Bride for a Night

That did not make him an uncouth, ill-bred bully, did it?

Of course it did not.

“If I intended to treat you with disregard then I would not be risking my life to rescue you,” he pointed out in a harsh voice.

She shrugged aside his heroic deed, unconcerned that the Earl of Ashcombe would personally face hardship and peril when he could so easily have waited in London for the diplomats to attempt to gain her release.

“I am not sure why you bothered,” she muttered.

“At the moment, neither am I,” he barked before making yet another effort to regain control of his temper. Christ, this female would not be satisfied until he was fully unhinged. “Did the bastard attempt to take advantage of you?”

“No.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Jacques has been a perfect gentleman.”

He growled deep in his throat. “Perfect gentlemen do not betray their countrymen and kidnap vulnerable females,” he ground out.

She sniffed. “How did you find me?”

Gabriel had endured enough. He was not certain what had happened to his shy, properly modest bride, but now was not the time for a marital spat.

Not when they were surrounded by the enemy.

“We can discuss my methods later.” He crossed toward the door. “We must leave.”

“Wait.”

He halted to regard her with a flare of impatience. “Talia.”

Turning her back on him, Talia stalked to the satinwood armoire and began pulling out muslin gowns, petticoats and delicate stockings.

“I am not being hauled back to England without a toothbrush and a change of clothing,” she said, her tone daring him to argue.

“Bring only the necessities.” Gabriel crossed to spread one of the gowns over the mattress, then tucked her undergarments in the muslin folds before rolling it into a tidy bundle. “I have packed your belongings and have them waiting for you on my ship.”

Talia’s protest died on her lips as her eyes widened in disbelief.

“You packed a bag for me?”

He crossed to the washstand, collecting her toothbrush and tooth powder as well as the silver hairbrush and mirror, savagely promising to toss them in the rubbish the moment they reached his ship. No man would provide for Talia but himself.

She belonged to him.

Prickly temper and all.

“Actually I packed several bags since I have never before played lady’s maid and was not entirely certain what you would need,” he informed her.

“Why did you not have Mrs. Donaldson assist you?”

He snorted, recalling the wailing and handwringing that had filled his once peaceful home.

“Because the entire staff is prostrate with grief.” He gave a shake of his head, still amazed by his servants’ unashamed hysterics at Talia’s disappearance. “I fear if I do not have you returned to their tender care soon the entire estate will collapse in despair.”

Her lips tightened. “You needn’t mock.”

“I am not mocking, my dear.” His gaze lingered on the delicate beauty of her face, before skimming down to the body that was pure perfection. A dangerous sensation gripped his heart, forcing him to accept just how much he had missed this female. It was ludicrous. She had been little more than a stranger when he’d wed her. And yet the desire to have her near was a potent ache that refused to be dismissed. Dammit. “You have earned the loyalty of all those who depend upon Carrick Park for their livelihood. It is quite remarkable in such a short period of time.”

“They are good people and I genuinely care about them,” she said. “Unlike…”

A humorless smile twisted his lips as Talia hastily bit off her words.