Bride for a Night

“You wouldn’t,” he rasped at last.

“Do not be so certain,” she warned. “I am desperate.”

There was another silence before Sophia released an unsteady laugh.

“You are wasting your time, my lady,” she said, her own gaze lingering on the man she loved. “Jacques cares far more for his glorious dreams than a flesh-and-blood female who cannot compete with a fantasy.”

Talia shook her head, not missing the fear that had briefly flared through Jacques’s eyes. He was far more anxious at the thought of Sophia being in danger than he cared to admit.

Perhaps even to himself.

“I think you underestimate his attachment to you,” she murmured. “Is that not true, Jacques?”

With an effort he managed to curl his lips into a stiff smile.

“Do not be a fool, ma petite. You will never forgive yourself if you hurt an innocent.”

Talia deliberately shifted her gaze to the very large dagger that was currently pressed to Gabriel’s throat.

“I will never forgive myself if I stand aside and allow you to murder my husband,” she countered, the sincerity in her voice unmistakable. “Put down the knife.”

Jacques’s lips flattened as his narrowed gaze searched her bleak expression.

“You know I cannot do that.”

Sophia jerked, clearly wounded by Jacques’s words. “I did warn you,” she breathed.

“Jacques, do not test my resolve,” Talia warned. “I am the daughter of Silas Dobson. I have been taught from the cradle that only the ruthless survive.”

Jacques shook his head in denial. “You are not ruthless.”

Gabriel snorted, his burning gaze never wavering from Talia’s pale face.

“And you claimed to know my wife,” he mocked.

Talia glanced toward the pistol she held to Sophia’s temple, praying Jacques could not detect her pulse that raced in pure terror or the revulsion that clenched her stomach.

“Make your choice.”

“Wait,” the Frenchman commanded, his gaze shifting toward the silent Sophia. “Let us not be hasty.”

“Jacques,” she pressed, sensing his faltering resolution.

Jacques frowned in frustration. “You swear to release her?”

“I swear.”

“Mon Dieu.” Jacques slowly pulled the dagger away from Gabriel’s throat, his expression grim as Gabriel surged to his feet and snatched the knife from his unresisting fingers. “Talia, you gave your word.”

“Of course.”

Talia lowered the pistol and stepped away from the Frenchwoman, her entire body wobbling with relief as Gabriel stepped next to her and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. The tense confrontation had lasted only a few minutes, but it felt as if an eternity had passed since she had picked up the horrid gun.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jacques angrily adjusted his cuffs before he waved a hand toward the door.

“Leave us, Sophia.”

“No,” Gabriel snapped. “She remains.”