Bride for a Night
Then he had heard his wife calling out the name of another man, and his determination to collect Talia and escape with all possible speed had been forgotten beneath a tidal wave of pure male fury.
He had risked his damned life to come to her rescue. How dare she be expecting another man in her private chambers. Especially attired in a slip of a gown that would make any man fantasize of sex?
Even if she spoke the truth and the bastard was not her lover.
And to make matters worse, she did not even possess the grace to apologize, instead attempting to paint him as the villain of the piece.
He shoved an impatient hand through his hair. “Tell me how you came to be here,” he commanded, attempting to regain command of the encounter.
“Why bother?” she mocked, her magnificent eyes flashing with a spirit that was at complete odds with the timid female who had stood at his side during their wedding. “You have obviously made your decision that I am not only a scheming peasant who forced you into marriage, but I am also so lacking in morals that I took a lover within days of becoming the Countess of Ashcombe and…” she sucked in a trembling breath that drew attention to the delectable swell of her breasts “…as the coup de grace I became a French spy.”
The discomfort twisting his gut could not be guilt, he attempted to assure himself.
He was the Earl of Ashcombe. He had every right to question his wife.
“Tell me, Talia,” he demanded.
Her eyes narrowed, but with a toss of her head she conceded to his demand.
“I happened to be passing by the church when I noticed two ruffians entering.” She shrugged. “I was concerned they were up to some mischief, so I slipped to the back where I could see what they
were doing.”
His heart missed a painful beat at the mere thought of Talia confronting the two brutes currently being questioned by the Home Office in London.
“Damnation, woman. Have you no sense at all?” he chastised. “The Countess of Ashcombe does not walk country lanes without a servant and she most certainly does not confront…ruffians. If you have no concern for your pretty neck, then you should at least have a care for your reputation.”
She should have been cowed by his censure. Instead she met him glare for glare.
“Just as you had a care for my reputation when you publicly shunned me?”
“Dammit,” he snapped. “You should have returned to Carrick Park and sent a servant to investigate.”
“I only intended to see if they meant harm before I decided whether or not to go in search of the magistrate.”
“Instead you were captured.”
She waved a hand, indicating the palatial room. “Obviously.”
Gabriel’s frustrated fury shifted toward the man who had dared to kidnap his wife. Although he had a vague memory of a new vicar being chosen for the local church, his visits to Devonshire had been consumed by his efforts to teach his reluctant tenants the latest farming techniques as well as restoring the manor house that had fallen into disrepair after his father’s death. He had little time or interest in the spiritual welfare of his people.
Now he could only regret his failure to personally investigate Jack Gerard.
“I will kill him,” Gabriel swore. “Were you injured?”
She rolled her eyes, appearing utterly unimpressed by his concern.
“Should that not have been your first question rather than accusing me of adultery?”
He growled in annoyance at her continued defiance. He was unaccustomed to anyone daring to lecture him, let alone his own wife.
“Bloody hell, when did my mouse become a shrew?”
“When I accepted my husband intended to treat me with the same disregard as my father.”
He stiffened, deeply offended by the accusation. He had nothing in common with Silas Dobson.
He squashed the memory of standing at the window of his London townhouse, watching as Talia had entered the waiting carriage with an air of wounded defeat. At the time, he had done what he had thought was for the best.