Bride for a Night(153)

“Yes?” he prompted.

“I will scream until she makes an appearance.”

Would she? The fact that Hugo was not absolutely certain she would not create a scene if necessary only deepened his fascination.

“Why are you so determined to speak with her?”

Her rounded chin tilted. “Because I am concerned, if you must know.”

He searched her belligerent expression, realizing that there was indeed an unmistakable concern beneath her bluster and even a measure of fear. Whatever Gabriel’s assumption about Miss Lansing, she had not traveled to Carrick Park to harm Talia.

“You were concerned for her welfare?”

“Yes.”

“That is absurd.”

“Is it?” She stood her ground, her eyes flashing with dark fire. “Talia disappeared from London mere hours after her secretive wedding to the Earl of Ashcombe. And despite the numerous letters I have written over the past month pleading for her to reassure me that she is well, I have heard nothing from her.”

Hugo cast a brief glance toward the female still sleeping in the corner before stepping close enough he could capture her chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“And what is it you fear, Miss Lansing?” he asked in low tones. “Do you suspect that Lord Ashcombe has locked his vulnerable young bride in the dungeons? Or perhaps you imagined he had thrown her off the cliff?”

The color beneath her skin darkened, and he was struck by a savage need to know if the flush was a mere reaction to her anger or a display of the same arousal that plagued him.

“Who is to say?” she challenged. “I was with Talia when the earl forced his way into her private chambers and demanded that I leave. He certainly seemed angry enough to wish her harm.”

Hugo shook his head, caught between indignation that she would believe for a moment that Gabriel was capable of violence toward a woman and amusement at her bold claim.

The only other female who could have dared to stand before him, bedraggled from her long journey and spitting fire, was Talia.

It was little wonder the two had been drawn to one another.

“There is no gentleman who has not been angered at some time or another,” he pointed out, his thumb tracing the line of her full lower lip. “That does not necessarily lead him to commit a heinous crime. We are, after all, a civilized society.”

She made a sound of disgust and pulled away. “Being civilized does not stop gentlemen from behaving as barbarians.”

How could Hugo argue with her logic? He had ample proof that supposed noblemen were as capable of treachery, cruelty and shocking brutality as any savage.

Still, he found himself piqued by her obvious disdain for the opposite sex. Was it an all-encompassing contempt for gentlemen as a whole, or specifically noblemen?

“Tell me, my kitten, are you a reader of novels?” he gently mocked.

Her chin tilted a notch higher, revealing her taste for melodrama.

“Why?”

“Because not all men are the villains portrayed by the current rash of female authors.”

Her lips flattened with displeasure at his teasing. “This is not amusing.”

“Actually, I have to disagree,” he argued. “It is rather humorous that you would suspect Ashcombe of murdering his wife.”

“I have endured enough of your mockery,” she replied angrily, abruptly turning to march toward the door.

Hugo was in swift pursuit, barely managing to dart in front of her before she could barrel through the doorway.

With her escape route blocked, she regarded him with a gaze that warned she was considering boxing his ears.