Bride for a Night (15 page)

She hesitated only a moment before he felt the shy brush of her fingers down his back. He growled, stunned by the raw pleasure at her timid caress. He did not know how it was possible for an untutored innocent to set him on fire, but there was no denying her power.

Returning to claim her in a kiss of masculine demand, he used his tongue to urge her lips apart, bliss clenching his muscles as he at last gained access to the sweet warmth of her mouth.

She tasted of all the things in life that were good and decent. He wanted to capture that goodness, as if it could heal his jaded soul.

He trembled, his breathing ragged as her hand slid over his ribs to search the tense muscles of his chest. Distantly he was aware of the rain pelting against the roof tiles and
the occasional streaks of lightning that outlined the shutters, but wrapped in the warm cocoon of the barn he allowed himself to become lost in the sensations searing through him.

Taking care not to startle Talia, Gabriel smoothed his fingers up the inner flesh of her thigh, tracing aimless patterns as she threatened to stiffen at the intimate contact.

“Trust me, Talia,” he murmured, scattering hot kisses over her face.

“Yes.”

Something shifted inside Gabriel at the soft word. Something so significant that he did not dare examine it too closely.

With a shake of his head at his ridiculous fancy, he set about stirring her to a fever pitch of desire.

His kisses became more heated as he followed a path over her cheek and down her throat. He paused to lick and suckle her straining breasts before he moved down her quivering stomach.

Gabriel lifted his head, capturing her darkened gaze as he settled between her legs, his fingers sliding delicately through her feminine heat.

“Oh,” she gasped, a flush of pleasure staining her cheeks.

He chuckled, slowly replacing his fingers with his tongue. She gave a small shriek that settled into a groan of ecstasy as her eyes slid shut.

And it was ecstasy.

Paradise.

Over and over he teased at her tiny bud of pleasure before dipping his tongue into her body, bringing her to the edge of completion before pulling back.

Her eyes flew open, her gaze laced with need. “Please…Gabriel.”

“Yes,” he choked out, unable to wait another moment.

Gathering her in his arms, he rolled onto his back, shifting until she was perched atop him. Her eyes widened at the unfamiliar position and, pressing her hands against his chest, she regarded him in puzzlement.

“This will be more comfortable for you,” he muttered, barely able to speak as her legs naturally draped on either side of his hips, her pelvis pressed perfectly against his arousal.

She bit her bottom lip. “I am not certain what to do.”

His heart squeezed. She was so beautiful with her hair tumbled over her bare shoulders and her body flushed with need.

“I will show you,” he assured her, reaching to guide her hand to his straining erection.

The breath was slammed from his body as she gingerly curled her fingers around him, nearly unmanning him. Gods. He was supposed to be a sophisticated lover, not a randy schoolboy.

“Like this?” she asked.

“Precisely like that,” he groaned. “Now guide me inside you.”

She fumbled awkwardly as she attempted to adjust him at the entrance to her body, but gritting his teeth Gabriel managed to avoid embarrassing himself. Then with a low groan he was at last pushing his way into her moist channel.

“Gabriel,” she moaned, her nails scoring his chest as Gabriel grasped her hips and lifted her upward before plunging back into her with a slow, exquisite tempo.

“Talia,” he echoed, the savage pleasure already tightening his lower stomach. “My sweet shrew.”

Her lips parted as she found his rhythm, her head tilted back as she rode him with an enthusiasm that all too swiftly had him rushing toward his release. With a muttered curse, he angled his hips upward, pressing ever deeper as his pace increased.

Incoherent words tumbled from Talia’s lips as she squeezed her eyes shut, her beautiful body arching as she was overtaken by her climax. Gabriel watched in fascination as she surrendered to the pleasure he had given her, but the sensation of her body clasping his cock in tiny ripples all too soon had him giving one last thrust before he was shouting out with a bliss he felt to his very soul.

Feeling Talia collapse against his chest, Gabriel wrapped his arms around her trembling body, struggling to recall how to breathe.

Just for those few moments, the world truly had disappeared.

S
OPHIA WAS SEATED
at the vanity, lazily pulling a brush through her damp curls, when the door to her private bedchamber was thrust open, banging with loud emphasis against the wall.

She barely flinched.

