Bride for a Night(107)

Jacques thrust Harry toward the door, weary of the sordid business.

“Return to your foolish entertainments while the men tend to business, Harry,” he commanded. “I shall let you know when I have need of you.” He waited until the Englishman had stumbled across the room. “Oh, and Harry,” he drawled.

Grasping the doorjamb, Harry glared over his shoulder. “What?”

“Do not stray far.”

He jerked as if he had been slapped. “I am a prisoner?”

“Calais is surrounded by French soldiers who are eager to spill English blood.” Jacques grinned. “Only a fool would willingly become their target.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



WAITING UNTIL HE heard the sounds of Harry slamming the front door of the townhouse, Jacques heaved a sigh and headed out of the study.

He intended to return to the library and finish the nasty duty awaiting him there. After all, Lord Rothwell would soon awaken. It was imperative that he had them quietly…exterminated…before they could cause more trouble.

The sooner he was finished with the task, the sooner he could have Harry returned to London and the sooner they could discover what the British military was planning.

His feet, however, refused to obey, and rather than leading him downstairs, he found himself headed for his private chambers.

Perhaps he should ensure Talia was still locked in his bedchamber, he argued with the voice of reason in the back of his mind. The last thing he desired was for her to sneak out of the room and witness the death of her husband.

It was bound to be difficult enough for her to accept becoming a widow.

Refusing to contemplate Talia’s reaction once she realized Gabriel was dead, Jacques was distracted by the slam of drawers coming from the bedchamber directly across the hall.

With a frown he pushed open the door to watch as Sophia stormed from the cherrywood armoire to shove a satin gown into a case lying open on the canopied bed.

Wise enough not to enter a room with a furious woman who had an artillery of crystal perfume bottles and heavy silver candlesticks at her disposal, Jacques instead leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.

“You are displeased with your chambers?” he demanded.

With a small gasp, Sophia whirled to confront him, her midnight eyes flashing fire.

“I could hardly admit to being displeased when it was I who insisted it be refurbished to suit my taste,” she muttered, casting a glower about the room dramatically decorated in black and gold to emphasize Sophia’s own exotic beauty. Even the fireplace was made of black marble to contrast with the bed that was draped in a shimmering gold satin.

He briefly recalled Sophia’s pleasure as the last of the workmen had left, and they had christened the wide bed in a storm of passion. By the time they had finished, his cravat had been dangling from the gilt chandelier and trousers tossed on the window seat.

He swallowed a sudden sigh. Sacré bleu. It all seemed a very long time ago, and not for the first time he questioned his decision to bring Sophia to Calais.

After her betrayal, he had been determined to pack her off to Paris. How could he possibly trust she would not allow her emotions to overcome her common sense? Especially now that Talia was once again his prisoner.

But in the end, he’d found himself commanding her to pack her bags and join him on the short journey. He’d claimed that he desired to keep her close at hand where he could ensure her good behavior, but the truth of the matter was his motives were not so easy to comprehend.

All he knew for certain was that the thought of her walking away was unacceptable.