Bride for a Night (28 page)

“I doubt she would consider a visit from a friend as a bother.”

Gabriel shook his head, his features hardening with a frigid anger.

“My wife is too kindhearted to turn away a guest,” he said in lethal tones, “but I was witness to those females who pretended to be Talia’s friends when it was discovered she had been jilted by my brother.” He caught and held Hugo’s gaze, a shimmer of grim determination burning in the silver depths. “They filled her gardens and drank her champagne even as they laughed and mocked her humiliation.”

Fury raced through Hugo.

By God, he would ruin anyone who dared to insult the Countess of Ashcombe, he silently swore, refusing to recall his own scathing opinion of the shy, stammering Miss Dobson who had forced his friend into an unwanted marriage. Whatever his opinion in the past, he
adored Talia. Those who thought they were at liberty to continue with their nasty ridicule would swiftly discover the error of their ways.

“This Miss Lansing mocked Talia?” he growled.

Gabriel shrugged. “Not within my hearing, but I will not take the risk of my wife being upset.”

Hugo fully agreed. No shrill-tongued harridan was going to disturb Talia while she was still fragile from her recent adventures.

“Leave it to me,” he announced.

Gabriel glanced at him in surprise. “You?”

“I will rid you of the vermin who seek to enter your home,” he promised, waving a hand toward a side door that led to a back staircase. “You join your wife and accompany her on her visit to the tenants.”

“Very well.” Gabriel did not hesitate to accept the generous offer, crossing the room to lay a hand on Hugo’s broad shoulder. “I am in your debt.”

Hugo smiled. “I assure you that I am keeping tally.”

Gabriel managed a strained chuckle, although it was obvious he remained troubled as he left the room. Hugo watched his friend’s retreat before leaving the breakfast room and heading down to the front salon.

He straightened his cuffs as he casually strolled into the long room with high arched windows that overlooked the circular drive. For all his dislike of society games, he was a master of playing them when the occasion demanded.

With the same nonchalance, he moved over the black-and-white tiled floor, strolling past the walnut marquetry bureau that matched the ornately carved cabinet and inlaid library table. Out of the corner of his eye, he took note of the elderly lady nearly lost among the layers of her black bombazine gown and veiled bonnet. She ap
peared to be napping in the corner of one of the small velvet sofas. It was not until he leaned against the mantel lined with marble busts of previous Earls of Ashcombe that he took a full survey of the female pacing the floor in obvious agitation.

His first reaction was one of surprise.

He had been expecting the typical society chit attired in a modest gown, with her pale curls perfectly groomed and her expression one of shy flirtation. He had been introduced to a hundred of them over the years, and they all seemed to be exactly the same, with only their names to offer a way to tell them apart.

This female…

His gaze narrowed as he skimmed over the wrinkled carriage gown in a dark shade of amber and the plump face that was stained with an angry color. She had clearly not bothered to rest or change before arriving after a long journey, which would explain the unruly brown curls that had tumbled from the knot at the base of her neck and the shadows beneath her dark eyes. And equally evident she was not pleased to have been kept waiting.

Peculiar.

This woman did not appear to be the sort of conceited, heartless jade that would seek out Talia to cause her pain. In truth, she appeared genuinely distraught as she glowered at him with evident impatience.

A portion of his simmering outrage eased, and he stepped forward to offer an elegant bow. “Miss Lansing?”

She bobbed a stiff curtsy, not seeming especially pleased to be confronted by an eligible bachelor who was considered one of the finest catches in London.

“Lord Rothwell,” she muttered.

He straightened, lifting a brow. “Have we been introduced?”

“We have, although it is obvious you have no recollection of the momentous occasion,” she said dryly.

Hugo stiffened. Had the audacious female just reprimanded him?

It was unthinkable. Females devoted themselves to fawning and preening and generally making a pest of themselves in order to please him.

“Forgive me, my lamentable memory…”

“Oh, never mind, it is of no account. You certainly are not the first gentleman who cannot be bothered to remember me,” she interrupted his smooth apology, giving a wave of her plump hand. “I am here to speak with Lady Ashcombe.”

