Her eyes darkened with fear. “You want me to jump?”
“I will catch you.”
“No.” She wildly shook her head, her raven curls sliding sensuously over the bare skin of her shoulders. “I cannot.”
“Look at me, Talia.” He slid a hand beneath her chin, tilting her face up to meet his encouraging expression. “You have already proven there is no challenge you cannot confront with courage. You can do this.”
“But…”
Lowering his head, Gabriel ended her words of protest with a soft, lingering kiss that only hinted at the raw need clawing deep inside him.
“Trust me,” he whispered against her mouth.
TALIA WAS STILL reeling from her uncontrollable reaction to Gabriel’s branding kiss when he slung a leg over the windowsill and leaped into the garden below. She gasped, racing forward to peer into the darkness even as she told herself she was a fool to be concerned.
She had no notion why Gabriel had taken it upon himself to rush to her rescue, but it was certainly no
t because he had any finer feelings for her. Or even the most basic concern of a husband for his wife.
How could he when the aggravating man had done nothing but bully and accuse and insult her since his unexpected arrival on the terrace?
She could only presume that his pride could not bear the thought that the Countess of Ashcombe was being held captive by a French spy.
Much to her annoyance, however, she could not stop herself from breathlessly waiting for his whistle to assure her that all was well. Nor could she quell the flutter of panic when long minutes passed with nothing but the distant cry of an owl to break the silence.
Gripping the edge of the window she leaned forward, her fear for Gabriel overcoming her intense dislike for heights.
“Gabriel?” she cried. “Are you hurt?”
There was a rustle from the nearby hedges, then her heart froze at the sight of Gabriel stepping into the moonlight with Jacques on one side and a French soldier on the other with a gun pointed directly at Gabriel’s head.
“Stay where you are, ma petite,” Jacques commanded, casting Gabriel a mocking smile. “It would be a sin to break your lovely neck just when you are about to be rid of your unwanted husband.”
“Jacques, no.” She shook her head in horror. “Please.”
“Ah, how sweetly she pleads for the husband who has treated her with less respect than he would show a stray dog,” Jacques drawled. “Do you know what I think, my lord?”
Gabriel held himself with arrogant indifference, as if he were standing in the middle of a ballroom rather than being held captive by his enemies.
“I do not give a damn.”
Jacques’s smile widened. “I think she would be far happier as a widow,” he taunted. “I know I will be.”
Even from a distance Talia could feel the tangible fury that filled the air as Gabriel glared toward the smirking Frenchman.
“She is mine,” he rasped.
“Non.” Jacques shook his head. “She might legally be the Countess of Ashcombe, but you have yet to earn her as a wife.”
A chilling expression hardened Gabriel’s face. “You are no doubt right, but I can assure you that I will see you in hell before you lay a hand upon her.”
“I intend to lay more than a hand—”
“Jacques,” Talia interrupted in sharp tones, knowing the Frenchman was simply attempting to goad Gabriel.
“Forgive me, ma petite,” Jacques apologized, glancing over her shoulder as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed behind her. “André will escort you to your room.”
Talia did not bother to glance at the man at her side. She was familiar with the slender young soldier who had often paused to speak with her during her walks through the gardens. He had always been gracious, but Talia had never doubted his utter loyalty to Jacques.