Bride for a Night(39)

“You loved him,” she said softly.

“Oui.” He managed a stiff smile. “And he adored me.”

“Then you are fortunate, even if you only had him a short time.” She felt a familiar tug at her heart. “The memory of my mother was often my only comfort after a particularly difficult evening among society.”

He shrugged off her words of comfort. “Remarkably I do not feel fortunate.”

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “What happened to your mother?”

“She returned to Paris only long enough to pack our belongings and to flee to England. Her cousin in London was willing to take us in.”

“So that is why you speak English with such fluency.”

“My mother married the youngest son of a baron who was willing to pay my tuition to Eton to keep me from being constantly underfoot.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but Talia sensed that the rejection from his stepfather had only served to deepen his disgust for the aristocracy. “I was a well-polished Englishman until I came of age and was able to return to France.”

“And yet you feel no loyalty at all to England?” she asked, unable to accept that he had made no friends during his years in school.

“I have no loyalty to a country that will allow the oppression of its people by a handful of bloated nobles who remain above the law.”

“But…”

“Enough of this dreary talk of politics,” he abruptly interrupted, pressing a slender finger to her lips. “I have come to request your companionship for dinner.”

Talia rolled her eyes in wry resignation as Jacques retreated behind the practiced charm he used as a shield against the world.

“I should refuse,” she muttered, ruefully aware she was unable to conjure the outrage she should be feeling at being held hostage by a French spy.

With a dramatic motion, Jacques pressed a hand to his heart. “You would not be so cruel.”

“You are my enemy.”

“Never.” Without warning he leaned down to brush his lips over her cheek, then taking her hand he placed it on his arm and firmly led her down the gallery. “Come, ma petite. Allow me to prove just how…friendly I can be.”

One week later

DUSK HAD FALLEN over the French countryside as Gabriel halted near the abandoned conservatory and studied the palace spread before him.

His gaze barely noted the imposing building that loomed over the countryside with rigid grandeur. He concentrated instead on the handful of soldiers lazily patrolling the grounds before shifting to the formal gardens where he could see the shadowy form of a lone woman walking through broken statues.

“Talia,” he breathed, sinking to his knees as a violent sense of relief slammed through him.

The man at his side shifted forward, moving with surprising grace considering his large bulk.

“Are you certain?” Hugo demanded.

Gabriel turned to send his friend a sour glance.

It hadn’t been his choice to have Hugo travel with him to France.

In fact, he had done everything but horsewhip the aggravating man to keep him from following him.

Unfortunately, Hugo was nothing if not tenacious and, ignoring Gabriel’s commands, insults and threats of violence, he had stubbornly arrived at Carrick Park mere hours after Gabriel and then had refused to leave his side.

In the end, Gabriel had been too anxious to begin his search for Talia to battle with his friend. While Hugo made himself useful by carefully interviewing the servants to discover if they could offer any useful information, Gabriel had scoured the countryside.