Bride for a Night

Christ, he would never have forgiven himself if his friend had been killed because of his stupidity.

Then, as the terror receded, his mind cleared, and he realized the implications of Hugo’s presence in Calais.

What the hell was his friend doing here?

He was supposed to be on the yacht with Talia, ensuring that she was safely returned to England.

“Where did you capture him?” he growled.

“Lord Rothwell was kind enough to drop into my hands like a ripe plum. Much like yourself,” Jacques said, sneering. “So you see, the word of Harry’s fine efforts for France remain a secret.”

“No.” Gabriel refused to accept defeat. “Lady Ashcombe and my crew are out of your reach. She will not allow Harry to continue his betrayal.”

Jacques snorted at Gabriel’s bravado. “You forget that I know Talia better than you, Ashcombe.”

The Frenchman was fortunate that Gabriel was bound to the column. Otherwise he would surely be dead.

Talia belonged to him.

And the fact that this man would dare to believe he could take her away was like a match being tossed onto a powder keg.

“You know nothing of my wife, you bastard.”

Jacques’s secretive smile was a deliberate reminder that Talia had turned to the Frenchman for much-needed comfort after her husband had discarded her.

“I know she felt compelled to ensure that a poor country vicar was not being harmed by a pair of ruffians despite the obvious danger to herself,” he smoothly pointed out. “And that she risked her own neck to rescue a husband who is utterly unworthy of her concern. She would never have left France if she feared you were in danger.”

A cold premonition stabbed through his heart. He knew Talia would never leave him in jeopardy. Hell, that was the reason he had not told her of his plans.

But even if she had discovered his absence before the ship had set sail, he could not believe his crew or his friend would have been so excessively stupid as to allow her to come in search of him.

“Whatever her preference, Hugo would have insisted that Talia return to England.”

“He could have insisted all he desired, but she would not have left you behind.”

The smug assurance in the Frenchman’s voice sliced through Gabriel, his vague sense of unease becoming a hard knot of dread.

“You have captured her.”

Jacques offered a mocking dip of his head. “Oui.”

Gabriel growled low in his throat, his fear for Talia a tangible force that threatened to choke him.

Bloody hell. He should never have left the yacht. Pride and his ever-present sense of duty might have demanded that he capture his brother and return him to England so he could face his punishment, but his heart had warned him to remain with Talia.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten how to listen to his heart the day he’d buried his father.

Now his wife was once again paying for his inability to be the husband she needed.

“Where is she?”

“Safely tucked in my private suite.” There was a taunting pause. “Where she belongs.”

Gabriel silently contemplated the pleasure of smashing the smug grin off Jacques Gerard’s too-handsome face. Or maybe he would wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck and squeeze the life from him.

Yes, that was precisely what he needed to soothe his gnawing frustration.

Instead he forced himself to thrust aside the maddening thought of his wife once again in this man’s clutches and attempted to concentrate on his limited options.