Bride for a Night

“Perhaps not, but we both know that Harry was more than likely sent here as a trap.” She tensed as a figure suddenly moved near the front door, his rigid stance suggesting he was a trained soldier. A guard. Her gaze shifted upward, belatedly realizing there was yet another soldier on the upper balcony, as well as two more by the carriage. Any doubt that Jacques Gerard was within was banished by the sight of the soldiers. No ordinary citizen would have need of armed guards. “Lord Rothwell, we must find a means to get inside one way or another.”

“Not an easy task. Maybe even an impossible task,” he muttered, his attention on the guards who surrounded the house. “There appear to be men at every entrance.”

She unconsciously bit her lower lip, considering the best means of sneaking past the lurking soldiers. “Not impossible.”

With a frown, Rothwell turned her so he could study her resolute expression.

“Why do I sense I am not going to like what you are plotting?”

“We need a distraction.”

His lips flattened. “And you intend to be that distraction?”

She shrugged. “It makes the most sense. Jacques will not harm me…”

“No.”

His tone warned that he would not compromise, but still Talia had to try. It was, after all, the best solution to slipping past the guards. With her sudden appearance, there would be enough of a stir that her companion could find a door or window that was untended.

“But…”

“No.”

She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Do you have a better plan?”

The golden eyes glittered with an unmistakable warning. “Yes, you will remain here and I will sneak through the servants’ entrance. Once I discover whether or not Gabriel is within I will return and we will decide what we are to do next.”

“Fine,” she growled, acknowledging defeat with ill grace.

Why could men never accept that they might on occasion need the assistance of a woman?

Easily reading her rebellious thoughts, the nobleman grasped her chin and glared down at her pale face.

“Talia?”

“What?”

“If you move so much as a muscle from this spot I will put you over my knee and beat you soundly. Do you comprehend?”

He refused to loosen his grip until she’d given a grudging nod, then pausing long enough to withdraw a pistol he had tucked beneath his jacket, he was slipping along the line of bushes toward the back of the house.

“Men,” she muttered in resignation, shivering despite the warm summer breeze.

She wanted to be confident that Lord Rothwell would manage to slip into the house undetected and return with the assurance that Gabriel was nowhere to be found in the townhouse, but even as the nobleman disappeared she felt a chill of dread inch down her spine.

Barely daring to breathe, she remained hidden in the bushes, her attention locked on the house as an odd sense of menace crawled over her skin.

Or perhaps not so odd, she was forced to accept as a pistol being cocked sounded directly behind her.

“Oh…damn,” she grumbled, slowly turning to meet the velvet brown gaze of Jacques Gerard.

A charming smile curved his lips as he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

“Bonsoir, ma belle. I thought I might find you lurking in the dark.”

THE LIBRARY WAS TYPICAL of aristocrats who were more concerned with impressing others than offering a comfortable room to enjoy the collection of leather-bound tomes.

Bookshelves towered two stories up to the frescoes of Greek muses painted on the ceiling. Delicate satinwood furnishings, upholstered in a pale green satin and carved by the finest French craftsmen, were formally arranged across the floral carpet. And a white marble banister lined the second-floor walkway before framing the wide steps that led down to the main room.