“Gabriel, why do you wish to keep me from London?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.
There was an awkward pause before Gabriel cleared his throat in obvious discomfort.
“I have told you that this is no more than a fleeting visit,” he said, his fingers shifting to cup her nape, his thumb running a soothing path down the tense line of her jaw. “I intend to linger no longer than necessary before returning to Devonshire. It makes no sense for you to disrupt your plans for what will very well be a handful of days.”
She kept her lashes lowered. “I see.”
“I promise you will be more comfortable here and I will return as swiftly as possible.”
“Of course.”
At last sensing she was less than pleased with his refusal to even consider her wishes, Gabriel shifted his thumb beneath her chin and tilted her face upward.
“You do not intend to sulk, do you, my dear?”
Actually her first thought was to flee from the room and find a place to nurse her wounded heart in privacy. She had allowed herself to hope that her future with Gabriel would be one of mutual respect, if not love. Now it was even more wrenching to realize he continued to harbor a measure of embarrassment at having her as his wife.
With effort, she managed to squash the instinctive response. No. Not on this occasion.
She was no longer that fragile young woman who allowed others to rule her life, she reminded herself. Or who retreated from the world rather than confront those who would hurt her.
Over the past weeks she had discovered the ability to fight for what she desired.
And that was precisely what she intended to do.
“Talia?” Gabriel prompted, his gaze searching her pale face with growing concern.
She blinked back the threatening tears and summoned a faint smile. Tomorrow she would consider what might be done to salvage her marriage. For tonight…
She leaned forward to lightly place her lips against his mouth.
“Certainly not.”
“Good,” he rasped in obvious relief, his hands lifting to frame her face. “Because I have no wish to waste our last evening together at odds.”
She nibbled at the corner of his lips, pleased by his low moan of approval.
“I can imagine how you do desire to spend our evening,” she teased.
“You know me so well.” He pressed a possessive kiss to her mouth before pulling back to regard her with a gaze dark with need. “But first I believe I owe you a hot bath. And then we shall enjoy a private dinner in bed.”
“And then?”
He chuckled with wicked anticipation. “And then I shall allow you to take full advantage of me.”
LONDON HAD NEVER been more uninviting.
After a week of drizzling rain and mud, the sun had finally peeked from behind gray clouds to blanket the city in a smothering heat. Even worse, the stench of the docks tainted what little breeze managed to stir the air, making it impossible to leave the windows open.
It was little wonder that most of society had fled the city for their respective estates, Gabriel sourly acknowledged, leading Hugo from the mews behind his townhouse to a side door that led directly to his study.
God knew he would never have lingered for the past week if he’d had a choice.
Not only was London in late summer always a misery, he was desperate to return to Devonshire and the pleasure of his wife’s company.
Entering the long room lined with towering bookshelves, Gabriel headed directly toward his massive walnut desk and the waiting brandy decanter.
The thought of Talia was a nagging concern that refused to be eased.
He had only to close his eyes to imagine the pale beauty of her face and the sweet temptation of her body, but it was not his incessant desire for her that plagued him. No, it was the sense that all had not been right when he left Carrick Park that festered in the back of his mind.
Thank God he had at last finished with his business.
Pouring two glasses of the brandy, Gabriel tossed the amber liquor down his throat before turning to hand the other glass to his guest.
Damn, who could have suspected that it would take him two days to simply convince the king and prime minister that the list of prominent English noblemen was not some French hoax? And another three days to gather a select few leaders of the Home Office to warn them of the potential traitors, only to listen to them haggle and barter in an effort to turn the unexpected situation to their advantage.
In a mood as foul as Gabriel’s, Hugo took the proffered drink and paced across the polished parquet floor.
“There are moments when I question how the British Isle does not sink into the sea beneath the weight of those bloated buffoons,” he muttered, heading for the bay window that overlooked the cobbled street below.
Gabriel smiled wryly as his companion perched on the edge of the window seat, his muscular form attired in a sage jacket and black breeches appearing far too large for the cramped room.
This study had been the private domain of his father. Though he personally possessed no interest in Roman coins or the pottery displayed in the long glass cases cluttering the room, he did not have the heart to remove them to the attics.
Not while his mother still considered this her home.
Pouring another measure of brandy, Gabriel leaned against the edge of the desk.
“Those buffoons are our noble leaders, Hugo.”
“They have spent the past three days squabbling like children,” Hugo muttered in disgust. “I do not believe they give a damn about the threat to our troops. All they care about is convincing one another they have no connection to the traitors, although they are all eager enough to wish to keep the names a tightly guarded secret.”
Gabriel grimaced. He wanted nothing more than to put the hours of bickering behind him. It was perhaps inevitable that those who were accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed would find it difficult to compromise with other equally powerful leaders, but playing the role of diplomat had made his head ache.
“We at least made certain that the bastards will be unable to continue to hide in the shadows betraying their country,” he said, resigned that he had done everything possible to keep the traitors from causing further harm. “Even if they never come to justice.”
