She at last lifted her head with a puzzled frown. “I have been introduced to several of these gentlemen, but I do not recall them being particular friends of Harry. Why would they assist him?”
Gabriel snorted, well aware that at least two of the gentlemen had threatened to issue a duel with his reckless brother when they’d caught him in bed with their wives.
“I can assure you that assisting my brother was never their intention,” he said wryly.
“Then why do you have their names listed?”
“I did not list them.” He grinned. “Jacques Gerard did.”
She silently considered his revelation, her cunning mind swiftly comprehending the impact of the names.
“They are traitors?” she asked in shock.
He gave a lift of his shoulder. “It would seem so.”
“But…” She regarded him with wide eyes, struggling to accept the evidence. “Dear heavens.”
“Yes,” he murmured.
Her lips flattened as she tossed aside the list and gave a disapproving shake of her head.
“Is there no one to be trusted?”
“Power is too often corrupted, I fear, but we at least have the means to use their weakness to our advantage.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You have a plan?”
He plucked the parchment off the bed and waved it lazily.
“Neither Jacques nor the traitors are aware that Harry stumbled across this list.”
His smile widened in anticipation. He had swiftly recovered from his own dismay at the sight of the names. Unlike Talia, he had already been jaded by his fellow members of parliament. Which meant he understood that the traitors would never come to justice, despite the fact that the bastards would be eager enough to see Harry hang for his crimes.
A knowledge he intended to use to his advantage.
“Where did he find it?”
“At the vicarage.” He silently reminded himself to have the house searched from attics to cellars, as well as the church. “Harry copied the list and left behind the original. So far as they are concerned, their contemptible alliance remains a secret.”
“You do not intend to expose them?”
“Actually, it will be my suggestion that the traitors are used to send false information to the French.”
She pressed herself to a seated position, her hand clutching the blanket. Not that she was entirely successful in keeping the abundant temptation of her breasts covered, he was pleased to note, taking full pleasure in the glimpse of alabaster skin and a rosy nipple.
“What would be the purpose?” she asked.
Gabriel swallowed a groan. He wanted to ignore her question and press her back onto the bed. It was surely a sin to waste this precious time alone discussing spies and traitors and devious politicians.
However, Gabriel suspected that Talia would not be prepared to respond to his touch until she was fully satisfied that he had shared his every thought and feeling.
She was like the ocean tide. A relentless force that could wear away the most rigid stone.
“If we can deceive Napoleon into wasting his efforts in preparing for attacks that will never occur or plotting futile ambushes on British troops that will never arrive, then he will be left vulnerable to Wellesley’s true battle plan.”
“Ah.” A sudden smile lit her face. “Of course. Brilliant.”
Gabriel resisted the embarrassing urge to preen beneath her feminine admiration.
It was not precisely brilliant. Indeed it was a simple enough scheme in theory. Unfortunately, it depended upon the ability of war officials to offer the various traitors false information that they could pass on to the French, while managing to keep the genuine battle plans a secret from them.
Still, he intended to keep his doubt of those in command to himself. He would have need of them if he were to keep Harry from the gallows.
“Let us hope that the Home Office considers it equally brilliant.”
“How could they not?”
He snorted at her naivety. “Politicians are rarely sensible, even when it comes to organizing a war. They are far too busy battling one another to actually concentrate on the true enemy.”
She looked as if she desired to argue, but she simply gave a faint shake of her head.
“I still do not comprehend how you intend to prevent Harry from being revealed as a traitor,” she instead admitted.
“I intend to barter for his future.”
“With the list?”
“Yes.” He shifted to return the precious sheet of parchment to his jacket pocket before leaning back and running a slender finger down the bare skin of her shoulder. “If they desire to keep the names of the remaining traitors a secret, then they must agree that Harry’s connection to Jacques Gerard will never be revealed.”
She shivered beneath his touch, her eyes darkening with a heated anticipation.
“What if they refuse to follow your suggestions?” she managed to demand.
His finger continued down her arm and toward the hand that so desperately clutched the blanket to her bosom.
“They will still be willing to sacrifice whatever necessary to keep the betrayal of these men from society.”
“I do not know how you can be so certain.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Because I am well aware of the hysteria that would explode throughout Britain once it was revealed that such powerful gentlemen were in secret contact with a French spy.” He grimaced at the mere thought. “It would not matter if the men on this list had offered nothing more tangible than the name of Wellesley’s boot-maker to Jacques Gerard. It would be assumed that the war is on the brink of failure and that all of parliament has been purchased by Napoleon.”
She gave a slow nod. “Yes, I see your point.”
Grasping her hand, he gently untangled her grip on the blanket, hissing in pleasure as the fabric slid down to reveal the pale perfection of her curves.
“So long as Harry avoids any further stupidity, he should be able to put his past behind him and begin anew,” he said, his tone distracted as his body stirred and hardened. “Wherever he is.”
A flush stained her cheeks as she lay back on the pillows, her eyes shimmering with an invitation that would tempt a saint.
