Bride for a Night

“I fear the dowager has no love for the current countess,” he said dryly, his thoughts unreadable. “She would be more likely to pay for me to keep Talia as to have her returned.”

“And will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Keep her.”

A keen pain sliced through Sophia’s heart as Jacques abruptly turned to pace toward the fireplace. So her suspicions were not mere fancies.

Not entirely surprising.

According to the rumors, the Countess of Ashcombe had managed to bewitch every male from the most seasoned soldier to the youngest orphan with her ready friendliness and kind heart.

And, of course, what man could possibly resist the thought of a young and beautiful woman who was alone and so terribly vulnerable?

“It is a decision to which I will have to give some thought,” he muttered.

Sophia was too intelligent to press for an answer. Instead she carefully eased her way past his instinctive need to play hero to the more prosaic side of his nature.

“Her father is very wealthy, is he not?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “As rich as Croesus, if the gossips are to be believed.”

“Then surely he would be willing to pay a ransom for his only child?”

His scowl returned. “It is difficult to know with men such as Silas Dobson. He was willing to sell Talia to the highest title, so it is obvious he has little affection for her.” His voice was edged with disgust. Jacques found social climbers as repugnant as nobles. “He might very well decide his daughter is no longer his responsibility.”

“There is only one means to discover if he is willing to pay,” she gently urged. “I shall be happy to assist you in writing the ransom note…”

“Non.”

“Jacques?”

His eyes blazed with a warning that could not be ignored. “The Countess of Ashcombe is my responsibility and I will decide her future without interference. Is that understood?”

Sophia bit back her words of protest. Mon Dieu. Had she not caused enough harm for one night?

She had intended to be subtle. She was, after all, a woman who had been beguiling men since the tender age of thirteen. It should have been a simple matter to discover the depth of Jacques’s feelings for Talia and from there to covertly begin the process of eroding his regard for the unwelcome bitch.

She had done it a dozen times before.

Perhaps a hundred.

But never for a man she loved, her battered heart whispered.

And now her blundering had only made Jacques more stubbornly determined to protect the poor, sadly abused Lady Ashcombe.

“Of course,” she managed to murmur.

With jerky motions, Jacques pulled out the chair near the desk. “I should return to my correspondence.”

“As you wish.” Forcing herself to cross the room, Sophia paused at the door. “Do not work too hard, chéri. You must remain strong for all of us.”

He did not bother to glance in her direction. “Bonsoir, ma belle.”

“Bonsoir.”

Sophia walked down the vast hallway, the rustle of her silk gown the only sound to break the heavy silence. She paid no heed, however, to the empty grandeur of her surroundings as she traveled grimly back toward her chambers.