Bride for a Night(104)

Jacques flicked a dismissive glance over the man’s rumpled clothing that had no doubt cost a small fortune. The conceited peacock was precisely the sort of hedonistic aristocrat that Jacques had always detested. “Non, I would never depend upon you to protect me in the midst of battle. You would be fleeing in terror from the first shot.”

The dandy stiffened in ridiculous outrage. “Are you calling me a coward?”

Jacques shrugged. “Do you deny the claim?”

“Would a coward risk death to become a spy?”

“There is no honor in what you have done,” Jacques said, sneering, readily turning his vile temper on the fool before him. He had known from the moment he had tossed his lot with Napoleon that there would be difficult decisions to be made. War was not the noble business of a young man’s fancy. Too often victory demanded that a man make sacrifices that he would never willingly choose. And certainly it forced unsavory alliances. But that did not mean he had to be pleased with the loss of his conscience. “You became a spy because you are a self-indulgent coxcomb who was willing to betray everyone and everything you supposedly held dear for money.”


Not surprisingly Harry blinked in astonishment at Jacques’s brutal honesty. For years Jacques had courted and wooed the insolent pup, encouraging his reckless dissipation even as he whispered constant reminders of how unfair life was to have blessed Gabriel with so many riches while Harry was forced to live on a beggar’s allowance.

It had all been so terribly simple.

“You were not so disdainful when you suggested that we become allies,” Harry said, pouting. “In fact, you implied I was a hero for my daring.”

Jacques gave a lift of his shoulder. “I had need of you.”

Harry frowned. “And now?”

“Now you have need of me,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, his pitiless gaze never shifting from the younger’s man’s face. “Or more precisely you have need of what I can offer you.”

Although not nearly so intelligent as his elder brother, Harry was not entirely stupid. He was forced to accept that his brief fantasy as a dashing adventurer was coming to a painful end.

“I have requested nothing more than a place to remain hidden from our mutual enemies,” he muttered. “You owe me that much.”

“I owe you nothing.” Jacques smiled. “But fortunately for you, I intend to offer you your deepest desire.”

Harry licked his dry lips, his hands clenched at his sides. “And what would you know of my deepest desire?”

“It is obvious to anyone who knows you, mon ami, that you are consumed with lust for your brother’s position.”

He paled, shaking his head in pointless denial. “That is absurd.”

“I agree,” Jacques mocked, sickened by the thought of placing this cowardly ass in a position of power. “You are a nasty toad who is unworthy of the title. Unfortunately, the current Earl of Ashcombe is a formidable gentleman of honor and ruthless integrity who I might have admired if he had not been standing in the path of what I most desire.” He shrugged, refusing to contemplate the fact he was about to order the cold-blooded murder of a nobleman. “You, on the other hand, are without pesky morals, which suits my needs perfectly.”

If possible, Harry lost even more color, leaving his skin ashen.

“Even if I was fool enough to want the title, it is not a damned bauble that can be passed from one person to another,” he rasped.

Jacques’s lips flattened at the bitter memories of his childhood spent on the fringes of French aristocracy. There had been no need to explain that as a son of a mere artist, no matter how talented Jean-Luc Gerard might have been, he would always be considered inferior to the prissy dandies who sashayed the streets of Paris.