Bride for a Night(74)

“Harry Richardson cannot be a treasure if he is hiding in France.” Her voice was dull as she struggled against the horrid realization that she had taken a risk and lost it all. “Indeed, he is nothing more than a liability.”

He shrugged. “Once I have captured Ashcombe, then his brother can return to London and seek out a new spy in the Home Office.”

“The British government is already aware they have traitors in their midst.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling chilled despite the warm summer breeze blowing through the open window. “If Harry makes a sudden reappearance in London without his distinguished brother, do you not think it will be suspicious?”

“We will devise a believable story that will divert attention long enough to acquire the information we need so France will be victorious.”

She shook her head. “No, it is too late. Lord Ashcombe escaped hours ago.” She did not say the name that hung between the two of them—Talia—or the fact that Jacques’s determination to capture the prisoners had more to do with his frantic need to rescue Lady Ashcombe than to return Harry to London. It was like a barrier that rose between them. “You cannot possibly catch him now.”

“I will not have to catch him. I intend to be waiting for him.” His gaze flicked over her tense expression. “And you made it possible, ma belle.”

Sophia frowned in wary confusion. “Comment?”

“I am willing to wager that beyond revealing young Harry’s role as my cohort, you also shared the fact that he is currently residing in Calais,” he drawled.

She forced herself to meet his gaze with a proud indifference that masked her churning emotions.

“So what if I did?”

“The honorable Earl of Ashcombe will not be able to resist the compulsion to track down his brother and attempt to salvage his soul from the evil French,” he said and sneered.

“Lord Ashcombe is not stupid,” she protested. “I believe we all know that Harry Richardson is beyond salvation.”


“Then he will wish to wring his worthless neck,” Jacques said, offering her a shallow bow before heading toward the door. “In either event he will not leave France without finding his brother. When he does, he shall once again be my prisoner.”

Standing in the center of her bedchamber, Sophia allowed scalding tears to track down her cheeks for the first time in thirty years.



TALIA WAS UNCERTAIN how long she lay entangled in Gabriel’s arms, and in truth she did not try to keep track. It was enough to float in the sweet glow of contentment as the storm overhead faded in fury and at last passed.

She should perhaps regret giving herself with such eagerness to Gabriel, she acknowledged with a sigh. He had, after all, proven to be a miserable husband who had insulted her, abandoned her and overall treated her with a shocking lack of respect.

And she was far from forgiving him.

But in truth, she was too content to stir up the necessary remorse.

It was not the fact he had rushed to France in an attempt to save her, she hastily assured herself. Or that he had done everything in his power to see to her comfort despite their rough surroundings.

She was not so weak as to be swayed into believing this man had genuine concern for her. Such thoughts could only lead to disappointment. And God knew, she had endured enough disappointment for a lifetime.

But she was female enough to appreciate the touch of a skilled lover. And since she was expected to share the bed of her husband regardless of her own feelings, why not enjoy what he offered?

All very logical until his clever fingers brushed along the curve of her waist, sending a jolt of anticipation shivering through her body.