Bride for a Night(90)

The woman sent him a lingering smile. “I shall be in the private salon at the end of the hall if you wish to find me when you have concluded your business.”

Gabriel dipped his head. “Merci.”

They waited in silence for Monique to leave the room closing the door behind her. Then, with a derisive snort, Harry crossed to the side table to grasp a bottle of whiskey, yanking out the cork and taking a deep drink.

“Yet another victim of the irresistible Ashcombe charm?” he rasped.

“Merely a female seeking to earn a living,” Gabriel countered, his eyes narrowing as the light from the candles played over his brother’s face, revealing his sallow complexion and lines of dissipation beside his pale eyes.

Christ, he appeared twice his age.

“You have no need to remind me you are not only blessed with overwhelming attraction, but with bottomless coffers, as well,” Harry muttered.

“Hardly bottomless and you have had more than your fair share of my coffers,” Gabriel reminded him. “All of which you have tossed away on selfish pursuits of pleasure.”

“And what else is the purpose of a younger son other than to pursue his pleasure?” he demanded. “It is not as if I was ever wanted or needed as more than a spare in the ghastly event something should happen to the glorious heir.”

“Very poetic.” Gabriel’s lips thinned. “Did you rehearse this little speech?”

Harry took another swig. “Bastard.”

Gabriel’s hands twitched as he battled back the urge to grab his brother and shake some sense into him.

“I have attempted more than once to include you in the management of the estates, but you claimed to have no interest in such tedious business.”

“And devote my days to bowing and scraping to the Lord of the Manor like your other servants?” Harry drawled. “No, I thank you.”

“If it was my presence that was so abhorrent then there was nothing to prevent you from using your allowance to purchase your own estate.”

Harry snorted, bitterness hardening his expression as he recklessly tossed the whisky bottle into the fireplace.

“A tiny fiefdom of my very own while you rule half of England?”

“Christ.” Gabriel shook his head, recalling Talia’s perceptive speculation that Harry had resented Gabriel’s close relationship with their father. A sick sense of resignation settled in the pit of his gut. It was disturbing to realize that his brother’s antipathy had started at such an early age. “How did I not see this?”

“See what?”

“The childish jealousy that you have allowed to rot your soul.”

Harry hunched his shoulders, petulantly refusing to acknowledge his own culpability.

“How did you find me?” His lips twisted in a mocking taunt. “I know it could not have been those buffoons you sent after me. I managed to divert them before I ever reached Dover.”

“Jacques Gerard.”

Harry faltered at Gabriel’s smooth response. “Impossible, he would never…”

Gabriel stepped forward. Any hope that the French-woman had lied about his brother’s connection died a swift death at Harry’s stumbling words.

“He would never reveal that he is a French spy and that you are a traitor who betrayed your king and country for no other reason than pathetic greed?” Gabriel growled, pain ripping through him with stunning force.

Even prepared, he reeled from the impact of his brother’s betrayal.

“Absurd,” Harry blustered. “I do not know what the man has told you, but it is obvious he is attempting to turn you against me.”