Bride for a Night(100)

“I can be quite persuasive when I choose.” He spoke with the confidence of a man accustomed to success among the opposite sex. “And surely you would wish her to be happy?”

Gabriel curled his upper lip in disgust. “What I wish is for you to rot in hell.”

Jacques waved a dismissive hand. “My inevitable fate, no doubt, but not before I have led France into her glorious future.”

“Using my brother as your pawn?”

“Precisely.” The Frenchman dipped his head in agreement. “He shall make quite a dashing Earl of Ashcombe, do you not think? And with his position in the House of Lords, he will have access to the most closely guarded secrets of the British Empire. I predict our partnership will be excessively profitable for both of us.”

Gabriel’s blood ran cold.

Jacques was right, damn his black heart. Although Harry’s position as the younger brother to the Earl of Ashcombe had always ensured him a place among the ton, his habit of spending his evenings in a drunken haze, not to mention his preference for gambling dens and whorehouses to polite society, had kept his name off the guest list of many hostesses.

And of course, there would be no gentleman who would willingly discuss confidential information with a scandal-seeking gamester who was notoriously in need of funds.

But as the Earl of Ashcombe…

Harry would suddenly find himself in demand at the most elite gatherings where political conversations often turned to the ongoing war. And, as Jacques had so smugly pointed out, he would be a member of parliament with the ability to mingle among those in command of the British troops.

Hell, he could request an audience with the prince without causing undue curiosity.

And all it would take would be one indiscreet conversation, or a set of maps left carelessly on a table, and disaster would strike.

Gabriel shook his head. Jacques’s plan promised a spiderweb of horrifying possibilities, but his thoughts refused to consider the future.

Not when he had yet to accept the dastardly plot was more than just a product of the Frenchman’s deluded imagination.

“Have you discussed this latest scheme with my brother?” he demanded, his voice oddly harsh.

Jacques arched a brow. “Do you nurture the hope that Harry will balk at stepping into your shoes?” he taunted. “I assure you that you could not be more mistaken. I believe he would pull the trigger if necessary to gain the title he has always coveted.”

Gabriel gave a sharp shake of his head. He refused to consider his last ugly encounter with his brother. Or the barely concealed bitterness that had marred their relationship for far too long.

Whatever their differences, they were family. In the end, Harry would do what was right.

How could he believe otherwise?

“You are a fool.” He tugged against the ropes that bound his wrists, indifferent to the raw, weeping wounds that marred his skin. “Whatever Harry’s sins, he would never wish for my death.”

A humorless smile curved Jacques’s lips as he turned to head for the door.

“Then it would appear that you know as little about your brother as you do your wife.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN



GABRIEL MUTTERED a vile curse as the Frenchman disappeared from the library.

He was a man who had become accustomed to being in utter command of his world and those around him. He gave an order, and it was obeyed without question and without fuss. And while Harry’s antics were a constant source of annoyance, he had been confident that his younger brother would eventually mature and put aside his reckless need to shock society.