Bride for a Night(33)

Gabriel impatiently shook his head. He would soon enough determine the truth for himself.

“Her guilt or innocence no longer matters.”

Hugo’s frustration was replaced by a flare of sympathy. “True enough,” he murmured. “Harry made a deal with the devil and now you must pay.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Have you considered a career on the stage?”

“I…”

Hugo snapped his lips shut as a footman in the familiar blue-and-silver uniform of Ashcombe halted beside Gabriel and handed him a folded note.

“Pardon me, my lord,” he apologized. “This has just arrived from Devonshire. The messenger said it is urgent.”

“Thank you.” Expecting information on his brother, Gabriel was unprepared for his housekeeper’s plea for him to travel as fast as possible to Carrick Park. His blood ran cold as he shoved himself to his feet with enough violence to tumble his chair backward. “Damn. I must go.”

“Go?” Hugo swiftly lifted himself upright. “Go where?”

“Your ill wishes for my wife have come to pass,” he ground out, unfairly striking out at his friend as a fear he did not entirely understand clutched his heart.

Hugo flinched. “What the devil do you mean?”

“My wife has disappeared,” Gabriel turned on his heel, headed for the door. “You had best pray I find her.”



THE FRENCH CASTLE tucked in the countryside south of Paris retained much of its delicate charm despite the obvious ravages of war.

Built in a perfect square to frame the formal inner courtyard, the structure retained two towers from what Talia assumed to be a previous castle and vast wings that were constructed of a golden stone that shimmered in the sunlight. Along one wing a covered terrace was supported by a series of archways that led to the main residence that offered a striking double stone staircase and carved stones set above the large windows.

Among the surrounding gardens many of the statues and marble fountains had been destroyed by rioters, but inside, the endless procession of public chambers, salons and elegant galleries remained remarkably intact. And despite the fact she was being held captive, Talia could not prevent herself from appreciating the exquisite beauty that surrounded her.

Who could remain impervious to the priceless artwork that lined the walls, the massive tapestries, the inlaid wood floors and the breathtaking frescoes that graced the high ceilings?

Standing in one of the long galleries, Talia leaned against a fluted column that bracketed the high, arched window and gazed across the gardens to the distant road beyond.

Not for the first time since arriving at the palace three days ago she considered the possibility of simply walking out the front door and making her escape. She was alone, after all, and she did not doubt that she could travel a considerable distance before she was missed.

Unfortunately, she was not so stupid as to believe that she could actually make her way back to England.

Not only did she not speak French, but she had no money, no legal papers necessary to travel in France and no means to flee the estate beyond her own feet. At best she would be arrested before she reached the nearest village. At worst she would be taken captive by the numerous French soldiers who passed by the palace with unfortunate regularity.

She did not doubt they would be far less gentle toward her than Jack Gerard.

No…not Jack, but Jacques, she silently corrected with a deep sigh.

As furious as she was to have been kidnapped from her home, she could not deny that Jacques had done his best to keep her in comfort.