“That is all I need.” He pulled back to peer deep into her wide eyes. “You are all that I need, ma belle.”
“Jacques,” she breathed in surrender.
Hunger speared through him, and tightening his grip around her slender body, he urged his horse into a faster pace.
“It is time we were home.”
IN SOME DISTANT part of his mind Gabriel was aware of Jacques escaping along with Sophia and his guards. Even more distantly he could hear the fading sound of Hugo rowing Talia toward the yacht, his mate obviously having the good sense to cast off the moment he heard the gunshot.
His concentration, however, was utterly absorbed in his foolish brother.
Christ.
What the devil was the matter with Harry? He should have scurried behind the protection of the carriage the moment the bullets had started to fly. Instead, the impulsive idiot had launched himself forward, taking a bullet that surely would have killed Gabriel.
“Dammit, Harry,” he muttered, arranging his brother flat on his back so he could run his hands down his limp body. “What were you thinking?”
With a grimace, Harry lifted his lashes to reveal pain-glazed eyes.
“Clearly I was not thinking at all,” he muttered.
Unable to find any obvious injuries, Gabriel attempted to tug aside Harry’s tightly fitted jacket.
“Where were you hit?”
“Leave it be, Gabriel.” Harry weakly knocked aside Gabriel’s hand, pulling the jacket over the blood that was already staining the white linen shirt beneath. “There is nothing you can do for me here.”
Gabriel settled back on his heels, conceding Harry’s point. He had no supplies that would assist in tending to a wound, even if he possessed the skills to do so. His only comfort was the hope that the bullet had caught Harry closer to his shoulder than his heart.
“Hugo has taken Talia to the yacht, but the captain will have sent a boat when we first arrived,” he said, attempting to comfort his brother. “It should arrive at any moment.”
“What of Jacques?”
Gabriel glanced across the clearing, realizing that dawn had well arrived, spreading a rosy light across the landscape.
“He has bolted.”
Harry attempted to lift his head, as if not trusting Gabriel’s word.
“You are certain?”
“Hold still, you foolish cub,” Gabriel commanded urgently, a fear clenching his heart at the ashen pallor of his brother’s face. Bloody hell. Just hours ago he had been determined to turn his brother over as a traitor to his country. Now he would give his own life to make certain Harry lived. “Jacques and his men are gone,” he rasped. “Although I do not doubt they will send soldiers to search for us.”
Accepting they were out of danger for the moment, Harry lowered his head back to the ground with a heavy sigh.
“I do not suppose you managed to wound the bastard?”
Gabriel shook his head in regret. He had managed a shot in the direction of the Frenchman, but before he could even consider reloading his pistol Harry had been hit, and he had forgotten everything but carrying his brother out of the line of fire.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“A pity.”
It was, of course, but not as great a pity as witnessing his brother stretched on the ground with a bullet lodged in his flesh.
“Why did you do it, Harry?” he demanded.
“Do what?”