“Yes.” Hugo polished off the brandy and set the empty glass on a rosewood table inlaid with brass. “Do you suppose they will be able to fool the traitors into offering Napoleon false information?”
“There are one or two within the Home Office who possess the skills and the intelligence to turn the situation to our advantage. It all depends on whether they can prevent the others from interfering.”
Hugo looked far from impressed, but he readily turned the conversation to more important matters.
“Well, at least you have accomplished your mission.”
“Yes.” A grim smile touched Gabriel’s lips. Whether right or wrong, he had made certain that his brother’s guilt would be hidden along with the other traitors. “Harry is protected.”
“Let us hope that he has learned his lesson.”
“Agreed,” Gabriel breathed, feeling a pang of regret at the thought of his brother.
For all of their troubled relationship, Harry was still family, and until he returned to England, Gabriel would mourn his loss.
There was a short pause as they both silently pondered the end of their dangerous adventure. Then, with a faint shake of his head, Hugo leaned against the windowsill, the fading sunlight exposing the lines of weariness etched on his face and the shadows beneath his golden eyes.
Something was keeping Lord Rothwell awake at night, and Gabriel did not for a moment believe that it had anything to do with French spies and overly stubborn Englishmen.
“When do you intend to return to Carrick Park?” Hugo demanded.
“Directly after dinner.”
Hugo arched a startled brow. “You will travel at night?”
Gabriel smiled in anticipation. He would travel through the brimstone of hell if it meant getting back to Talia.
“As much as I enjoy your companionship, old friend, I far prefer that of my wife.”
Hugo chuckled, pressing a hand to his chest. “I am wounded.”
Gabriel narrowed his gaze. “And what of you?”
“Me?”
“When do you plan to return to your estates?”
Rothwell stiffened, his expression becoming wary as he turned his attention to the far wall.
“I have not yet made firm plans.”
“No?” Gabriel pretended surprise.
“I have duties to attend to.”
“What duties?”
“Does it matter?”
“I would think you would be anxious to leave London.” Gabriel deliberately hesitated. “Unless, of course, there is a compelling reason for you to linger?”
Hugo made a sound of impatience, his head turning to meet Gabriel’s searching gaze.
“Why the sudden interest in my travel plans?”
“You did leave Devonshire rather abruptly in the company of Miss Lansing.”
Hugo’s expression hardened, but he could not disguise the revealing color that stained his cheeks.
“You requested to be rid of her.”
“True,” Gabriel agreed, “but I meant for you to send her on her way, not to personally escort her all the way back to London.”
With a sharp motion, Hugo was on his feet, restlessly pacing through the narrow space between the glass cases.
“I could have turned the stubborn minx away a dozen times and she would only have returned,” he growled. “She was determined to speak with Talia. The simplest solution was to make certain she left the neighborhood altogether.”
Gabriel might have accepted his friend’s explanation had he not been behaving as a lunatic over the past week.
He was distracted one moment, short-tempered the next and inclined to stare blankly for hours on end, lost in the midst of a daydream.
Gabriel struggled to hide his smile. “How very generous of you to sacrifice your pleasant stay at Carrick Park to spend days on the road traveling with a tedious wallflower…”
Hugo barreled forward, grasping Gabriel’s shoulders and giving him a warning shake.
“You will never speak of Miss Lansing in that manner again,” he snarled. “Do you understand?”
Gabriel tilted back his head to laugh with rich amusement. Who would have thought that the mighty Lord Rothwell, the hulking brute who terrified most gentlemen of the ton, could be felled by a female half his size?
“I understand perfectly.”
Coming to his senses, Hugo released his tight grip and scrubbed his hands over his face.
“Forgive me. I am…”
“Baffled, bemused and bewildered?” Gabriel suggested wryly.
“Yes.” With a heavy sigh, Hugo dropped his hands and squared his shoulders. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Gabriel’s smile faded to a somber frown as he studied his friend.
He had not forgotten his futile battle against his feelings for Talia. Nor how he had allowed his stubborn pride to harm the woman who deserved nothing but his highest regard.
How could he call himself a friend if he did not do everything necessary to keep Hugo from repeating his mistakes?
“It would seem to me that you have two paths that you can follow.”
“And they are?”
“You can return to your estates and put Miss Lansing from your mind,” Gabriel said, not at all surprised when Hugo’s body stiffened in a silent rebuff of the reasonable suggestion. It was already obvious he was too far gone to take the sensible path. “Or…”
“Or?”
Gabriel set aside his glass to clap a hand on his friend’s shoulder, his expression rueful.
“Or you can accept the inevitable with far more grace and dignity than I did.”
Hugo shook his head. “You are not reassuring me, Ashcombe.”
Sensing that his friend had made his decision regardless of whether he had admitted the truth to himself or not, Gabriel found his curiosity provoked by the woman who had captured his interest. He had dismissed Miss Lansing as just another society chit, but it was obvious he must have been mistaken in her character.
“Tell me, Hugo, what is it about Miss Lansing that has attracted you?”
