Bride for a Night(121)

Sophia jerked, clearly wounded by Jacques’s words. “I did warn you,” she breathed.

“Jacques, do not test my resolve,” Talia warned. “I am the daughter of Silas Dobson. I have been taught from the cradle that only the ruthless survive.”

Jacques shook his head in denial. “You are not ruthless.”

Gabriel snorted, his burning gaze never wavering from Talia’s pale face.

“And you claimed to know my wife,” he mocked.

Talia glanced toward the pistol she held to Sophia’s temple, praying Jacques could not detect her pulse that raced in pure terror or the revulsion that clenched her stomach.

“Make your choice.”

“Wait,” the Frenchman commanded, his gaze shifting toward the silent Sophia. “Let us not be hasty.”


“Jacques,” she pressed, sensing his faltering resolution.

Jacques frowned in frustration. “You swear to release her?”

“I swear.”

“Mon Dieu.” Jacques slowly pulled the dagger away from Gabriel’s throat, his expression grim as Gabriel surged to his feet and snatched the knife from his unresisting fingers. “Talia, you gave your word.”

“Of course.”

Talia lowered the pistol and stepped away from the Frenchwoman, her entire body wobbling with relief as Gabriel stepped next to her and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. The tense confrontation had lasted only a few minutes, but it felt as if an eternity had passed since she had picked up the horrid gun.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jacques angrily adjusted his cuffs before he waved a hand toward the door.

“Leave us, Sophia.”

“No,” Gabriel snapped. “She remains.”

Jacques hissed his opinion of arrogant English noblemen through clenched teeth.

“You will hold a helpless female as a hostage?” he demanded.

“We both know that females are rarely helpless and I will not allow her to alert the guards,” Gabriel countered. “She will not be harmed so long as you do as I say.”

“And precisely what do you intend to do with us?”

A cold, lethal smile curved Gabriel’s lips. “That entirely depends on you, Monsieur Gerard.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN



TALIA FROWNED AS Gabriel removed his arm from her shoulders and gently tugged the pistol from her grip, tucking the large dagger beneath his jacket. All she desired was to escape from the townhouse and return to the waiting yacht, but she sensed that it would not be as simple as walking out the door.

“Gabriel?” she murmured, not doubting for a moment he already had a plan to escape.

As expected, he offered a confident smile. “We will need a candle, my dear.”

“Yes.”

She grabbed a burning candle from the mantel, relieved that her shivering was beginning to lessen and that her knees were no longer threatening to buckle.

Gabriel dipped a head toward the silent Frenchwoman who held herself proudly.

“Now if you will kindly lead Sophia into the passageway, Jacques and I will be close behind you.”

Without prompting, Sophia moved to enter the dark tunnel, and Talia hurried to walk at her side. She was in no mood to have to chase down the unpredictable woman if she decided to bolt.

Behind her, Talia heard the sound of male footsteps and she paused, the flicker of the candlelight dancing over the stone walls that were shrouded in dust and the low wooden-beamed ceiling.

“Which way?” she demanded.

“To the right,” Gabriel directed. “You will see a set of stairs just beyond the corner. They lead to the cellars.”