Bride for a Night(63)

Still unwilling to fully trust Sophia, he moved to wrap an imprisoning arm around her shoulders as he led her toward the door. He did not intend to have an enemy follow him.

He had been stabbed in the back enough for one day.

Besides, she would make a handy hostage if the need arose.

He had nearly reached the opposite side of the cellar when there was a squeak of the hinges, and the heavy door was being pushed open.

Cursing his lack of a weapon, Gabriel had no choice but to helplessly watch as the door swung slowly inward.

Prepared for one of the guards or even Jacques, Gabriel was stunned into immobility at the sight of the familiar female with a mass of untamed curls and emerald green eyes clutching a small bundle in her arms.

“God almighty…” he breathed. “Talia?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN



AFTER RECOVERING FROM the considerable drop from her window, Talia had hastily searched for her belongings that Gabriel had left in the garden after being captured. It had taken only a few moments before she was sneaking through the darkness in search of the cellars.

Along the way she had dodged and darted past the various guards while inwardly preparing herself to accept that Gabriel might very well be in dire condition.

Who knew what Jacques might have done to him?

He could be chained to the walls. Or recovering from a brutal beating. Or maimed from some hideous torture.

Her imagination had conjured any number of terrible fates, but she had never once considered the possibility that he would be passing his time with a beautiful, near-naked woman wrapped in his arms. Worthless pig.

Coming to an awkward halt, she regarded her husband with a proud tilt of her chin.

“Forgive me,” she uttered through gritted teeth. “I had the most ridiculous notion that you might desire to be rescued.” Her gaze shifted to the woman at his side, not at all comforted by the realization that she was a good ten years her senior. What did it matter? The woman was the sort of sensual siren who would be tempting men until the day she died. “It did not occur that you might be occupied.”

The unknown woman ran a dark, scrutinizing gaze over Talia, a mysterious smile curving her lips.

“You must be the Countess of Ashcombe.”

“I am,” Talia admitted. “And you are?”

“Sophia Reynard.”

Even her name was temptingly exotic, Talia acknowledged, pettily wishing the woman at least possessed a wart to mar her perfection.

Having the decency to remove his arms from his lover, Gabriel stepped toward her with a forbidding frown.

“Talia, how the devil did you escape your rooms?”

“I crawled out the window.”

He sucked in a harsh breath. “Dammit, you could have broken you neck.”

Well, so much for gratitude. Unappreciative sod.

“You were the one urging me to leap from the window not three hours ago.”

“Yes, when I was there to catch you,” he growled, looking as if he could not quite believe her lack of intelligence.

She sniffed. “Obviously you were too busy to be of assistance, so I had little choice but to risk my neck.”

“What of the guards?” Sophia interrupted.

Talia returned her attention to Gabriel’s companion with a shrug.

“It was easy enough to slip past most of them.”

The female lifted her brows. “And the soldier at the door?”

Talia bit her lip at the stab of regret that pierced her heart.

“Yes, well, I do feel rather badly about poor Pierre,” she admitted. “He has been so kind to me.”