Bride for a Night

“Fine.” He peered deep into her eyes, smiling with all the love that filled his heart. “Then she will adore you because she will see that you are my heart, and that without you my life would be devoid of happiness.”

As hoped, Talia melted beneath his low words, her fingers moving down the line of his jaw in a gentle promise.

“She will realize all that?”

He bit back a groan. His body wanted to be finished comforting Talia with words. It urged him to prove his love and commitment to her happiness in a far more primitive means.

Thankfully he was intelligent enough to realize that tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her up the stairs to his bedchamber was going to have to wait. At least until Talia was satisfied he had no nefarious plot in trying to keep her away from London.

“Absolutely,” he managed to mutter.

“And then?”

With an effort he forced himself to concentrate on his scheme to smooth Talia’s return to the ton. It was, after all, rather brilliant.

“Then she will return to London with the astonishing pronouncement that she finds her daughter-in-law an absolutely delightful young woman whom she fully intends to sponsor during the upcoming season,” he said, a smile of satisfaction curling his lips. “The various hostesses will be vying for the opportunity to lure you to their gatherings.”

She frowned, considering his explanation for a long moment. “You make it seem very simple.”

He lifted his brows in amusement. “Talia, we have survived my brother’s treachery, your father’s brutish bullying and being captured by French spies. Everything else is simple.”

She shook her head. “None of them were nearly so lethal as the ton.”

“Trust me, we will have every one of those pompous idiots kneeling at your pretty feet before the season is over.”

There was another pause, and Gabriel smothered his sigh of impatience. How could he blame her for her lingering unease? Not only was he requesting that she rely on the assistance of a woman who had treated her with blatant disdain, but she had endured years of abuse by the members of the aristocracy.

“I do,” she unexpectedly announced.

“Talia?”

“I do trust you.”

He trembled as her whispered words settled in his heart. Damn, he had been so terrified that he would never regain her trust. Now he pressed his lips to the hollow beneath her ear, torn between relief and the aching need to hear the words she had yet to utter.

“And?” he prompted, his voice hoarse.

“And what?”

He pulled back to regard her with a chiding glance. “Is there nothing else you wish to tell me?”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider his question. “Mrs. Donaldson insisted that I bring your favorite gooseberry jelly and several meat pies with me. She has taken a crazy notion into her head that your fancy London cook is attempting to starve you.”

He lowered his head to nip at her lower lip. “That is not what I desire to hear.”

“Then perhaps you wish me to tell you of Mr. Price’s mule…”

“You know exactly the words I long to hear, my dear,” he growled. “Do not torture me.”

His tone was teasing, but there was nothing amusing about the agonizing knot of uncertainty in the pit of his stomach. It did not matter how often he assured himself that Talia would never have gone to such efforts to rescue him in France if she did not care for him. Or how readily she responded to his touch.

He was as uncertain as a young lad, desperately longing for her affection even as he feared it might be withheld.

“Very well.” Framing his face in her hands, she met his gaze with a slow, breathtaking smile. “I love you, Gabriel. With all my heart.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. “You are certain?”

She lifted onto her tiptoes, lightly brushing a kiss over his mouth.