Bride for a Night (24 page)

“It cannot be.” Her lips flattened as she battled to conceal the emotions that smoldered in her dark eyes. “You wish for a proper female who you will be proud to have standing at your side. Not an aging actress who was born in the gutters.”

He lifted a brow. “You seem to forget that my mother was an actress.”

“And you were forced to suffer because of her,” she reminded him in raw tones.

He lifted his head sharply, his gaze shifting toward the distant silhouette of Calais.

As difficult as it was to admit, even to himself, there had always been a treacherous part of him that held his mother to blame for his father’s death. Insanity, of course. His mother was not responsible for her haunting beauty. Or his father’s volatile reaction that had ended with him locked within the Bastille.

But as a young man forced to mature without his beloved
papa,
he had been unable to keep from wondering how his life might have been different had his mother not captured the roaming eye of a lecher.

Was it possible that he had held Sophia at a distance precisely because she reminded him of his mother?

The thought was enough to send a jolt of shame through his heart.

“Non,”
he roughly denied. “I suffered because of a depraved scoundrel devoid of morals or honor. A nobleman who is now as dead as my father.”

“But not forgotten,” she said softly.

“He will never be forgotten. And I will never halt my efforts to be rid of men like him,” Jacques swore, returning his gaze to meet her guarded expression. “Will you fight at my side, Sophia Reynard?”

She paused, clearly sensing that he was asking for more than just another ally in the war against the tyrannous ruling class.

“I will be at your side so long as you desire me, but—”

He bent his head to crush her lips in a passionate kiss.

“That is all I need.” He pulled back to peer deep into her wide eyes. “You are all that I need,
ma belle.
”

“Jacques,” she breathed in surrender.

Hunger speared through him, and tightening his grip around her slender body, he urged his horse into a faster pace.

“It is time we were home.”

I
N SOME DISTANT
part of his mind Gabriel was aware of Jacques escaping along with Sophia and his guards. Even more distantly he could hear the fading sound of Hugo rowing Talia toward the yacht, his mate obviously having the good sense to cast off the moment he heard the gunshot.

His concentration, however, was utterly absorbed in his foolish brother.

Christ.

What the devil was the matter with Harry? He should have scurried behind the protection of the carriage the
moment the bullets had started to fly. Instead, the impulsive idiot had launched himself forward, taking a bullet that surely would have killed Gabriel.

“Dammit, Harry,” he muttered, arranging his brother flat on his back so he could run his hands down his limp body. “What were you thinking?”

With a grimace, Harry lifted his lashes to reveal pain-glazed eyes.

“Clearly I was not thinking at all,” he muttered.

Unable to find any obvious injuries, Gabriel attempted to tug aside Harry’s tightly fitted jacket.

“Where were you hit?”

“Leave it be, Gabriel.” Harry weakly knocked aside Gabriel’s hand, pulling the jacket over the blood that was already staining the white linen shirt beneath. “There is nothing you can do for me here.”

Gabriel settled back on his heels, conceding Harry’s point. He had no supplies that would assist in tending to a wound, even if he possessed the skills to do so. His only comfort was the hope that the bullet had caught Harry closer to his shoulder than his heart.

“Hugo has taken Talia to the yacht, but the captain will have sent a boat when we first arrived,” he said, attempting to comfort his brother. “It should arrive at any moment.”

“What of Jacques?”

Gabriel glanced across the clearing, realizing that dawn had well arrived, spreading a rosy light across the landscape.

“He has bolted.”

Harry attempted to lift his head, as if not trusting Gabriel’s word.

“You are certain?”

“Hold still, you foolish cub,” Gabriel commanded ur
gently, a fear clenching his heart at the ashen pallor of his brother’s face. Bloody hell. Just hours ago he had been determined to turn his brother over as a traitor to his country. Now he would give his own life to make certain Harry lived. “Jacques and his men are gone,” he rasped. “Although I do not doubt they will send soldiers to search for us.”

Accepting they were out of danger for the moment, Harry lowered his head back to the ground with a heavy sigh.

