Bride for a Night

Talia snorted at the genuine irritation in his voice. Only a male could degrade one woman while holding another captive and blame them both for being troublesome.

Such arrogance would never fail to astonish her.

“You do not deserve her, you know,” she accused.

“Pardon?”

“Sophia,” she clarified. “She adores you, but you treat her as if she is no more than a courtesan to be dismissed on a whim.”

He arched a brow. “I hesitate to shock you, ma petite, but that is precisely what she is.”

Talia was well beyond shock after the past weeks. “If you consider her as nothing more than a harlot, then you should not have made her fall in love with you.”

Jacques’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You hold me to blame?”

“Of course.” Talia gave a lift of her shoulder. “You obviously encouraged her affections.”

“Is that not what a gentleman is expected to do with a courtesan?”

“I do not mean…” She struggled for a delicate means to express her argument. “Physically.”

With a sharp laugh, he turned to pace across the Oriental carpet, choosing an enamel snuff box from the scrolled mantel and flicking open the lid.

“Thank goodness, since that is a customary part of the relationship,” he said, taking a delicate sniff of the scented tobacco.

She glanced toward the cudgel on the floor, regretting the lost opportunity to bang his thick skull. Not only because she had missed a chance to escape, but simply because he obviously needed a good smack to the head.

“I meant that you no doubt confided in her and shared far more than just your bed,” she accused.

He stiffened, his expression defensive. “And how would you know that?”

“Women can be quite foolish when it comes to men, but Sophia is too sophisticated to have risked her heart if she did not believe you considered her as more than a bed partner.”

“It no longer matters.” He abruptly set aside the enamel box, restlessly pacing toward the window that offered a view of the street shrouded in the heavy silence that came just before dawn. “She is returning to Paris in a few hours.”

She studied his tense profile. “Not if you ask her to stay.”

“I did.” He turned to meet her steady gaze. “She does not appreciate your presence in my home.”

Talia made a strangled sound, wondering if he were being deliberately obtuse.

“Of course she does not.” Talia planted her hands on her hips. “Do you have no feelings for her whatsoever?”

He stiffened, almost as if he were offended by her question. Ridiculous man. Then, narrowing his eyes, he smiled in cold amusement.

“Ah, very clever.”

“Clever?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “You hope that if you can rouse my loyalty to Sophia that I will agree to release you and appease her jealousy.”

It was, of course, precisely what she desired, but Talia was not stupid enough to admit as much. Jacques was not certain his desire for Sophia was greater than his overpowering need to avenge his father’s death.

“Am I not allowed to feel sympathy for a woman who is being abandoned by the man she was silly enough to trust?” she asked instead. “I do, after all, have some experience with that kind of disappointment.”

A surprising fury darkened his eyes. “Do not compare me to Harry Richardson.”

“Then be a better man than he.”