“He will return when he is ready,” she murmured.
“Enough of my brother.” Stretching out at her side, Gabriel curled his fingers around the soft weight of her breast. “I believe we have a better means of passing the rest of the voyage.”
She arched beneath his touch, her arms lifting to wrap around his neck.
“Do you?”
He lowered his head, his gaze centered on the sensuous lips that were already parted in anticipation of his kiss.
“Allow me to demonstrate.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AS WAS HIS USUAL habit, Hugo rose from his bed at an early hour and attired himself in a fitted blue coat and buff breeches that showed his large, muscular body to advantage. He had no patience for those fools who lay abed the entire morning, expecting a bevy of servants to tend to their needs as if they were helpless invalids.
He had to admit there were some advantages to being the first to rise. He strolled into the breakfast room that was decorated with pale green satin wall panels and gold-framed mirrors. The delicate rosewood table matched the chairs upholstered in a yellow-and-cream stripe in the center of the room.
He was not only able to enjoy his breakfast of thick sliced ham, fresh eggs and warm toast with a large dollop of honey without apologizing for his healthy appetite, but he was able to enjoy the fine view of the craggy cliffs and distant sea without being forced to make meaningless chitchat.
Polishing off the last of his food, he strolled past the sideboard that groaned beneath the brimming silver chafing dishes and out the French windows that led to the balcony beyond.
They had arrived at Carrick Park yesterday, but he had been too weary to do more than climb the steps to the bedchamber he often
used during his stay in Devonshire and fall into bed. Now he leaned against the stone railing and considered his immediate plans.
He would have to return to London, of course. His abrupt departure with Gabriel would no doubt have stirred ridiculous rumors that must be squelched. Especially if they hoped to deceive the traitors into believing their treachery remained a secret, as Gabriel hoped.
And after that, he would be expected to return to his home in Derbyshire for a few weeks. His estates were not nearly so extensive as Carrick Park, but he possessed tenants and servants who depended upon him. And he enjoyed his time in the country. His father often claimed that Hugo was a farmer at heart.
But he doubted that Gabriel would be prepared to leave Carrick Park for at least a few days. Hell, Hugo doubted the man would be prepared to leave his wife’s bed for at least a week.
A rueful smile at the memory of Gabriel carrying his embarrassed bride up the marble staircase, his haste to reach the private chambers above obvious to the numerous servants who had gathered in the front foyer, curved his lips.
The image had barely formed in his mind when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning, he watched in surprise as Gabriel crossed the breakfast room and stepped onto the balcony.
The Earl of Ashcombe was as elegantly attired as always in a sable-brown jacket and ivory waistcoat, with a pair of dark breeches tucked into his glossy boots. His cravat was tied in a simple Oriental knot, but the linen was crisp, and a stunning emerald stickpin glittered among the folds.
But as he neared, Hugo could not fail to notice the hard line of his jaw or the disgruntled glint in his silver eyes.
Hugo leaned against the railing and folded his arms over his chest.
“I did not expect you to join me this morning,” he murmured.
“Neither did I,” Gabriel groused, his sullen gaze skimming over the untamed landscape before settling on his companion. “I assure you it was not my choice.”
Hugo gave a lift of his brows. “There is no need to growl,” he protested mildly. “If you thought I would be in need of your company, then you might as well return to your bride. I am perfectly capable of entertaining myself.”
“There is nothing I desire more than to spend the morning with my bride,” his friend informed him, “but I was very firmly turned out of her bedchamber.”
Hugo choked back a laugh, unable to believe any female would actually toss Gabriel from her bedchamber. The man had been ruthlessly pursued by women since he had left the schoolroom. “Holy hell.”
Gabriel glared at him with a decided lack of humor. “This is not amusing.”
“No, it is a tragic statement on your skills as a lover,” Hugo readily agreed. “If you wish, I can offer you a few suggestions to assist you in pleasing your wife. Perhaps then she will not boot you out of her bed.”
A startling color crawled beneath Gabriel’s lean face. Was the arrogant earl actually discomfited by Hugo’s teasing? Astonishing.
“I was not booted out of her bed,” he snapped. “And I most certainly do not need suggestions on pleasing my wife from a man who has become a misogynist over the past years.”
Hugo frowned, caught off guard by the accusation. Perhaps he had learned to avoid debutantes as if they carried the plague. And it had been a few months since he had given his last mistress her congé. But that did not mean that he disliked females. Bloody hell, he adored them when they were not attempting to trap him into marriage or pleading for yet another expensive bauble.
It was just…
He gave a restless shrug. It was just that he was searching for a female he was beginning to fear did not exist, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind.
It was a voice he was swift to dismiss as he gave a sharp shake of his head.
“Not a misogynist,” he corrected. “Merely a man who has grown weary of fortune hunters and their overzealous mothers.” He paused, a taunting smile slowly curving his lips. “Of course, if there were more females such as Talia I might reconsider my cynical opinion of the opposite sex.”
Predictably, Gabriel narrowed his gaze in warning. “Careful, old friend.”
