Bride for a Night(138)

“Oh. Aye.”

The young man hurried to obey the sharp command, while Gabriel bent down to inspect the dirt path that led away from the clearing.

He found a faint trace of blood as well as several separate footprints, but there was nothing to indicate a struggle. Not that he had expected to find evidence of a battle.

No. If his brother had been attacked while Gabriel was going for assistance he would have called out. Or at least fired the pistol that Gabriel had left with him.

The most logical explanation for Harry’s disappearance was that he had waited for Gabriel to go for help and then used the carriage to escape.

He had been expertly deceived.

Again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE



TALIA PACED THE cramped floor of her cabin, avoiding the narrow bunk bed despite her relentless fatigue that urged her to crawl beneath the covers.

Over the past hour she had allowed Lord Rothwell to bully her into eating a light supper followed by a hot bath. She had even changed into a linen night gown, but she stubbornly refused to go to bed until Gabriel had returned to the yacht.

Why bother? She would never be able to sleep. Not when she was consumed with fear for her husband.

Turning on her heel, she tossed back her loose curls and cursed herself for having allowed Gabriel to convince her to join Lord Rothwell in the tiny boat.

At the time, of course, she had assumed the others were following directly behind her. But, she had barely managed to settle on the wooden bench when the first shot had echoed through the air. Dismissing her protests, Rothwell had thrust the oars into the water and rowed them toward the distant yacht with firm strokes.

Worse, the overbearing wretch had threatened her with physical violence if she dared to attempt a return to shore.

Now she was trapped on the boat, or yacht, or whatever the blazes Gabriel insisted that the ship be called, with no knowledge of what was happening on the cliffs that were barely visible through the porthole.

She had lost track of time, although she was aware that morning sunlight was spilling into the cabin. The sound of her door opening had her spinning around with a startled gasp.

Gabriel.

Her heart stopped as her frantic gaze skimmed over his ruffled golden hair. His lean face was shadowed with the hint of his unshaved whiskers, and his muscular form was covered in a blue satin robe.

He looked weary and rumpled, but blessedly unharmed.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, taking several steps forward before coming to an awkward halt. Despite the past few days, she had not entirely forgotten the forbidding Earl of Ashcombe who would have been horrified to have his undignified wife tossing herself in his arms. She cleared the lump from her throat. “You are well?”

Perhaps sensing her unease, Gabriel surged forward, pulling her against his chest and burying his face in her thick curls.

“Yes, I am well,” he said in gruff tones.

For a long moment Talia simply savored the feel of his arms wrapped around her and the hard press of his muscles against her soft curves. Sucking in a deep breath, she allowed his warm, male scent to ease away her fear.

Lord almighty, she had been so terrified that he had been shot or captured or…with a shudder she yanked her thoughts away from the wrenching image of this man lying dead on the hard ground. It was unbearable.

Eventually he lifted his head, although he kept her tucked close to his body. She regarded him with a haunted gaze.

“When we heard the gunshots, Lord Rothwell insisted that we return to the yacht.” Her jaw tightened with remembered annoyance. “He gave me no choice but to accompany him.”