“I do not suppose you managed to wound the bastard?”

Gabriel shook his head in regret. He had managed a shot in the direction of the Frenchman, but before he could even consider reloading his pistol Harry had been hit, and he had forgotten everything but carrying his brother out of the line of fire.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“A pity.”

It was, of course, but not as great a pity as witnessing his brother stretched on the ground with a bullet lodged in his flesh.

“Why did you do it, Harry?” he demanded.

“Do what?”

Gabriel hissed out a painful breath. Never so long as he lived would he forget the sight of Harry leaping in front of him.

“Take a bullet that was intended for me?”

Harry turned his head, remaining silent for so long Gabriel thought he might ignore the question. At last he heaved a sigh and turned back to meet Gabriel’s worried gaze.

“Do you remember the Christmas morning that I slipped away from my nurse so I could show father I
was old enough for the new pair of skates you had given to me?”

Gabriel shuddered. It had been a Christmas he had never forgotten. He had purchased the ice skates from a local craftsman, never considering the notion his father might consider Harry too irresponsible to own a pair. Of course, the moment the earl had forbidden his youngest son to keep them, Harry had taken off with the intent to prove his father wrong.

Gabriel had followed him, but he’d only arrived just as Harry skated toward the center of the lake where the ice was the weakest.

“You fell through the ice,” he said, vividly recalling the terror that had seared through him as his brother disappeared from sight.

“And you pulled me out.” Harry managed a tight smile. “You saved my life that day. Tonight I repaid my debt.”

“There was no debt.” Gabriel frowned. “You are my brother. It is my duty to protect you.”

“You have always done your best.” Harry’s smile became oddly wistful. “But, you could never protect me from my own demons, Gabriel. They are mine to battle.”

Gabriel tensed. God almighty, how many endless, miserable years had he waited for his brother to take responsibility for his failures? To at last realize that his troubles were of his own making? And yet, now that Harry had spoken the words he had waited to hear, he felt none of the satisfaction he had anticipated.

Hell, they only managed to make him feel more guilty.

“I should have done more,” he muttered.

“The fault was not yours.” Harry reached to squeeze Gabriel’s hand, genuine regret adding a hint of maturity to his slender face. “It has never been yours.”

Gabriel shook his head, refusing to debate the issue.
Not when his brother was wounded, perhaps even dying, and they were trapped in enemy territory.

“Now is not the time for this discussion,” he said gruffly, a surge of relief racing through him at the soft call from the distant shore. Obviously his captain had indeed seen his signal and sent a boat. “Thank God. We shall soon be safe.”

Harry grimaced, his hand lifting to press against his injured shoulder.

“I will never make it down the cliff.”

“There is no need to worry. I will return in a moment with one of my crew to carry you down to the shore.”

As Gabriel began to straighten, Harry’s grip tightened on his arm with surprising strength. “Wait, Gabriel.”

“Harry, we must not delay,” he growled, his brows drawn together with impatient concern. His captain was not a trained surgeon, but he was capable of tending to most wounds. “Your injury…”

“No, this must be said now.”

Gabriel sank back to his knees, unwilling to struggle with his brother and risk further injury.

“What?”

“I am sorry.”

Gabriel’s heart twisted at the raw guilt that shone in his brother’s eyes.

“I know, Harry, but we can finish this once we are aboard the yacht.”

“No, it must be now.”

Gabriel nodded reluctantly. “Very well. What do you wish to tell me?”

“My relationship with Jacques all began so innocently,” Harry said, his voice thick with self-disgust.

“Somehow I do not associate Jacques with innocence.”

“True, but it seemed so at the time. Jacques and I were schoolmates.”

“So he said,” Gabriel confessed, condemning to hell whatever ill fate had crossed Harry’s path with the damned Frenchman. “I cannot imagine the two of you having had much in common.”

Harry snorted, his hand lifting to impatiently brush back the brown curls that had tumbled onto his forehead.

