Bride for a Night

Her challenging words rang through the air as he studied her with an odd expression.

“You are not the wounded child who first set foot in Devonshire.”

A faint smile curved her lips as she recalled her arrival at Carrick Park. She had truly felt like a child who was being unfairly punished. She had been lost and alone and unable to contemplate a future that promised any happiness.

Now she could only be thankful that she was no longer that timid girl who allowed others to determine her worth. She had discovered a strength within herself.

A strength that did not depend on others’ opinions.

“No. That child has thankfully matured into a woman,” she agreed. “And a wife.”

His lips tightened. “The Countess of Ashcombe?”

“That is merely a title.” She shrugged. “I shall always be Talia.”

“Thank God,” he growled. “You are too fine a female to be wasted upon the aristocracy.”

About to inform him that when she spoke of becoming Gabriel’s wife that it had nothing to do with her rise to nobility, Talia bit off her words as she caught sight of a wooden panel sliding open across the room.

At first she thought it must have been a trick of the flickering firelight, but she realized the paneling had truly shifted to reveal a passageway beyond. And that there was the outline of a male form in the shadowed darkness.

A scream rose to her throat. God almighty, was there a soldier attempting to sneak into her private rooms? Or was it some savage off the streets?

Thankfully the scream remained lodged in her throat as the intruder shifted just enough that she could recognize the elegant features and golden hair. Gabriel? Good…lord.

Her mouth snapped shut as he lifted a slender finger to his lips and silently slid the paneling closed, hiding him and the passageway from prying eyes.

Not that his arrival had gone entirely unnoticed, she realized as she checked her startled reaction.

Returning her attention to Jacques, her heart missed a terrified beat at the sight of his suspicious expression.

“Talia?” He frowned down at her pale face. “What is wrong?”

Sensing he would not be satisfied by a simple denial of her startled reaction, she deliberately swayed, pressing a hand to her head.

“Oh.”

“Tell me, ma petite. Has something frightened you?”

“No. I…I suddenly feel dizzy.”

Her ploy appeared to be successful as Jacques swiftly grasped her arms and steered her toward the bed with tender care.

“Sit down,” he murmured, pressing her arms until she was perched on the edge of the mattress. His hand shifted to brush against her forehead. “You have no fever.”

She managed a stiff smile, wondering if she were imagining the lingering suspicion beneath his display of concern.

“I am not ill, only hungry,” she assured him. “I have had only an apple to eat today.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I assumed that you starve all your prisoners.”

Her words had been teasing, but Jacques scowled, clearly offended by her implication she had been abused. Of course, he was a gentleman who took his need to protect women very much to heart, she reminded herself, feeling a stab of unwelcome sympathy.

“I have offered you nothing but my protection, ma petite.”

She grimaced, attempting to appear wan and defenseless without overplaying her role.