Bride for a Night(72)

“Gabriel,” she moaned, her nails scoring his chest as Gabriel grasped her hips and lifted her upward before plunging back into her with a slow, exquisite tempo.

“Talia,” he echoed, the savage pleasure already tightening his lower stomach. “My sweet shrew.”

Her lips parted as she found his rhythm, her head tilted back as she rode him with an enthusiasm that all too swiftly had him rushing toward his release. With a muttered curse, he angled his hips upward, pressing ever deeper as his pace increased.

Incoherent words tumbled from Talia’s lips as she squeezed her eyes shut, her beautiful body arching as she was overtaken by her climax. Gabriel watched in fascination as she surrendered to the pleasure he had given her, but the sensation of her body clasping his cock in tiny ripples all too soon had him giving one last thrust before he was shouting out with a bliss he felt to his very soul.

Feeling Talia collapse against his chest, Gabriel wrapped his arms around her trembling body, struggling to recall how to breathe.

Just for those few moments, the world truly had disappeared.

CHAPTER TWELVE



SOPHIA WAS SEATED at the vanity, lazily pulling a brush through her damp curls, when the door to her private bedchamber was thrust open, banging with loud emphasis against the wall.

She barely flinched.

Despite the apprehension that had plagued her since leaving her bed, she had forced herself to follow her usual routine. She had enjoyed a cup of coffee while skimming through a letter from an acquaintance in Paris. She had chosen the gown she desired to be ironed by her maid, then there had been a hot bath before she had pulled on a gossamer dressing gown and began preparing for the day.


All the while she had been bracing herself for this confrontation.

Which was why she was able to calmly set aside her brush as Jacques stormed into the room, his face tight with fury.

“Did you think I would not discover your betrayal?” he accused.

Sophia rose to her feet with elegant composure. Absently she noted her companion’s black jacket and the dove-gray waistcoat that was fitted with tailored perfection to his lean body. His black pantaloons clung to his thighs before being hidden beneath his tall boots that held the gloss of the finest leather. He was, as always, breathtakingly beautiful.

“Non,” she answered, her husky voice the only indication of her unease. “I was fully aware you would learn of my visit to the Earl of Ashcombe.”

“More than a visit.” He stepped close enough for her to catch the light scent of bay water that clung to his skin. “You assisted him in escaping.”

Her sharp, humorless laugh filled the vast room. “Unfortunately I can take little credit for his release. It was your precious Talia who proved to be the true heroine.”

He stilled, regarding her with a hint of surprise. “You are jealous of her?”

Stupid man. Did he truly not realize the torture he was forcing her to endure?

“Naturellement.”

With a jerky movement, Sophia crossed the Savonnerie carpet that matched the pale lavender satin wall panels and the cream curtains that framed the tall windows. There was a large walnut bed set in the center of the room with a scrolled armoire and vanity along one wall. Sophia halted near the oval table that held a collection of tiny miniatures and aimlessly studied one of a cherubic child with wide blue eyes and an innocent smile. Her hand instinctively lifted to her empty womb.

“She is young, beautiful, courageous and yet tragically vulnerable,” she explained. “She is the sort of woman who men die for.”

“A pity her husband will not be so obliging,” Jacques muttered.