Bride for a Night(60)

“Yes?” he snapped.

“Mr. Harry Richardson.”

Silence filled the cellar as Gabriel struggled to accept she had dared accuse his brother. Then, with a murderous fury he grasped her arms and hauled her forward to glare down at her treacherous beauty.

“You bitch,” he rasped. “I knew this was a trick.”

Her face paled to a sickly shade of ash, but she grimly refused to admit the truth. “Non. You must listen to me.”

“Listen to the filthy lies that drip with such ease from those lovely lips?” He shifted his hand to wrap his fingers around her neck, his grip just hard enough to reveal how easily he could put an end to her lies. “I have a better notion. Why do I not choke the truth from you?”

He felt her swallow convulsively, her eyes darkening in genuine fear.

“My pocket,” she managed to squeeze out.

“What?”

“Reach into my pocket.”

“Why?” he mocked. “Do you have a viper hidden?”

“I have proof.”

Gabriel gave a sharp laugh, not certain why he was surprised that his enemies would sink to accusing his own brother of such treachery.

Was there not a saying that “the rules of fair play do not apply in love and war?”

Keeping one hand wrapped around her throat, Gabriel used the other to slip into the pocket of her dressing gown.

“I had already planned to kill Jacques Gerard, now I intend to make certain that the process is as slow and painful as…” He forgot how to speak as he pulled out the small, round object he found in her pocket and glanced at the antique gold ring carved with a familiar signet. “What the hell?”

“You recognize the ring?” she asked softly.

Recognize it? Of course he damned well recognized the thing. Hadn’t he personally put it on his brother’s finger after his father’s funeral? He had worn it himself until he had been forced to accept the ring bearing the Ashcombe crest.

He barely dared to breathe as he fought back the deluge of emotions that threatened to drown him.

Shock. Disbelief. Rage.

Insufferable regret.

“Where did you find it?”

“Jacques demanded it of your brother when Harry agreed to become a spy for France.”

He was shaking his head in denial before she ever finished her vile accusation. “No.”

“Jacques sensed that Harry might prove to be an unreliable ally so he desired a token to ensure your brother would not decide to betray his new employer,” she pressed.

His gut twisted, his blood running cold even as he told himself that it was a cruel trick.

Whatever Harry’s numerous sins, he would never betray his country. Never.

He clenched his fingers around the ring. “Why this?”

Sophia shrugged. “The ring would expose Harry’s own sins should he ever decide to be…indiscreet.”

“It proves nothing,” he forced himself to mutter. “The ring could easily have been stolen from Carrick Park. No doubt Vicar—” he mockingly stressed the title “—Gerard was often welcomed into my home.”

She regarded him with something perilously close to pity as she reached into her other pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment.

“And this?”

With a curse he snatched the paper from her hand, still attempting to convince himself that this was a deception. It only took a glance, however, for harsh reality to slam into him with agonizing force.

It was not just Harry’s signature or the stamped wax seal next to it that convinced him the note confessing his brother’s willing pledge to the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte and his agreement to offer Jacques Gerard any assistance he might require that convinced him that it was not a forgery. It was the careless, nearly illegible penmanship that was distinctly his brother’s. It would be near impossible to duplicate. Damnation.