Bride for a Night(89)

Greed flared through her eyes before she was flashing Gabriel a smile of pure feminine conceit.

“Chérie, I could convince a saint to join me, and I assure you Monsieur Richardson is no saint.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” he muttered. “I will be waiting in your room.”

She gave a toss of her golden curls, plucking the notes from his fingers and tucking them into the bodice of her robe.

“And when you have finished your business, perhaps we can discover a means to enjoy the remainder of the night, eh?”

With a noncommittal smile, Gabriel waited for Monique to slip out of the garden and stroll across the courtyard before making his way up the spiral staircase and entering the top floor of the turret.

He made a cautious inventory of the low velvet sofas and tapestries that hung on the stone walls in a poor imitation of a sultan’s harem. Then stepping into the corridor, he made his way to Monique’s room, not surprised to discover it was simply yet elegantly decorated.

She was obviously the most expensive of the house whores, and the gold and ivory furnishings had been perfectly designed to set off her pale beauty.


Ignoring the wide bed draped in satin and the intimate tools of punishment that some gentlemen preferred, Gabriel paced the polished wood floor, a heavy dread tightening his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

He had been so intent on locating Harry and getting him alone, that he had not actually considered what was to come next.

Why hadn’t he simply returned to England with his wife? Even now they would be tucked in his narrow bunk, Talia’s lush body wrapped around him and his dark thoughts lost in the drowning pleasure of her touch.

He could have left Harry to travel his path to hell and concentrated on his own future.

Unfortunately, he was not na?ve enough to believe that ignoring his brother would be an end to the matter. How could he build a future with Talia when he was always waiting for the looming disaster to strike?

Besides, his conscience would never allow him to forget the damage Harry had caused, and the danger he posed so long as he remained a secret traitor to England.

He continued his pacing until at last he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and his brother’s familiar chuckle echoing through the hallway.

“Come, wench, just a taste.”

“Enough, monsieur,” Monique protested, “wait until we have reached my room.”

“A modest whore?” Harry mocked.

“Intimacy is always best savored in privacy.”

“Not always. I do not mind a public performance with a beautiful woman.” There was another chuckle. “Or two.”

Gabriel heard what sounded like Monique slapping away his brother’s hand, then the door to the bedchamber was being shoved open.

“Just through here, monsieur.”

“I hope you have more than an hour, I—”

Strolling into the room, Harry came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Gabriel. For one timeless moment, the two brothers stared at one another, Harry flushing with guilt in the same manner he’d exhibited when Gabriel had caught him in some misdemeanor as a child.

It lasted less than a heartbeat before Harry was retreating behind a brittle pretense of indifference.

“Well, well. I did not expect you to join in our fun, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s gaze shifted to Monique, stupidly disappointed by his brother’s response to his sudden appearance. But then, what had he expected?

Overwhelming shame? A plea for forgiveness?

“That will be all, my dear,” he assured the female.