Bride for a Night(44)

“And because I damaged your pride you turned your attentions to another man?” he snapped.

“I have never turned my attentions to another man.”

“No?” His gaze swept over her expensive satin gown before shifting to the opulent splendor of her room. “It does not appear that way to me.”

“Fine.” Planting her hands on her hips, she shot Gabriel a fierce glare. Something she would never have dreamed possible only a few short weeks ago. “You desire the truth?”

His chin tilted to a haughty angle. “I will accept no less.”

“Then I will admit that I found the Vicar Jack Gerard a kind and charming gentleman who treated me as if I were a true lady of quality and not a bit of rubbish that had to be buried out of sight.”

“That was not…”

“But I have never considered him as more than a friend, and not even that since he forced me to accompany him to France,” she continued without allowing him to defend the indefensible. “You may believe me or not. I do not particularly care.”

CHAPTER EIGHT



GABRIEL CLENCHED HIS hands at his sides, regarding his wife with smoldering frustration.

What the devil had happened?

Everything had gone to plan as he had waited for the shadows to deepen before at last slipping through the gardens and finding an open window to enter the palace.

It had taken longer than he had expected to at last locate Talia’s rooms, and he had been forced to hide more than once to avoid passing guards, but overall he had been pleased to reach Talia without alerting the numerous French swine of his presence.

Then he had heard his wife calling out the name of another man, and his determination to collect Talia and escape with all possible speed had been forgotten beneath a tidal wave of pure male fury.

He had risked his damned life to come to her rescue. How dare she be expecting another man in her private chambers. Especially attired in a slip of a gown that would make any man fantasize of sex?

Even if she spoke the truth and the bastard was not her lover.

And to make matters worse, she did not even possess the grace to apologize, instead attempting to paint him as the villain of the piece.

He shoved an impatient hand through his hair. “Tell me how you came to be here,” he commanded, attempting to regain command of the encounter.

“Why bother?” she mocked, her magnificent eyes flashing with a spirit that was at complete odds with the timid female who had stood at his side during their wedding. “You have obviously made your decision that I am not only a scheming peasant who forced you into marriage, but I am also so lacking in morals that I took a lover within days of becoming the Countess of Ashcombe and…” she sucked in a trembling breath that drew attention to the delectable swell of her breasts “…as the coup de grace I became a French spy.”

The discomfort twisting his gut could not be guilt, he attempted to assure himself.

He was the Earl of Ashcombe. He had every right to question his wife.

“Tell me, Talia,” he demanded.

Her eyes narrowed, but with a toss of her head she conceded to his demand.

“I happened to be passing by the church when I noticed two ruffians entering.” She shrugged. “I was concerned they were up to some mischief, so I slipped to the back where I could see what they were doing.”

His heart missed a painful beat at the mere thought of Talia confronting the two brutes currently being questioned by the Home Office in London.

“Damnation, woman. Have you no sense at all?” he chastised. “The Countess of Ashcombe does not walk country lanes without a servant and she most certainly does not confront…ruffians. If you have no concern for your pretty neck, then you should at least have a care for your reputation.”