Bride for a Night(137)

“I made a search of the vicarage at Carrick Park after I became engaged to Talia,” he said, a fine sheen of sweat visible on his brow. “I knew I must destroy the letter that I had written to confess my guilt if I hoped to be rid of Jacques. Unfortunately I was unable to find my letter, but I did discover the names tucked in a prayer book.”

“Does he know that you have this?”

“No.” There was a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “I made a copy and returned the original to the book. I intended to use this as a bargaining chip when I felt the time was right.”

It was a powerful bargaining chip, indeed. Gabriel did not doubt that Jacques would be willing to barter a great deal to ensure the list did not fall into the hands of British officials.

And the fact that Harry had handed it over to Gabriel rather than keeping it to use for his own benefit was almost as shocking as the names on the list.

“And now?” he demanded, wondering if this was to be a trap.

“Now it is yours.” Harry regarded him with a wry smile before being racked by a deep cough that chilled Gabriel’s blood. “You will do what is right,” he at last gasped. “You always do.”

“No, Harry—”

“That was not an insult, Gabriel,” his brother interrupted hoarsely. “I have always admired your unwavering integrity, even when it infuriated me. I only hope someday you will be as proud of me as I have always been of you.”

An excruciating pain sliced through his heart.

Did his brother fear he was dying? Was that why he had demanded the opportunity to confess his sin and hand over the secret list?

No. Gabriel gave an unconscious shake of his head.

He would not allow it.

His brother was going to live, by God. Even if he had to follow him to hell and haul him back. “Remain still.”

Gabriel rose to his feet, moving to retrieve the loaded pistol his brother had dropped when he was shot and returned to press it into Harry’s hand before he headed toward the edge of the cliff.

“Gabriel…”

“I will return as swiftly as I am able.”

Not giving Harry an opportunity to argue, Gabriel angled along the edge of the steep precipice, at last stumbling across the path that led down to the muddy shore. His boots were ruined and his jacket torn from the rocks protruding from the side of the cliff, but at last he slid to a halt near the rowboat that was waiting in the shallow water.

“You.” He pointed at one of the two crewmen who were seated in the boat. “Come with me.”

“Aye, my lord.”

With stoic movements that helped to leash the sickening dread spreading through his heart, Gabriel retraced his steps up the path of the cliff, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to ensure the sailor was close behind.

Everything would be fine, he assured himself. He would collect Harry and they would return to the yacht where the captain would clean and bind his wound. The fool might have a scar to display to his friends, but it would be a small price to pay.

Keeping the thought forefront in his mind, Gabriel reached the top of the cliff and jogged back toward the carriage. The entire trip had taken less than a quarter of an hour, but he was anxious to return to his brother.

He became even more anxious when he arrived at the precise spot where he had left Harry only to discover the carriage, along with his brother, was gone.

What the hell?

“Search the woods for Master Harry,” he directed the puzzled sailor with a wave of his hand.

“Master Harry?”


“I left him here. He was injured.”