“Where?”

It was her turn to be caught off guard. “I beg your pardon?”

He took a step closer, forgetting the reason he had agreed to meet with Miss Lansing as he studied her pale features that were unremarkable until one really looked. Her heavily lashed brown eyes were filled with a restless intelligence, and the hint of a dimple danced near her full, kissable lips.

“Where were we introduced?”

“What does it matter?”

“Because I find it incomprehensible that I would have forgotten. You are quite…” He struggled for the appropriate word. She was not a beauty. At least not in the traditional manner. And he had yet to see any attempt at charm. But there was something that captured and held his bemused attention. “Unique.”

“It was at Lady Jersey’s ball last season,” she grudgingly revealed.

He shook his head. “I must have been in my cups not to have swept you onto the dance floor.”

She folded her arms beneath her ample bosom. The sight of the pale flesh pressing against the lace edging her bodice caused Hugo to harden with a swift, unnerving arousal.

God almighty.

Thankfully unaware of his predicament, she offered a baleful glare.

“I believe you were too busy attempting to sweep Lady Sandford into the nearest bedchamber,” she accused. “And, if you hope to flatter me into forgetting my mission, my lord, you are wide of the mark.”

“Why? Are you impervious to flattery?”

“Enough of this foolishness.” She planted her fists on her hips. “You will inform Lady Ashcombe that I have called or I will—”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“I will scream until she makes an appearance.”

Would she? The fact that Hugo was not absolutely certain she would not create a scene if necessary only deepened his fascination.

“Why are you so determined to speak with her?”

Her rounded chin tilted. “Because I am concerned, if you must know.”

He searched her belligerent expression, realizing that there was indeed an unmistakable concern beneath her bluster and even a measure of fear. Whatever Gabriel’s assumption about Miss Lansing, she had not traveled to Carrick Park to harm Talia.

“You were concerned for her welfare?”

“Yes.”

“That is absurd.”

“Is it?” She stood her ground, her eyes flashing with
dark fire. “Talia disappeared from London mere hours after her secretive wedding to the Earl of Ashcombe. And despite the numerous letters I have written over the past month pleading for her to reassure me that she is well, I have heard nothing from her.”

Hugo cast a brief glance toward the female still sleeping in the corner before stepping close enough he could capture her chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“And what is it you fear, Miss Lansing?” he asked in low tones. “Do you suspect that Lord Ashcombe has locked his vulnerable young bride in the dungeons? Or perhaps you imagined he had thrown her off the cliff?”

The color beneath her skin darkened, and he was struck by a savage need to know if the flush was a mere reaction to her anger or a display of the same arousal that plagued him.

“Who is to say?” she challenged. “I was with Talia when the earl forced his way into her private chambers and demanded that I leave. He certainly seemed angry enough to wish her harm.”

Hugo shook his head, caught between indignation that she would believe for a moment that Gabriel was capable of violence toward a woman and amusement at her bold claim.

The only other female who could have dared to stand before him, bedraggled from her long journey and spitting fire, was Talia.

It was little wonder the two had been drawn to one another.

“There is no gentleman who has not been angered at some time or another,” he pointed out, his thumb tracing the line of her full lower lip. “That does not necessarily lead him to commit a heinous crime. We are, after all, a civilized society.”

She made a sound of disgust and pulled away. “Being civilized does not stop gentlemen from behaving as barbarians.”

How could Hugo argue with her logic? He had ample proof that supposed noblemen were as capable of treachery, cruelty and shocking brutality as any savage.

Still, he found himself piqued by her obvious disdain for the opposite sex. Was it an all-encompassing contempt for gentlemen as a whole, or specifically noblemen?

“Tell me, my kitten, are you a reader of novels?” he gently mocked.

Her chin tilted a notch higher, revealing her taste for melodrama.

“Why?”

“Because not all men are the villains portrayed by the current rash of female authors.”