“No, he was far too somber and studious for my taste, and of course, he did little to disguise his revolutionary tendencies.” Harry’s expression was distant as he became lost in his memories. “But he came upon me one evening while I was in the midst of a nasty disagreement with several upperclassmen. They were under the impression I owed them a great deal of money.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “No doubt because I did.”

Gabriel was not surprised that his brother had started his career of living in dun territory at such a tender age. Or that he had incurred the wrath of his fellow students with his blithe disregard in accepting responsibility.

“What did he do?”

“He not only paid my debt, but he carried me back to my rooms and tended to my numerous bruises.” Harry’s lips twisted. “I thought he must be my guardian angel.”

“A clever means to earn your loyalty.”

“Jacques was never stupid.”

Gabriel had to agree. The Frenchman was cunning and ruthless, with the instincts of Machiavelli.

“What did he demand in return?”

“Nothing until I was preparing to leave school and take my place in society. Then he requested that I carry a packet of letters to London.”

“What letters?”

“I do not know,” Harry admitted in a dismissive voice. “And I doubt they were of any importance.”

Gabriel frowned at his flippant tone. Had his brother learned nothing? Jacques clearly had a well-practiced routine of using dupes to transport vital information.

“How can you be certain?”

“Because his true purpose was to ensure that I was introduced to Juliette,” Harry said bitterly.

It took a moment for Gabriel to realize that his brother was referring to the voluptuous French widow of an English diplomat. Gabriel had been dimly aware that the golden-haired beauty had drifted in and out of his brother’s bed over the years, but he had always assumed it had been nothing more than a casual affair.

At least until he had discovered that the woman had traveled with Harry to France.

“Madame Martine,” he spat in disgust.

“I was such an idiot.” Harry closed his eyes, visibly pained by his memories. “Jacques was well aware that I was ripe to be seduced by such a beautiful woman who could easily manipulate me.”

“Not an uncommon failing among young men.”

Harry snorted. “Not you.”

“Do not be so certain,” Gabriel argued. “My first mistress managed to coax me into buying her several pieces of fine jewelry as well as a new carriage and matching horses to pull it before I realized she was sharing her favors with several other gentlemen at the same time.”

“Juliette cost me more than my yearly allowance.” Harry lifted his lashes to reveal the torment in his eyes. “It was with her urging that I became such a reckless fool. I was desperate to impress her with my daring deeds and my boundless wealth.” His jaw tightened. “And of course, she was clever enough to be forever prodding my jeal
ousy toward you. I would have done anything to prove I was as worthy as you in her eyes.”

Gabriel heaved a rough sigh, shoving aside his stab of guilt as he considered the implications of his brother’s confession.

“Including an offer to establish Jacques as the local vicar of Carrick Park?” he asked.

“Yes.” Harry shook his head, then bit off a curse as the movement jostled his wound. “A difficult task, I might add,” he seethed.

It should have been an impossible task, Gabriel silently acknowledged, detesting the thought that church officials might have been bribed or bullied into turning a blind eye to
Vicar Gerard
of Carrick Park.

“Someday I wish to hear how you accomplished such a feat,” he warned.

“Someday.”

Gabriel allowed his brother to remain evasive. He would eventually discover the truth of the matter. But he was suddenly struck by a more pressing question.

“I do not comprehend why you agreed to wed Talia if you were being supported by Jacques.”

Harry flushed, revealing a genuine embarrassment for his heartless behavior.

“I had a brief moment of conscience,” he said, smiling wryly at Gabriel’s sudden scowl. “It is true, although I do not blame you if you find it difficult to believe. I thought that once I had my hands on Dobson’s money I could cut my ties to Jacques and walk away unscathed.”

“You thought he could be bribed?”

“Absurd, of course.” His sharp laugh cut through the hushed silence. “I was assured that there was no means to end my…partnership with the damned Frenchman.”

“And that is when you fled to Calais?”

“Yes, once again forcing you to pay for my sins,” Harry acknowledged, his expression hardening. “But no more. I have learned my lesson, I swear. Things will be different in the future.”

Gabriel shied from his brother’s heartfelt promise. He desperately wanted to believe that Harry had truly changed, but how often had he been disappointed in the past?