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Bride for a Night

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“You must be the Countess of Ashcombe.”

“I am,” Talia admitted. “And you are?”

“Sophia Reynard.”

Even her name was temptingly exotic, Talia acknowledged, pettily wishing the woman at least possessed a wart to mar her perfection.

Having the decency to remove his arms from his lover, Gabriel stepped toward her with a forbidding frown.

“Talia, how the devil did you escape your rooms?”

“I crawled out the window.”

He sucked in a harsh breath. “Dammit, you could have broken you neck.”

Well, so much for gratitude. Unappreciative sod.

“You were the one urging me to leap from the window not three hours ago.”

“Yes, when I was there to catch you,” he growled, looking as if he could not quite believe her lack of intelligence.

She sniffed. “Obviously you were too busy to be of assistance, so I had little choice but to risk my neck.”

“What of the guards?” Sophia interrupted.

Talia returned her attention to Gabriel’s companion with a shrug.

“It was easy enough to slip past most of them.”

The female lifted her brows. “And the soldier at the door?”

Talia bit her lip at the stab of regret that pierced her heart.

“Yes, well, I do feel rather badly about poor Pierre,” she admitted. “He has been so kind to me.”

At her words both Gabriel and Sophia skirted past her. Talia turned to watch Gabriel fully yank open the door, while Sophia gazed down at the large soldier who lay crumpled on the ground.

“Sacré bleu,” she muttered. “Is he dead?”

Talia stiffened in outrage. “Certainly not. He will soon awaken.” She grimaced as she considered what awaited him. “Although I fear he might have a dreadfully thick head. I do hope his wife knows to brew him a tincture of lavender.”

“Christ.” Gabriel glanced back at Talia with an expression of disbelief. “I am not certain I could have floored the brute. How the hell did you do it?”

She reached into the folds of the dress that was wrapped around her belongings and pulled out the small, smoothly carved wooden cudgel.

“I am not proud of myself, but I pretended that I had something in my slipper and when he bent down to assist me I hit him with this.”

“What is it?” Sophia demanded.

“When I was younger I spent time with my father upon the docks. I was befriended by a Portuguese sailor who carved this for me and taught me the best means of striking a man.” Talia smiled at the memory of Santos, who’d been endlessly patient with a lonely girl in desperate need of affection. “My father always insisted that I carry it with me for protection.”

Gabriel studied the tiny weapon with an unreadable expression. “You had that hidden on your person at our wedding?”

“It was in my reticule.” She frowned at the strange question. “Why?”

He grimaced. “Good God.”

Without warning Sophia’s throaty chuckle filled the air. “Do you know, my lady, I was quite prepared to detest you, but I discover myself as helplessly enchanted as everyone else.” She turned her head to toss Gabriel a mocking glance. “I trust you to take her far away from France and do not allow her to return.”



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