Bride for a Night

“Your name,” he growled in French, taking an inventory of the too-thin body and filthy, though intelligent little face. “And do not even consider lying unless you wish me to turn you over to the authorities.”

There was a pause as the boy studied him with a shrewd gaze that was far too knowing for his tender age. Then, clearly accepting that Gabriel was not a pervert with a taste for young boys, he regarded him with a defiant expression.

“Armand.”

“Armand, I have a small task for you.”

He narrowed his pale brown eyes.

“What sort of task?”

Within moments Gabriel had described his brother in detail as well as his usual preference of entertainment. Then, pulling several coins from his pocket as a promised reward, he sent Armand dashing through the streets. The boy was obviously well acquainted with the seedier sections of Calais and would be capable of tracking down Harry far more easily than Gabriel.

Standing in the shadows as he waited for Armand’s return, Gabriel briefly allowed his thoughts to stray to Talia.

By now she should be well on her way to England. Had she realized yet he was not aboard the yacht? And if she had, was she anxious at his absence? Or was she secretly pleased to be rid of her bully of a husband?

The thought made him frown, even as he told himself he was being an idiot.

Had Talia not risked her own life to rescue him from Jacques Gerard’s cellars? And had she not responded with a ready urgency to his touch?

She might not have forgiven or forgotten the less than favorable beginning of their marriage, but she had obviously accepted him as her husband.

What more did he desire?

Dismissing the odd ache in the center of his heart, Gabriel returned his attention to his dark surroundings. He would deal with his wife when he returned to England, for tonight he had enough to occupy his mind.

Prepared when the French lad abruptly darted from a nearby alley, Gabriel stepped from the shadows.

“You have found him?”

The boy gave a sharp nod. “Follow me.”

Gabriel grasped Armand’s arm before he could dart away, his expression grim with warning.

“Take care, Armand. I am not a pigeon ripe for plucking.”

“Non, monsieur.” The boy’s expression of innocence was obviously rehearsed, but there was no mistaking the hint of genuine alarm in his brown eyes. “You have my word of honor.”

Releasing his grip, Gabriel gave a nod of his head. “Then let us be on our way.”

Armand led him past the old church where King Richard II had wed Isabelle of Valois and beyond the spacious steeply roofed Hotel Dessein with its elegant facade that catered to the more respectable visitors.

The farther from the center of town they traveled the narrower the streets and the shabbier the buildings until at last Armand slowed his rapid pace and Gabriel caught sight of the English-style building with hexagonal turrets and an inner courtyard where a number of drunken coxcombs mingled among the brightly lit gaming tables. Beyond the courtyard the open doors revealed a gaudily decorated salon. A number of females were temptingly posed to entice the gentlemen who had grown tired of the cards and dice and preferred a more intimate entertainment.

Cautiously, Gabriel inched toward the opening to the courtyard. He remained hidden in the shadows as Armand pointed toward the familiar young gentleman with tousled brown hair and pale eyes that were already glazed by drink.

Harry.

“Voilà,” Armand breathed, a cocky smile curving his lips.

Gabriel briefly studied his brother who was elegantly attired in a gold jacket and a black waistcoat embroidered with golden thread, his blood running cold at Harry’s nonchalant comfort among the French dandies.

Did he have no shame whatsoever?

Bridling his urge to rush into the courtyard and drag his brother from the bordel, he instead forced himself to turn toward the lad at his side.

“Is there another entrance?”