Bride for a Night

“We’ll be leaving soon?”

“Quite soon.”

She shivered. “Thank God.”

He was wasting precious time, but unable to resist temptation, Gabriel reached to grasp her shoulders, jerking her forward to claim her lips in a swift, branding kiss before he was setting her away and turning toward the door.

“Enjoy your bath and then have a rest,” he ordered on his way out of the cabin. “I will have a tray delivered once we have set sail.”

TALIA FINISHED her bath and pulled on an ivory muslin gown with jade ribbons edging cap sleeves and a frilled hem. The unease that had been stewing in the pit of her stomach became unbearable.

Swiftly braiding her damp hair, she tugged on a pair of calfskin boots and went in search of her missing husband.

No doubt she was being ridiculous.

It was perfectly reasonable that Gabriel was still speaking with the captain. Or even overseeing the crew that she could hear scurrying overhead. Or maybe he had been caught by Lord Rothwell, who was attempting to convince him of all the fine reasons to leave the current Countess of Ashcombe in France.

But she could not forget his thinly veiled agitation that had remained even after they were safely aboard and the fierce kiss that had felt like…goodbye.

He had been hiding something from her, and she had a horrible suspicion she knew precisely what it was.

Finding the connecting cabin empty, Talia moved through the saloon and the galley before making her way up to the deck that bustled with activity. She was not particularly surprised to discover that the sky was painted with shades of deepening plum as dusk spread across the countryside, but her heart lurched at the feel of movement beneath her feet.

God, no. They were slipping away from shore.

For a moment she stood still, her gaze desperately searching for the sight of Gabriel’s familiar profile, her blood running cold as she was forced to accept he was not among the sailors.

Now what did she do?

“You should be belowdecks, my lady.” The large form of Lord Rothwell appeared at her side, his expression hard. “We are preparing to cast off.”

Ignoring the near tangible judgment in the air, Talia stabbed him with an impatient frown.

“Where is Gabriel?”

The large man shrugged. “In his cabin. He said he was in dire need of a bath and I agreed.”

She pressed a hand to her quivering stomach. Oh, lord, she was too late.

“You must stop the boat.”

Not surprisingly Lord Rothwell regarded her as if she had taken leave of her senses.

“It is a yacht,” he corrected in icy tones, “and it cannot simply be stopped.”

Only a few weeks ago, Talia would have wilted beneath the barely hidden contempt. She would have gone to any lengths to avoid a disturbing confrontation.

Now she squared her shoulders and pointed a finger directly in Lord Rothwell’s handsome face. Gabriel needed her. She would face down the devil himself if necessary.

“I do not care what it is called or what you need do to bar us from leaving, just do it,” she spat out. “I must return to the shore.”

His brows jerked together, obviously shocked by her fierce response. “Why?

“Because Gabriel is not in his cabin.”

“Then he is no doubt with the captain.”

Talia clenched her hands at her sides, her gaze trained on the distant cliffs that appeared like a forbidding barrier in the gathering gloom.