Bride for a Night(52)

She had been at the mercy of men since the day she’d been born. Her father. Harry. Gabriel. And now even Jacques. All of them had forced their will upon her.

“Very charming, but if I have discovered nothing else it is that no man is willing to reform his sinful ways for a mere woman. Or at least, not for me.” She scowled as Jacques’s laughter rang through the room. “What is so amusing?”

His eyes shimmered with a rueful humor. “I have devoted my entire life to gaining freedom for the French people, even when it meant returning to England and deceiving those neighbors who trusted me. And yet I have risked everything to bring you with me rather than disposing of you as I should have.”

“You could never kill an innocent,” she protested.

“I have done far worse, ma petite.” A wistful smile curved his lips. “But when you look at me with those beautifully trusting eyes, I long to be the man that you see.”

“Jacques.”

“And what you have done to me pales in comparison to the destruction that you have wrought in your poor husband,” he continued.

“That is not amusing.”

Jacques clicked his tongue. “Surely you must be aware that before your marriage the Earl of Ashcombe was notorious for being an arrogant, overly proud gentleman who remained aloof from all but a few privileged friends?”

“I suppose he was considered aloof,” she grudgingly conceded.

“He was a coldhearted bastard,” Jacques corrected in dry tones, “but within a few weeks you have reduced him to a possessive barbarian who recklessly charged into danger the moment he realized that you were missing.”

“That is…” She sucked in a deep breath. “You are being absurd.”

“The poor man is currently roaring like a demented madman in my cellars.” His smile held an edge of satisfaction. He was evidently pleased by the thought of Gabriel suffering. “What further proof do you desire?”

For a moment of utter madness, Talia allowed herself to believe Gabriel had come to consider her as more than a burden that must be suffered for the sake of his family pride. But she hastily squashed the ridiculous notion.

This was not the time or place for absurdities.

“All I desire is to be allowed to return to England with my husband.” She pulled from his lingering touch. “How much money do you require?”

He folded his arms over his chest, regarding her with a brooding gaze.

“I said that I would be willing to trade the Earl of Ashcombe for a sizeable donation to my orphans. I did not include you in the bargain.”

A chill settled in the pit of Talia’s stomach. “You promised to release me once the battle with Wellesley had begun.”

“Perhaps I find that I cannot.”

“Jacques.”

“You are weary, ma petite,” he muttered, moving to brush a light kiss over her lips before crossing firmly toward the door. “Go to bed and we will discuss this in the morning.”

Talia watched him leave the room, closing and locking the door behind his slender form.

Surely he must be teasing her?

For all of his charming flirtations, he could not truly desire to keep her in France. Could he?

Chewing her bottom lip, Talia paced the floor, shifting through her limited options.

For once she did not intend to sit idly by and wait to discover what new disaster fate had concocted for her.

On this occasion she intended to take command of her own destiny.



SOPHIA REYNARD moved through the sleepy palace with a proud grace that had once made her the toast of the Parisian stage and had captured the adoration of her vast audience.