Bride for a Night

“Dammit, are you always so stubborn?”

Talia squared her shoulders, prepared for battle. “I am not being stubborn, this is simply something I must do.”

“Because you care for Gabriel.”

It was a statement of fact, not a question, and Talia shrugged in embarrassment at the realization that he had so easily read her aching need to reach Gabriel.

“He is my husband.”

The nobleman shrugged, his handsome face shrouded in shadows.

“That has little meaning in society.”

There was no arguing with his logic. Marriages among the ton were made to consolidate power or wealth or social standing. Usually a combination of all three.

The unions had nothing to do with something so foolish as love.

“It has meaning to me,” she muttered. So what if she was revealing emotions she preferred to keep hidden? Her pride was not nearly so important as rescuing her husband. “I cannot wait here doing nothing when Gabriel is in danger.”

Lord Rothwell gave a slow shake of his head. “He did warn me that you are unique.”

Talia flinched. Unique, of course, was just another means of branding her as peculiar. An insult she had endured since her arrival in London.

“I will not apologize for being concerned for my husband’s welfare,” she hissed.

Catching her by surprise, Rothwell abruptly reached out to give her hand a gentle squeeze.

“No, it is I who owe you an apology.”

“Why would you owe me an apology?” she demanded warily.

“Because I know the folly of society’s habit of judging others upon nothing more substantial than rumors and innuendoes.” He heaved another sigh. “And yet that is precisely what I did to you.”

Was the arrogant brute actually apologizing? She would have wagered her mother’s pearl necklace that such a man had never admitted to being wrong in his entire life.

Bemused, she met the steady golden gaze. “You were concerned for your friend.”

He dipped his head in agreement. “I was, but even after I realized he was far from unhappy with his marriage I continued to allow my prejudice to sway me.” He offered her a rueful smile. “It is not a mistake I will make again.”

Her answering smile was wistful. After his unexpected honesty, how could she be any less truthful?

“No, it was not a mistake,” she assured him softly, her gaze absently straying over the dark silhouette of the Place d’Armes that had once been the center of Calais with its medieval watchtower and tidy square that was lined with shops. “I will never be a suitable Countess of Ashcombe.”

“You are wrong.” He hooked a finger beneath her chin and tugged her face back to meet his somber expression. “I love Gabriel, but there is no ignoring that over the past few years he has become…lost.”

“Lost?”

Rothwell carefully considered his words. “He was always conscious of his responsibilities as heir apparent, but with the unexpected death of his father at such a young age he has become increasingly isolated and inclined to distrust others.”

It was precisely what his housekeeper had revealed to her the day of her wedding to Gabriel. At the time she’d had no notion that it would be her husband’s hidden vulnerabilities that would be her undoing.

“He was alone,” she whispered.

“Precisely,” Rothwell agreed. “And I suspect that the typical society marriage would only have ensured his continued loneliness. He did not need the frigid perfection of a society maiden. He needed the warmth of a woman.” His fingers briefly squeezed her chin before he was pulling away. “Your warmth.”

His soft words touched the place deep inside her that feared she would never be more than a shameful burden Gabriel would have to bear for the sake of his family.

The thought she could offer her husband a gift