Bride for a Night(31)

Hugo, Lord Rothwell.

And one of Gabriel’s few friends.

“Is there a particular reason you are hovering behind me like a vulture, Hugo?” he demanded wryly, knowing it would be a futile effort to try to convince his friend that he preferred to be alone.

Hugo narrowed his golden gaze, absently toying with the signet ring on his little finger.

“I am attempting to decide if I have the nerve so early in the day to beard the lion in his den. Or shall I wait until I am in my cups and therefore impervious to your foul mood?”

Gabriel pointedly turned his attention toward the dunces clustered about the room casting covert glances in his direction.

“My mood would not be foul if I were not surrounded by idiots,” he growled.

“Hmm.” With the ease of a natural sportsman, Hugo lowered his large body into the leather chair opposite Gabriel. “That would not be my first guess as to why you have been snapping and snarling at every unwitting soul who has crossed your path over the past month.”

“At least I have not yet taken to lodging bullets in those who annoy me,” he smoothly pointed out, “although that might change at any moment.”

Hugo smiled at the threat. “You do realize that you cannot keep society at bay forever? Eventually you will have to face their curiosity.”

“Society’s curiosity, or yours?”

“Both,” Hugo admitted. “But considering we have been friends since I bloodied your nose our first day at Eton I surely deserve to be the first to be taken into your confidence?”

Gabriel snorted. “First of all, I was the one to bloody your nose after you attempted to pinch my favorite cricket bat. And I have never known you to take an interest in gossip.”

“That is because the rumors have never before hinted that the proud and notoriously aloof Earl of Ashcombe has secretly wed the daughter of Silas Dobson.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened at the mention of his offensive father-in-law.

“Obviously not so secretively.”

“Is it true?”

There was a moment of silence before Gabriel gave a grudging nod of his head. “Yes.”

“Bloody hell,” Hugo muttered.

“My sentiments exactly.”

Hugo scowled at Gabriel’s dry retort. “I suppose I need not ask how this particular disaster occurred,” he rasped. “Only Harry could force you into such an untenable situation.”

Gabriel shrugged. Hugo had never bothered to hide his disgust for Harry and his reckless extravagances.

“He certainly can take a share of the blame,” he admitted.

“A share?” Hugo shook his head. “It is common knowledge that Harry jilted Miss Dobson after disappearing with her dowry. Typical of him.”

Gabriel ignored the stab of possessive outrage at the mere thought of Talia wed to his brother.

“Quite typical,” he agreed. “Which is why I should have foreseen the looming danger. I was a fool.”

Hugo breathed a low curse. “I will admit you were a fool, but only for allowing your guilt at Harry’s betrayal to trap you into a vile marriage.”

“Guilt?”

“Of course. Why else would you have wed the vulgar wench?”

Gabriel parted his lips to inform his friend that it hadn’t been guilt but rather sordid blackmail that had forced him into matrimony, but he swallowed the revealing words. It was not just embarrassment at having to admit he had been bested by Silas Dobson, but a disturbing suspicion that he was not being entirely honest with himself.