“I am not at all certain,” Rothwell admitted with a smile that warmed his golden eyes. “I find her beauty enticing and I enjoy a woman with soft curves, but there is no doubting that she is not at all the current fashion.” He paused, as if calling the image of Miss Lansing to mind. Obviously not a difficult task. “Her curls are brown rather than gold and they refuse to be properly styled. She has dark eyes that are pretty enough, but instead of gazing at a man with invitation, they hold a good deal too much censure, whether it is earned or not.”
Gabriel heaved a sigh. He, better than anyone, understood the danger of becoming fond of a female who should never have caught his attention.
It was, after all, easy enough for a man to mistake lust for love. Such passing fancies were forgotten as swiftly as they struck and rarely cost a gentleman more than a few expensive baubles.
But when a man turned his thoughts to a female who was destined to lead him about like a hound on a leash…well, that was a far greater danger.
“What of her temperament?”
“She is overly inclined to speak her mind, but I prefer her blunt speech to the empty flattery of most females,” Hugo said, his expression becoming defensive, as if he were bracing himself for an argument. “This much I can assure you—she traveled to Devonshire and risked being punished by her family because she was desperate to know that Talia was well. She was no false friend.”
Gabriel nodded. “You relieve my mind. I am pleased to know that Talia has such a loyal friend.”
Hugo’s tension eased and a sudden smile curled his lips. “Of course, I am not at all certain that I have yet to convince her that you are not a villain who is plotting to do away with your wife.”
Gabriel stiffened in outrage. “Is the female a lunatic? Why the devil would she believe I am plotting to do away with Talia?”
Hugo shrugged, seemingly indifferent to the thought that his friend was considered a murderous fiend.
“My theory is that she reads too many novels.”
Before he could retort, the door to the study was opened and a short, portly butler with thinning silver hair and a perpetual frown entered to offer a stiff bow.
Annoyed by the interruption, Gabriel fixed the servant with an impatient gaze. “Yes, Vale?”
“I thought you would wish to know that Lady Ashcombe arrived while you were out.”
“Bloody hell.” Gabriel reached for the brandy decanter, wondering if the day could get any worse. “I thought she was settled in Kent. Did she say what brings her to London?”
The servant cleared his throat, a hint of pompous disapproval in his expression.
“It is not the dowager, my lord, but the current Lady Ashcombe.”
The bottle landed back on the desk with enough force to make the glasses rattle. “Talia?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Gabriel was barely aware of Hugo shifting as he clenched his hands at his sides and attempted to leash his surge of frustration.
Dammit. Had he not made it clear that he wished for Talia to await him at Carrick Park?
Not that he should be surprised that she would deliberately flout his command. Talia was no longer the timid child he had wed. She was now a woman with her own mind who was quite capable of making her own decisions.
A quality he fully admired under most circumstances.
But how could he protect her if she refused to cooperate?
“When did she arrive?”
“Shortly after luncheon.” The butler sniffed, a lingering censure etched in his expression. “She demanded that her belongings be
put into the master bedchamber.”
A wave of fury crashed through Gabriel as he stepped forward, barely preventing himself from planting his fist in the pompous face. Only the knowledge that the servants were bound to have taken their cue of how to treat Talia from his own mother kept him from violence.
“Vale, listen to me with great care,” he ordered in low, lethal tones. “Talia is not only the mistress of this house, but she is my most beloved wife. If I suspect that there is so much as one person on my staff who is not treating her with the utmost respect, I will have the whole lot of you thrown out into the streets.” He waited as Vale paled to a sickly hue, his double chin quivering in fear. “Is that perfectly understood?”
“Yes, of course.” He bowed deep enough his joints creaked. “My deepest apologies, my lord.”
“That will be all.”
Gabriel waved a dismissive hand, watching the butler scurry from the room.
It would be an easy matter to force the servants to accept Talia once it became known he would endure no less than complete deference to her authority. And in time, of course, they would come to love her as those at Carrick Park did for her own sake.
His mother, however, and the rest of society would not be so easily swayed.
Which was precisely why he had requested that she remain in Devonshire.
Turning his head, he glared at Hugo, as if this latest disaster was entirely his fault.
“What the devil was she thinking?”
“Perhaps she desired to visit the shops,” his friend suggested. “Females are oddly drawn to pretty gowns.”
Gabriel snorted. “Not Talia. She has no interest in fashion.”
“Then perhaps she wished to spend some time with her father.” Hugo grimaced. “As much as we might detest the bastard, he is her only family.”
“I am her family now and if that bastard dares to step a foot into this house I will have him transported to the colonies.”
“Do you intend to have me transported as well, Gabriel?”
The cold female voice had both men spinning toward the doorway.
Gabriel’s heart gave a leap at the sight of his wife in a pretty sprigged muslin gown that hugged her soft curves. Her dark hair was piled atop her head with a few curls left to brush her temple. A simple strand of pearls was draped around her neck.
Bride for a Night Page 34
