Bride for a Night(97)

THE LIBRARY WAS TYPICAL of aristocrats who were more concerned with impressing others than offering a comfortable room to enjoy the collection of leather-bound tomes.

Bookshelves towered two stories up to the frescoes of Greek muses painted on the ceiling. Delicate satinwood furnishings, upholstered in a pale green satin and carved by the finest French craftsmen, were formally arranged across the floral carpet. And a white marble banister lined the second-floor walkway before framing the wide steps that led down to the main room.

Even the crystal figurines on the scrolled marble chimney piece glowed with a cold, untouchable beauty in the light from the Venetian chandelier.

Of course, Gabriel might have been a bit more appreciative of his surroundings if he were not currently seated on the floor with his arms tied around a fluted column at his back. His dark mood was not improved when one of the double doors was pressed open and Jacques Gerard arrogantly strolled into the room. The bastard.

It had been less than three hours since the Frenchman had managed to capture him and forced him to this townhouse. But it seemed like an eternity since he had been roughly bound to the column by two French soldiers while Jacques had disappeared along with Harry, who’d refused to even glance in his direction.

During that time Gabriel had been left to stew in his frustrated fury, wavering between outrage at his brother’s utter lack of conscience and his own stupidity in being caught off guard.

Again.

“I trust you are comfortable?” Jacques taunted.

Gabriel hid his savage emotions behind a mocking smile.

“Is this not rather excessive?” He glanced at his bound hands. “I am a mere nobleman, not a rabid tiger.”

Jacques smiled, taking obvious pleasure in Gabriel’s humiliation.

“I try to learn from my mistakes, my lord. You will not be offered the opportunity to escape again.”

“So I am to remain shackled in your library until the end of the war? Or do you intend to return me to your cellars?”

Jacques folded his arms over his chest, his smile slowly fading.

“Neither, I fear.”

Gabriel frowned, attempting to read the man’s indecipherable expression. There was a sudden tension about the Frenchman that boded ill for someone, and Gabriel very much feared that someone was going to be him.

“Dare I ask what your intentions are?”

“You will be pleased to know that I took your words of warning to heart.”

“I am flattered, of course,” Gabriel said cautiously, not comforted by Jacques’s brittle tone. “But you will forgive me if I find that difficult to believe. If you had listened to me, then I would not be shackled like an animal.”

“I speak of returning Harry to London.”

Gabriel clenched his teeth against the stab of pain at the mention of his brother. Where was the younger man? Was he still at the townhouse or had he already forgotten that his brother was tied like an animal in the library and gone in search of entertainment?


“You can return him whenever you desire, but the word of his treachery will soon be common knowledge throughout England. He is no longer of use to you.”

Jacques gave a sharp laugh. “Do not be so hasty, Ashcombe. Harry may yet prove valuable.”

“Indeed?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Jacques gave a sharp command. With a faint shuffle, two soldiers entered the room carrying a large, unconscious man.

Jacques waved a hand. “Place him on the sofa.”

Grunting beneath the strain, the soldiers lowered the motionless body of Lord Rothwell on the green-and-gold striped sofa, the delicate piece of furniture groaning beneath Hugo’s heavy frame.