Despite the apprehension that had plagued her since leaving her bed, she had forced herself to follow her usual routine. She had enjoyed a cup of coffee while skimming through a letter from an acquaintance in Paris. She had chosen the gown she desired to be ironed by her maid, then there had been a hot bath before she had pulled on a gossamer dressing gown and began preparing for the day.

All the while she had been bracing herself for this confrontation.

Which was why she was able to calmly set aside her brush as Jacques stormed into the room, his face tight with fury.

“Did you think I would not discover your betrayal?” he accused.

Sophia rose to her feet with elegant composure. Absently she noted her companion’s black jacket and the dove-gray waistcoat that was fitted with tailored perfection to his lean body. His black pantaloons clung to his thighs before being hidden beneath his tall boots that
held the gloss of the finest leather. He was, as always, breathtakingly beautiful.

“Non,”
she answered, her husky voice the only indication of her unease. “I was fully aware you would learn of my visit to the Earl of Ashcombe.”

“More than a visit.” He stepped close enough for her to catch the light scent of bay water that clung to his skin. “You assisted him in escaping.”

Her sharp, humorless laugh filled the vast room. “Unfortunately I can take little credit for his release. It was your precious Talia who proved to be the true heroine.”

He stilled, regarding her with a hint of surprise. “You are jealous of her?”

Stupid man. Did he truly not realize the torture he was forcing her to endure?

“Naturellement.”

With a jerky movement, Sophia crossed the
Savonnerie
carpet that matched the pale lavender satin wall panels and the cream curtains that framed the tall windows. There was a large walnut bed set in the center of the room with a scrolled armoire and vanity along one wall. Sophia halted near the oval table that held a collection of tiny miniatures and aimlessly studied one of a cherubic child with wide blue eyes and an innocent smile. Her hand instinctively lifted to her empty womb.

“She is young, beautiful, courageous and yet tragically vulnerable,” she explained. “She is the sort of woman who men die for.”

“A pity her husband will not be so obliging,” Jacques muttered.

“His death will not give you what you desire, you know.”

“You are wrong. I desire very much for Talia to be a widow.”

She pressed a hand to her aching heart, turning to meet his stubborn glare.

“I witnessed the earl and his countess together, Jacques.”

He shrugged. “And?”

“She is desperately in love with him.”

His eyes flashed with annoyance. “Impossible. The bastard abandoned her mere hours after their wedding. She would never be so foolish as to offer such an arrogant pig her affection.”

A derisive smile tugged at her lips. “Women are renowned for offering unworthy men their affection.”

“He considers her beneath him. How could he possibly make her happy?”

“You could not be more mistaken,” she said softly. “I have seen the manner Lord Ashcombe stares at his wife. He is enchanted by her.” An unwelcome stab of envy made her shiver. “Just as every other man appears to be.”

A silence greeted her bitter words, then with slow, deliberate steps, Jacques prowled toward her.

“Why did you allow the prisoners to escape?”

Sophia’s heart fluttered.
Merde.
Why had she ever been foolish enough to allow her emotions to become entangled? Until Jacques, she had managed to walk away from her various affairs unscathed. Now…

Now she felt as raw and vulnerable as if her soul had been stripped bare.

“They were dangerous,” she murmured.

He grasped her shoulders, his expression hard. “They were worth a large fortune that we desperately need.”

“There was no certainty you would have received a ransom for the earl,” she argued, refusing to apologize. “He is, after all, a favorite of the prince. It is more likely
we would have discovered an alarming number of British soldiers laying siege to the Palace.”

His eyes narrowed. “And Talia?”

“She distracted you from what is important.”

“From you?

“From your pledge to Napoleon.”

Disbelieving fury darkened his eyes. “You dare to speak to me of loyalty to our emperor after your betrayal?”

“I do not consider avoiding an unnecessary skirmish with the British army a betrayal.”

“And do you consider the theft of the small tokens that have ensured the loyalty of Mr. Richardson as betrayal?”

She flinched, abruptly lowering her head to hide her guilty flush. She had not expected him to realize the extent of her treachery so swiftly.

“What do you wish me to say?”

His hand shifted to cup her chin, gently forcing her face upward to meet his searching gaze. “The truth.”

“The truth is that I desired Lady Ashcombe to disappear from France, and releasing her husband seemed the most efficient means of accomplishing my goal,” she answered with a blunt honesty that caught them both off guard. “Are you satisfied?”

