Bride for a Night(93)

“I don’t, but you do.”

Gabriel could not deny the truth of his words. The thought of knowing he was even partially responsible for tarnishing the Ashcombe title would haunt him forever. But the knowledge paled in comparison to the damage his brother had caused.

“There are some duties more important than protecting our family’s reputation. You cannot be allowed to threaten the war against Napoleon, no matter what the cost.”

Harry paled, as if slowly realizing that this was not yet another scrape he could walk away from unscathed.

“And what about mother?” he challenged, attempting a ridiculous outrage at Gabriel’s threat. “She will never survive the shame of having her beloved son condemned as a spy.”

Gabriel did not allow himself to think of his mother or her reaction to the humiliation she would suffer. No doubt she would hold Gabriel entirely to blame for not having allowed Harry to escape and the scandal to be swept beneath the carpet.

Yet another burden to bear.

“It will be difficult for all of us, but you have left me no options.”

“I do not believe you.” Harry shifted uneasily. “This…this is a bluff.”

“No.” Gabriel shook his head. “No bluff.”

“You would never risk your pride to punish me.”

Gabriel folded his arms over his chest, his expression revealing his unwavering determination.

“We will leave for England in the morning.”

Intent on his brother, Gabriel barely paid heed to the sound of the door being thrust open, not until Harry’s eyes widened with surprise. He glanced to the side, expecting to discover Monique or even a drunken patron in search of a whore stepping into the room.

Instead his hand was instinctively reaching for the pistol he’d tucked beneath his jacket at the sight of the all-too familiar Frenchman, his own pistol already pointed at Gabriel’s heart.

“I will agree that Harry will be returning to England as soon as possible,” Jacques Gerard drawled. “You, my lord, on the other hand, will be remaining in France as my very special guest.”


CHAPTER FIFTEEN



HALTING JUST WITHIN the gates of Calais, Lord Rothwell tugged Talia into the shadows of a slumbering church, his expression set in obstinate lines as he repeated the same lecture she had endured since leaving the yacht and making their way along the rugged coastline.

“No,” she at last interrupted. She could not bear to listen any longer to Lord Rothwells’s tedious list of reasons why she must remain hidden near the gates while he explored the streets in search of Gabriel. “I will not be left behind.”

Dressed entirely in black, Hugo heaved a resigned sigh even as he studied her with odd fascination. Almost as if he did not quite know what to make of her.

“Dammit, are you always so stubborn?”

Talia squared her shoulders, prepared for battle. “I am not being stubborn, this is simply something I must do.”

“Because you care for Gabriel.”

It was a statement of fact, not a question, and Talia shrugged in embarrassment at the realization that he had so easily read her aching need to reach Gabriel.

“He is my husband.”

The nobleman shrugged, his handsome face shrouded in shadows.

“That has little meaning in society.”

There was no arguing with his logic. Marriages among the ton were made to consolidate power or wealth or social standing. Usually a combination of all three.

The union      s had nothing to do with something so foolish as love.