Hugo chuckled, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “I speak in general, not specific terms. I do not seek an early grave.”
Gabriel grunted, glancing over his shoulder as if hoping his bride might make a sudden appearance in the breakfast room.
“There are no other females to compare with my wife.”
“True,” Hugo agreed with a faint sigh.
He had not been entirely teasing when he had wished for a female such as Talia. It was not that he was in love with his friend’s wife, but she possessed a strength of character and an unwavering loyalty that he deeply admired. They were both all too rare qualities among society.
Then, with an effort, he shrugged off his peculiar mood and studied Gabriel’s sour expression. He could not deny a small measure of pleasure in witnessing his friend’s annoyance. Gabriel had become far too accustomed to having the world cater to his every pleasure. It did him good to have his puffed-up conceit occasionally deflated.
“She is certainly a woman of courage,” he pointed out in innocent tones. “There are few who would dare to ban you from their room.”
Gabriel scowled. “I was not banned by Talia, I was rousted by my own damned servants.”
“Your servants?”
“They began arriving at the crack of dawn.”
“Ah.” Hugo shrugged. “I suppose that is not surprising that they would desire to ensure you are well and unharmed after your adventures.”
“They were not concerned with my welfare, it was their beloved Lady Ashcombe whom they wished to ensure was unharmed,” Gabriel said with a grimace. “For God’s sake, Mrs. Donaldson was weeping in relief when I at last fled.”
Hugo’s eyes widened at the mere thought of the formidable housekeeper in tears. “Astonishing.”
“And to make matters worse, Talia has very firmly informed me that she intends to devote the rest of the day to visiting the tenants.”
Hugo shifted so he could glance toward the side of the house where the parkland gave way to a pretty pond. Beyond that the rolling fields were dotted with thatch-roofed cottages.
“Perhaps it is for the best,” he murmured, returning his attention to his companion. He easily recalled the tenants’ frantic searches for Talia when he and Gabriel had arrived at Carrick Park and their desperation for Gabriel to rescue her from the clutches of the evil French spy. “If she does not make an appearance, they will surely storm the house to reassure themselves that you have returned her as promised.”
Gabriel dismissed this logic with an impatient wave of his hand.
“She is still weary from her journey. She should be resting, not gadding about the countryside.”
Hugo chuckled, not fooled for a moment. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“I wonder if you are annoyed because she is not being allowed to rest or because you are being forced to share her attentions with others.”
With an imperious lift of his brow, Gabriel tilted his chin to glare down the length of his nose.
“I am the Earl of Ashcombe. I do not need to beg for the attentions of my wife.”
“If that were true, then the Earl of Ashcombe would not be spending his morning pacing the breakfast room in a mood so foul that the Lord of Rothwell is considering the pleasure of tossing him off the balcony.”
Gabriel heaved a harsh sigh. “I suppose you are right.”
“Naturally,” Hugo said smugly. “I am always right.”
“Be careful, Rothwell,” his friend growled. “My mood is still foul.”
Hugo smiled, resisting the urge to continue with his teasing.
“When do you intend to return to London?”
“It must be soon.” Gabriel paced the length of the balcony, seemingly indifferent to the spill of morning sunlight or the rose-scented breeze that ruffled his golden hair. “The
king and his council must know of the traitors as soon as possible.”
Hugo fully agreed. Every moment that passed was another moment that offered the traitors an opportunity to put British troops at risk.
“Why do you hesitate?”
Gabriel grimaced. “Talia will not be pleased when I tell her she must remain at Carrick Park.”
“Why would she not be pleased? She seems to prefer the countryside to the city.”
“Yes, but when I mentioned traveling to London without her, I was informed that she would not be hidden away like an embarrassing secret.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
“I haven’t the least notion,” Gabriel muttered, “but I sense she will insist on accompanying me.”
Hugo watched his companion pace from one end of the balcony to the other, a frown marring his brow.
“Then why not allow her to go with you?” he asked. “It seems a simple enough solution.”
Gabriel turned to glare at Hugo. “Impossible.”
Hugo paused, baffled by the frustration he could sense simmering just below his friend’s fragile composure.
They had managed to rescue Talia, outwit a French spy and discovered a means to prevent Harry from being exposed as a traitor.
Surely the man should be celebrating, not looking as if he desired to smash his fist into the nearest object?
“Why is it impossible? You surely do not believe she is in danger?”
“I did not believe her in danger when I sent her to Carrick Park, but she managed to tumble into disaster.”
Good God, did the man intend to flog himself forever? Anyone would think he’d deliberately sent his wife into a trap.
“You could not possibly have predicted that there was a French spy lurking in the neighborhood.”
“She is my responsibility.” Gabriel stubbornly refused to admit it had been an unfortunate coincidence.
“Fine.” Hugo held up his hands in defeat. “But, if you truly fear for her safety, then I would think that would be even more reason to keep her close at hand so that you can protect her.”
An indefinable emotion darkened the silver eyes as Gabriel stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides.
Bride for a Night Page 31
