, and his muscular form was covered in a blue satin robe.
He looked weary and rumpled, but blessedly unharmed.
“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, taking several steps forward before coming to an awkward halt. Despite the past few days, she had not entirely forgotten the forbidding Earl of Ashcombe who would have been horrified to have his undignified wife tossing herself in his arms. She cleared the lump from her throat. “You are well?”
Perhaps sensing her unease, Gabriel surged forward, pulling her against his chest and burying his face in her thick curls.
“Yes, I am well,” he said in gruff tones.
For a long moment Talia simply savored the feel of his arms wrapped around her and the hard press of his muscles against her soft curves. Sucking in a deep breath, she allowed his warm, male scent to ease away her fear.
Lord almighty, she had been so terrified that he had been shot or captured or…with a shudder she yanked her thoughts away from the wrenching image of this man lying dead on the hard ground. It was unbearable.
Eventually he lifted his head, although he kept her tucked close to his body. She regarded him with a haunted gaze.
“When we heard the gunshots, Lord Rothwell insisted that we return to the yacht.” Her jaw tightened with remembered annoyance. “He gave me no choice but to accompany him.”
A glint of amusement shimmered in his eyes. “Hugo did mention you were reluctant to leave until he convinced you that it would be best to have you safely away from the danger.”
“He did not convince me. He threatened to knock me over the head with the oar if I attempted to escape from the boat.”
Gabriel chuckled. “While I deplore his crude methods, I have to admit I applaud his good sense.”
Her glare was as sharp as a dagger. As delighted as she was to have him alive and well, she did not appreciate being treated as if she were a helpless ninny. “Indeed?”
“I could not possibly have concentrated on Jacques or his overeager soldiers if I was worried for you.” His smile abruptly faded, and she felt his body tense. “As it was…”
“Gabriel?”
He glanced toward the porthole, his expression bleak in the faint light.
“My brother was injured.”
“Oh, no.” Genuine regret pierced Talia’s heart. No matter what her own feelings toward the young man who had jilted her, she knew how much Gabriel loved his scapegrace of a brother. He would be devastated if he were mortally wounded. “How badly has he been hurt?”
“I am not entirely certain.”
She laid a hand on his cheek, gently turning his face back to meet her sympathetic gaze.
“You should be with him.”
A muscle knotted in his jaw at her soft words. “He is not here.”
She blinked in confusion. “I do not understand.”
“He is not aboard the yacht.”
“But…” She was struck by an agonizing thought. “Good heavens he is not…”
“No.” Gabriel swiftly alleviated her alarm. “His wound was not fatal.”
She released a relieved breath, but her wariness remained. Gabriel was clearly troubled, and she was certain that it was due to his brother.
“Tell me what happened,” she urged.
With a sigh he lowered his arms and took a step backward. Talia shivered at the loss of his warmth, unnerved by just how desperately she missed the pleasure of being snuggled against his chest.
When had she allowed herself to become dependent upon his touch?
Thankfully oblivious to her dangerous thoughts, Gabriel shoved a hand through his hair, his silver eyes shimmering with a savage emotion that smoldered just beneath his brittle composure.
“When the soldiers attacked, Harry leaped in front of me.”
“Harry?” Caught by surprise, Talia was unable to disguise her shock. “He leaped in front of you?”
His lips twisted. “You are no more shocked than I was by his sudden display of courage. He has never before considered anyone beyond himself.”
“Perhaps he has truly matured,” Talia suggested, more hopeful than convinced. Harry Richardson had been a selfish scoundrel for so long it was difficult to imagine he was capable of changing. Still, miracles occurred every day. “He did, after all, help us to escape.”
Gabriel grimaced. “Perhaps, but his sudden maturity could not have occurred at a worse moment.”
She frowned in confusion. Surely Gabriel wished for his brother to mature into an honorable man? Then she realized the source of his distress.
“When he leaped in front of you he was injured?”
“Yes.” His voice was tight with guilt. “That bullet was intended for me.”
“Do not say that,” she said, horrif
ied.
“It is the truth, but Harry was moving before I could stop him.” His hands clenched at his sides, and Talia was certain that he was already attempting to punish himself for Harry’s injury. “Before I knew what was happening I heard a shot and he was falling to the ground bleeding.”
Talia parted her lips to assure her husband that it was not his fault, only to bite back the words. Why bother? Gabriel could no more alter his habit of assuming responsibility for those he cared about than she could curb her need to reassure him.
“Where was he hit?” she instead demanded.
He shrugged. “I assumed his upper chest, although he refused to allow me to inspect the wound.”
“Refused?” It was difficult to imagine Harry not taking full advantage of his role as the wounded hero. “Why would he refuse?”
“My hope is that he wished to disguise the fact that he was not injured as severely as I feared.”
“Surely not.” Her brows snapped together. “He must have known you were frantic with worry. Not even Harry could be so cruel.”
He smiled at her outrage. “I do not believe he was attempting to be cruel on this occasion, but if I had known he was capable of walking I would have insisted that he accompany me down the cliff rather than leave him alone while I went for assistance.”
“Oh.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Jacques?”
“No, the Frenchman and his guards had already fled before my crew arrived,” he said in soothing tones, although his expression remained hard with frustration. “Which was why I did not hesitate to leave Harry on his own. It never occurred to me that he would use the opportunity to escape.”
She barely noted the sensation of the yacht’s swaying motion as they gathered speed and headed toward England. Indeed, she was impervious to everything beyond Gabriel’s pale face and the shadows beneath his eyes.
“You are saying that Harry is gone?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated. His expression was neutral, clearly struggling against his instinctive resistance to share his thoughts and feelings with another. He had been trained to appear invulnerable, no matter how he might long to lean on another.
Then, gathering her courage, she moved to lay a comforting hand upon his arm.
Bride for a Night Page 29
