Bride for a Night

“Do you see the young gentleman standing near the roulette table?”

“Monsieur Richardson?”

His jaw clenched at her ready recognition. Obviously Harry was a regular customer.

“Yes.”

“Of course.” She tossed him a smug smile. “He has often wished to spend time in my company, but he must content himself with the less expensive companions.”

“Then it would appear that tonight his luck is about to turn,” Gabriel murmured. “Do you have a room near?”

Monique waved a hand toward the stone staircase. “On the top floor, the third door on the left.” Her eyes narrowed. “But if there are to be two gentlemen then I will demand double the price.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I will happily double the price, but all I ask of you is your assistance in luring the gentleman upstairs without revealing my presence and then the opportunity to speak with him in private.”

“And what of me?” she asked with obvious suspicion.

“You will have the luxury of enjoying an hour or so of peace.” His gaze studied the perfect oval of her face, noticing the fine lines that were just beginning to frame her eyes. “Surely a preferable means of spending your evening?”

Surprisingly the woman stepped close enough to brush her full breasts against his chest.

“It would be preferable on most evenings. However, tonight I believe I would rather have company, so long as it is you.”

He shook his head, once again pushing her firmly away. “A charming notion, but I have pressing business with Monsieur Richardson.”

Monique pouted at Gabriel’s discreet rejection. “If he owes you money, then I fear you are to be disappointed,” she warned. “He is heavily in debt to Francois.”

“Francois?”

Her lips twisted with disgust. “The owner of this charming establishment.”

“Of course.” He shook his head at Harry’s dismal predictability, even as he grimly reminded himself that yet another gambling debt was the least of his concerns. “It is a personal matter.”

Perhaps sensing his smoldering fury, the whore gave a lift of her brows.

“You do not intend to kill him, do you?”

“If I do, I promise to remove the body.” Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, he removed several bank notes and held them in the light that spilled from the brightly lit torches. “Can you convince him to join you?”

Greed flared through her eyes before she was flashing Gabriel a smile of pure feminine conceit.

“Chérie, I could convince a saint to join me, and I assure you Monsieur Richardson is no saint.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” he muttered. “I will be waiting in your room.”

She gave a toss of her golden curls, plucking the notes from his fingers and tucking them into the bodice of her robe.

“And when you have finished your business, perhaps we can discover a means to enjoy the remainder of the night, eh?”

With a noncommittal smile, Gabriel waited for Monique to slip out of the garden and stroll across the courtyard before making his way up the spiral staircase and entering the top floor of the turret.

He made a cautious inventory of the low velvet sofas and tapestries that hung on the stone walls in a poor imitation of a sultan’s harem. Then stepping into the corridor, he made his way to Monique’s room, not surprised to discover it was simply yet elegantly decorated.

She was obviously the most expensive of the house whores, and the gold and ivory furnishings had been perfectly designed to set off her pale beauty.

Ignoring the wide bed draped in satin and the intimate tools of punishment that some gentlemen preferred, Gabriel paced the polished wood floor, a heavy dread tightening his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

He had been so intent on locating Harry and getting him alone, that he had not actually considered what was to come next.