Bride for a Night(29)

“Do not fear, you will be well rewarded once I can be certain these are genuine,” Jack muttered.

The smaller stranger leaned over the table with a frown on his ruddy face.

“That ain’t France, is it?”

“Very astute, Monsieur Henderson,” Jack drawled, his tone mocking. “It happens to be Portugal.”

“And why would the Frenchies be wanting a map of Portugal?”

A smile of satisfaction curved Jack’s lips. “Because this tells us precisely where and when Sir Arthur Wellesley intends to land his army. And the battle strategy that he hopes to employ.” He stroked a slender finger over the map. “Most informative.”

Traitor…

The word whispered through her mind as Talia pressed a hand to her mouth. It was all so unbelievable. More like a plot from one of the thrilling novels she kept hidden in the privacy of her bedchamber than reality.

Who could ever suspect that the charming vicar in a remote village in Devonshire was attempting to destroy the British Empire?

The larger of the men folded his arms over his chest as he glared at the various maps spread across the table.

“Looks to me like a bumbling mess, but if you are satisfied, then so be it.”

“I am.” Jack offered a dip of his head. “And the emperor thanks you for your service.”

The man snorted. “I ain’t wantin’ the thanks of bloody Napoleon. I want me money, nothing else.”

“Of course, I…”

Jack came to an abrupt halt, then without warning his head turned toward the window, almost as if he sensed Talia’s presence. It was too late for Talia to duck away, and their shocked gazes locked before something that might have been regret flashed through his dark eyes.

“Mon Dieu,” he breathed, shoving away from the table and heading toward the side door.

Talia gave a small shriek as she gathered her skirts and darted toward the nearby path. There was no thought to where she was headed, only a terrified need to escape.

Of course, it was a futile effort.

Even if she were not hampered by her layers of skirts and petticoats, she was no match for an athletic gentleman in his prime.

She was still in the churchyard when she felt strong arms circling her waist and hauling her squirming body against a hard chest. Then Jack leaned down his head to whisper directly in her ear.

“I truly wish you had heeded my advice, ma petite.”

CHAPTER SIX



THE GENTLEMEN’S CLUB on St. James’s Street was filled with solid English furnishings and well-worn carpets that extended from the dining room to the discreet gaming rooms. On the white plaster walls were a series of oil paintings dedicated to the aristocracy’s love for hunting, and overhead a heavy chandelier glistened in the early sunlight. The entire building smelled of mahogany, leather and tobacco smoke.

A familiar combination that usually soothed Gabriel.

This morning, however, he was on edge as he sat at a table near the front window of the morning room reading the Times. He was annoyingly aware of the servants in black knee-breeches as they scurried to and fro and the numerous gentlemen who were enjoying hushed conversations behind him.

He should have remained at the townhouse, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He had a perfectly lovely breakfast room that offered a view of his rose garden, rather than the narrow London street currently spread beneath him, and a cook eager to prepare whatever he desired. And of course, there was the decided benefit of being alone. The gawking gossips were currently studying him with an avid curiosity that made his teeth clench.