For the briefest of moments Jacques’s expression seemed to soften, and a fragile hope swelled in her heart. There was surely a hint of the affection he had once showered upon her lurking in the back of his beautiful eyes? Even perhaps a guilt for having hurt her.

Then, just as swiftly, his anger returned, and he stepped back with a sharp motion.

“Non,”
he said harshly. “I am far from satisfied. Your selfishness has threatened to expose our greatest trea
sure in battling the British. I cannot allow Ashcombe to reach England.”

Disappointment lodged like a lead ball in the pit of her stomach.

“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.

T
ALIA 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 at
tempt 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.

Meeting his silver gaze, Talia felt more than mere desire stirring deep within her. The dangerous warmth spoke of emotions that were best destroyed before they could break her heart.

“The rain has stopped,” she struggled to choke out.

He chuckled softly, his hand boldly cupping her breast and allowing his thumb to tease at her sensitive nipple.

“Has it?”

She shifted her gaze to the shuttered windows, attempting to ignore the pleasure coiling through the pit of her stomach at each stroke of his thumb.

“Yes.” She swallowed a low moan, lowering her eyes to meet his smoldering gaze. “Should we not be leaving?”

A stark, haunting pain rippled over his beautiful features before he was determinedly lowering his head to nuzzle a line of kisses along her collarbone.

“No doubt we should,” he murmured, his breath sending prickles of pleasure over the upper curve of her breast.

Talia threaded her fingers through his hair and at
tempted to bring a halt to his caresses before she became utterly lost in his exquisite seduction.

There was something Gabriel was attempting to hide from her. Something that was clearly causing him great distress.

“Gabriel,” she said when he ignored her tugs on his hair.

“Hmm?”

“What is troubling you?”

He traced the tip of her breast with his tongue. “At the moment, nothing.”

“But…” Talia bit off her words, grimly accepting the unpalatable truth that while Gabriel might be willing to share his passion, he obviously still found her an unworthy confidante. And why should he? He had, after all, made it quite clear that their marriage was nothing more than a necessary evil. She swallowed the stupid lump that was lodged in her throat. “Never mind.”

Lifting his head, Gabriel gazed down at her with a sudden frown.

“A typical female response that is intended to ensure that I do mind.”

She stiffened, offended by his unfair accusation. “I do not play such games. If you do not wish to share your thoughts, then so be it.”

A hint of color flared along his cheekbones, but braced for a scathing response, Talia was unprepared as Gabriel surged to his feet, roughly shoving his fingers through his hair.

“Have you considered the notion that I might wish to escape from my thoughts for a while?”

His voice was low, but she did not miss the edge of raw distress. Thrusting aside her ingrained modesty, Talia ig
nored the fact they were both stark naked and lifted herself off the wooden floor to stand directly before him.

Lightly she touched his arm. “Is it possible to escape from your thoughts?”

Without warning he wrapped his arms around her waist, hauling her against his body with a tormented urgency.

“It depends upon the distraction,” he rasped, his lips moving in a tender caress over her temple and down her cheek, until he reached the corner of her mouth. It was then that he realized she remained stiff in his arms, her hands pressed against his chest, not in denial but not in welcome. Yanking back his head, he regarded her with a simmering frustration. “Damnation. Why do I feel as if I am being managed?”

She tilted her chin. “I told you, I do not—”

“For a female who does not play games you are remarkably good at them,” he interrupted in sharp tones, then sensing how easily he had wounded her, he heaved a sigh and pressed his forehead to hers. “Forgive me, Talia. You are right, I am troubled.”

Talia carefully considered her words, unwilling to destroy this fragile moment.

“Do you fear that we will not be able to escape the French?” she at last inquired.

A brief flare of amusement shimmered in his eyes. “Are you attempting to be insulting?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. You may be assured I shall have you safely aboard my ship by nightfall,” he drawled.

“Then what is it?”

There was a tense silence as he fought against his in-bred instinct to deal with his troubles on his own. He had devoted a lifetime to shouldering responsibilities
and protecting others. It would never be easy for him to share.

Wisely, Talia forced herself to wait, knowing he would only retreat if she pressed him.

Eventually he lifted his head, although he kept his arms wrapped around her, as if he needed the warmth of her body snuggled close.

“I discovered information concerning my brother that I have not yet managed to accept,” he confessed, his voice hoarse.