Bride for a Night

Perhaps his luck was changing.

“Then believe this,” he muttered, grasping her hand and towing her toward the window. “Does Talia appear to be frightened or unhappy?”

She jerked from his grasp, but as she caught sight of the couple strolling arm in arm her belligerent expression softened, the tension easing from her luscious body.

As well it should, he wryly acknowledged. Not even Miss Lansing could fail to notice the devotion in Gabriel’s expression as he gazed down at his wife, or the manner that she snuggled into his side, as if she could not be close enough to his larger form.

In silence they watched as the two disappeared through the stone archway leading to the stable yard. Then, clenching her hands at her sides, Miss Lansing turned to stab him with a puzzled glower.

“Why do you refuse to allow me to speak with her?”

He considered a variety of clever lies before heaving a sigh. She deserved at least a portion of the truth for her obvious loyalty to her friend.

“Gabriel has never been in love before,” he said. “He has yet to overcome his rather primitive urge to jealously guard his bride from the world.”

“Oh.” Miss Lansing faltered, something akin to longing briefly rippling over her plump face. The same longing that had tormented Hugo since his return from France. “She is…content?”

“She is content,” Hugo readily assured her. “And once she has properly trained her stubborn husband, I suspect that she will be deliriously happy.”

“Good.” Hugo watched as she squared her shoulders. “If you will call for my carriage I must return to London.”

Hugo’s brows snapped together. He had presumed that she was staying with friends or family in the neighborhood. Now his blood ran cold at the thought of her journeying such a distance without protection.

Had the female taken leave of her senses? The roads were overrun with highwaymen and smugglers and bloodthirsty cutthroats. Not even coaching inns were safe from overly forward noblemen who would press their advances on any vulnerable young lady.

“You are traveling alone?” he demanded, moving so he could stand directly before her.

She appeared confused by the question, waving a hand toward the slumbering crone on the sofa.

“Obviously not. I have a companion.”

“Companion?” he snarled. “Not even the most lenient of guardians could consider that…” He struggled to temper his description of the woman. For all he knew, she was some sort of relation to Miss Lansing. “That ancient female a proper companion.”

She sniffed. “Thankfully you are not my guardian and who I choose as my companion is none of your concern.”

“You are mistaken.” The words tumbled from his lips before he realized what he was about to say. “I have decided to make it my concern.”

She appeared as startled as he was by his overbearing declaration.

“Excuse me?”

He hesitated. It would be simple enough to retract his arrogant claim. Or to chuckle and pretend it had been nothing more than a feeble jest.

Then he could pat Miss Lansing upon the head, send her and her lethargic companion on their way, and perhaps find his lost sanity.

But even as the thought passed through his mind, he dismissed it.

Miss Lansing was not stepping outside the door without him at her side.

“It just so happens that I was about to leave for London,” he announced, his firm tone warning he had made his decision. “We shall travel together.”

She took a hasty step backward, horror spreading over her face.

“We most certainly shall not.”

He smiled, moving to cup her cheek in his hand. “Kitten, you will eventually learn to simply concede defeat once I have made my decision. It will make our future together far more pleasant.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Have you gone utterly mad?”