Bride for a Night

“More likely they will return to starving in the gutters when the Corsican monster is destroyed and his allies scurry away like the pathetic cowards they are.”

Gabriel enjoyed a stab of satisfaction as Jacques’s expression tightened, but with admirable control the Frenchman smoothed his features.

“Time will tell which of us is correct.” Altering his course, Jacques led Gabriel through a low archway. He paused to retrieve a lit torch from a bracket on the stone wall before he pulled open a door that led to a stone staircase cut deep into the ground. Behind them the French soldier held his gun at the ready, preventing Gabriel from any foolish hope of a swift escape. “Although it is questionable whether or not you will live long enough to enjoy France’s inevitable triumph,” Jacques continued in smug tones.

Gabriel refused to be goaded, instead distracting himself by memorizing the path through the narrow tunnels that had been chiseled beneath the palace.

“You might be an arrogant bastard who is willing to sacrifice his honor for a futile war, but not even you would be foolish enough to murder the Earl of Ashcombe,” he challenged.

“Who would know?” Jacques waved a hand to indicate the damp passageway. “I possess a convenient talent for making bodies disappear.”

Gabriel forced a stubborn smile, as his companion pushed open a heavy wooden door and waved him inside the cavernous room that had obviously been a wine cellar before being emptied of its shelves of bottles. Now there was nothing more than a few narrow cots and a meager washstand to fill the emptiness.

“You do not think I traveled here alone, d

o you?” he demanded, stepping into the room and turning to regard his captor with a nonchalance he could only hope would fool the Frenchman.

He refused to consider what would happen if it were discovered that his only ally was already headed back to his ship.

“We shall soon discover. I have my soldiers searching the area.”

“My men are wise enough to avoid capture,” Gabriel drawled.

Jacques chuckled. “A pity their master was not so wise, eh Ashcombe?”

Gabriel fisted his hands, battling back the desire to throttle the conceited fop.

Patience, he sternly reminded himself.

Soon enough he would manage to escape, and then Jacques Gerard would learn the meaning of regret.

For now he had to content himself with banishing that annoying smirk from his overly handsome face.

“I was wise enough to outwit you,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

The taunting edge in his voice had the desired effect as Jacques slowly narrowed his gaze.

“An odd boast considering you are the one being locked in the cellars.”

“Perhaps, but I have the pleasure of knowing that I have ruined your attempts to lead Wellesley’s men into an ambush.”

A thick, explosive fury trembled through the air.

“How very clever of you,” Jacques snarled. “Do you mind sharing how you managed to discover…” He bit off his words with a sudden hiss. “Ah, Henderson and his brother.”

Gabriel savored the man’s biting disappointment. “Yes, your partners were quite forthcoming with a bit of encouragement.”

It took long moments before the Frenchman heaved out a sigh, his ire replaced with derisive resignation.

“A pity, but I always knew they were immoral wretches who would betray their own mother if they could make a profit,” he admitted. “I trust they will be suitably punished for their treachery?”

“Of course.” Gabriel twisted the knife. “As will their accomplice in the Home Office who has also been captured.”

A muscle knotted in Jacques’s jaw as he considered the various repercussions at the discovery of his conspirators.

“I presume Henderson also gave you the necessary information to find me?”

“Yes.”