Bride for a Night(115)

It was a hope that died a swift death as she heard Jacques storm from the room and cross the corridor. He was headed directly toward the door where she was leaning.

Scrambling to tug the small cudgel from her reticule, Talia pressed herself against the wall, once again thinking back to those dockhands who had tutored her in defending herself. She would have only one opportunity to overcome a larger opponent. Once she lost the element of surprise, she was defeated.

Barely daring to breathe, she lifted her arm as the door was thrust open. Then, forcing herself to wait until Jacques had stepped fully into the room, she lunged forward, swinging the cudgel downward.

It would have been a successful attack if not for the full skirts that wrapped about her ankles at precisely the wrong time. A risk that the men who had taught her that particular attack never had to take into account.

Tripped off balance, her swing went wide, and with a muffled curse Jacques was turning to wrap her tightly in his arms, her weapon dropping to the carpet.

“Sacré bleu,” he breathed, his eyes glittering with irritation. “Is that any way to treat a gentleman who has treated you as an honored guest?”

She stood stiffly, meeting his chiding gaze without apology. Perhaps Jacques had been charmingly polite as he had escorted her into the townhouse and directly to these private chambers. But that had not deterred him from locking the door when he had left, nor from threatening to kill her husband and Lord Rothwell.

“An honored guest is not locked in her rooms.”

His brows lifted. “Would you have preferred that I tied you to the bed?”

“I would have preferred that you had allowed me to bash you in the head,” she retorted.

With an exasperated shake of his head, Jacques dropped his arms and stepped back.

“What have I done to be plagued with such troublesome females?”

Talia snorted at the genuine irritation in his voice. Only a male could degrade one woman while holding another captive and blame them both for being troublesome.

Such arrogance would never fail to astonish her.

“You do not deserve her, you know,” she accused.

“Pardon?”

“Sophia,” she clarified. “She adores you, but you treat her as if she is no more than a courtesan to be dismissed on a whim.”

He arched a brow. “I hesitate to shock you, ma petite, but that is precisely what she is.”

Talia was well beyond shock after the past weeks. “If you consider her as nothing more than a harlot, then you should not have made her fall in love with you.”

Jacques’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You hold me to blame?”

“Of course.” Talia gave a lift of her shoulder. “You obviously encouraged her affections.”

“Is that not what a gentleman is expected to do with a courtesan?”

“I do not mean…” She struggled for a delicate means to express her argument. “Physically.”

With a sharp laugh, he turned to pace across the Oriental carpet, choosing an enamel snuff box from the scrolled mantel and flicking open the lid.

“Thank goodness, since that is a customary part of the relationship,” he said, taking a delicate sniff of the scented tobacco.

She glanced toward the cudgel on the floor, regretting the lost opportunity to bang his thick skull. Not only because she had missed a chance to escape, but simply because he obviously needed a good smack to the head.

“I meant that you no doubt confided in her and shared far more than just your bed,” she accused.

He stiffened, his expression defensive. “And how would you know that?”