Bride for a Night(161)

“I can imagine how you do desire to spend our evening,” she teased.

“You know me so well.” He pressed a possessive kiss to her mouth before pulling back to regard her with a gaze dark with need. “But first I believe I owe you a hot bath. And then we shall enjoy a private dinner in bed.”

“And then?”

He chuckled with wicked anticipation. “And then I shall allow you to take full advantage of me.”



LONDON HAD NEVER been more uninviting.

After a week of drizzling rain and mud, the sun had finally peeked from behind gray clouds to blanket the city in a smothering heat. Even worse, the stench of the docks tainted what little breeze managed to stir the air, making it impossible to leave the windows open.

It was little wonder that most of society had fled the city for their respective estates, Gabriel sourly acknowledged, leading Hugo from the mews behind his townhouse to a side door that led directly to his study.

God knew he would never have lingered for the past week if he’d had a choice.

Not only was London in late summer always a misery, he was desperate to return to Devonshire and the pleasure of his wife’s company.

Entering the long room lined with towering bookshelves, Gabriel headed directly toward his massive walnut desk and the waiting brandy decanter.

The thought of Talia was a nagging concern that refused to be eased.

He had only to close his eyes to imagine the pale beauty of her face and the sweet temptation of her body, but it was not his incessant desire for her that plagued him. No, it was the sense that all had not been right when he left Carrick Park that festered in the back of his mind.

Thank God he had at last finished with his business.

Pouring two glasses of the brandy, Gabriel tossed the amber liquor down his throat before turning to hand the other glass to his guest.

Damn, who could have suspected that it would take him two days to simply convince the king and prime minister that the list of prominent English noblemen was not some French hoax? And another three days to gather a select few leaders of the Home Office to warn them of the potential traitors, only to listen to them haggle and barter in an effort to turn the unexpected situation to their advantage.

In a mood as foul as Gabriel’s, Hugo took the proffered drink and paced across the polished parquet floor.

“There are moments when I question how the British Isle does not sink into the sea beneath the weight of those bloated buffoons,” he muttered, heading for the bay window that overlooked the cobbled street below.

Gabriel smiled wryly as his companion perched on the edge of the window seat, his muscular form attired in a sage jacket and black breeches appearing far too large for the cramped room.

This study had been the private domain of his father. Though he personally possessed no interest in Roman coins or the pottery displayed in the long glass cases cluttering the room, he did not have the heart to remove them to the attics.

Not while his mother still considered this her home.

Pouring another measure of brandy, Gabriel leaned against the edge of the desk.

“Those buffoons are our noble leaders, Hugo.”

“They have spent the past three days squabbling like children,” Hugo muttered in disgust. “I do not believe they give a damn about the threat to our troops. All they care about is convincing one another they have no connection to the traitors, although they are all eager enough to wish to keep the names a tightly guarded secret.”

Gabriel grimaced. He wanted nothing more than to put the hours of bickering behind him. It was perhaps inevitable that those who were accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed would find it difficult to compromise with other equally powerful leaders, but playing the role of diplomat had made his head ache.