Her lips flattened with displeasure at his teasing. “This is not amusing.”

“Actually, I have to disagree,” he argued. “It is rather humorous that you would suspect Ashcombe of murdering his wife.”

“I have endured enough of your mockery,” she replied angrily, abruptly turning to march toward the door.

Hugo was in swift pursuit, barely managing to dart in front of her before she could barrel through the doorway.

With her escape route blocked, she regarded him with a gaze that warned she was considering boxing his ears.

“Move aside,” she snapped.

In response, he leaned a broad shoulder against the doorjamb, careful to ensure his large form managed to consume the entire entryway. He suspected she intended to slip past him the moment he was distracted.

And oh, it would be so easy to distract him, he ac
knowledged, his gaze lingering on those full, sensuous lips.

“Where do you think you are going?” he demanded.

“If you will not bring Talia to me, then I will find her myself.”

His gaze lifted to meet her furious glare. “Why are you so concerned?”

“Why?” She appeared briefly baffled by his question. “She is my friend.”

“Forgive my confusion, but it is my understanding that Talia’s
friends
have made her life in London a misery.”

She stiffened, clearly offended to be included among those who had bullied Talia.

“If you speak of those spiteful vipers who make a sport of tormenting the less-favored females, they were never Talia’s friends, nor was she ever foolish enough to consider them as such,” she retorted sharply. “It was her father who forced her to spend time in their company.”

“And you?”

“I think it should be perfectly obvious that I was a fellow wallflower who endured a similar fate as Talia,” she said, a hint of resolute pride in her voice. “We are friends because we comprehend what it means to be outcasts from society.”

A strange, distinctly alarming emotion flared to life in the center of his heart. An emotion that Hugo was certain was far more dangerous than all English traitors and French spies combined.

Attempting to ignore the sensation, he reached to straighten the cameo that was pinned to the amber ribbon encircling her neck, his fingers lingering on the satin heat of her skin.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I should not have teased you.”

Her pulse leaped beneath the light brush of his fingers. But with an obvious effort not to be diverted, she reached up to bat away his hand.

“I do not desire your pity,” she informed him sharply. “I wish to see Talia.”

He shrugged. He no longer believed that Miss Lansing was anything but a concerned friend who had traveled to Devonshire to make certain that Talia was not being mistreated by her husband. But he had promised Gabriel that he would be rid of the female.

He intended to keep his word, although he was willing to offer Miss Lansing the assurance that Talia was alive and well.

“I fear that is impossible at the moment. However, I promise—”

He cut off his soothing words as she parted her lips, her eyes dark with warning. Bloody hell, she actually intended to carry out her threat.

Without conscious thought he swooped his head downward, locking his mouth over her parted lips to prevent her determined scream.

He had no intention beyond stopping her from alarming the servants and disturbing Talia. At least that was what he told himself as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into the warm cavern of her mouth.

The convenient excuse, however, did not explain why he wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her against his stirring body. Or why he closed his eyes to savor the tangy scent of lemons that clung to her soft curls.

Despite her short stature, she fit against his large form with startling perfection, he mused, enjoying the sensation of generous curves filling his arms rather than the
wispy fragility of most society women. A man of his size disliked the sensation he was about to crush his lover.

Lover…

The word teased the edge of his mind, sending a jolt of warning through his aching body. Dammit, what the hell was he doing?

A gentleman did not seduce infuriating virgins in the front salon of his best friend’s home. At least not before luncheon.

With a low moan, he forced himself to release her enticing lips and lifted his head. Before he could let her go, however, she reached up to slap his face with enough force to make his teeth rattle.

“How dare you!”

His lips twisted as he studied her astonished expression with a brooding gaze. She was naturally outraged at his bold caresses, but he did not miss the heated awareness that burned in the back of her dark eyes.

She was not entirely impervious to his touch.

“It was my intent to prevent you from causing an unpleasant scene,” he murmured. “But I believe I have just been hoisted on my own petard.”