Bride for a Night

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Habit?” She glared into the predatory beauty of his face, unable to believe even Gabriel could hold her to blame for being kidnapped. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  The silver eyes shimmered in the stray shaft of moonlight, the light breeze weaving through the thick trees to stir his golden hair. Perhaps it was their untamed surroundings or the danger of their situation, but the icily aloof Earl of Ashcombe had suddenly been replaced by a menacing stranger.

  “Obviously I have or I would never have let you out of my sight after our wedding. A mistake I intend to correct from this moment on.”

  She shivered at the husky threat. Not with fear, but with a wholly feminine reaction to his blatant claim of ownership.

  Angered by her ridiculous response, she narrowed her gaze. “I should have left you to rot with your pretty French tart.”

  The tension quivering in the air remained, but something that might have been satisfaction flared through his eyes.

  “I had no notion that you would prove to be such a jealous wife.”

  She flinched at the disturbing accusation, refusing to admit the sensations churning through her.

  “I am not jealous.”

  “No?”

  “Certainly not. You, after all, made no promise of fidelity.”

  He regarded her as if he were offended by her words. “I am your husband.”

  “That has no meaning among nobles. Society treats marriage as nothing more than empty vows and—” She gasped as Gabriel hauled her against his rigid body, his arms lashing around her to hold her in place. “What are you doing?”

  “I assure you that our vows were not empty. You are mine and I will not endure you taking a lover.” His eyes blazed with a perilous fire. “Not ever.”

  Again she felt that thrill of excitement at his primitive claim, and again she was swift to squash it.

  “While you are allowed to do as you please, as I recall,” she instead muttered.

  His gaze lowered to linger on her lips. “What I please is to have my wife in my bed where she belongs.”

  Talia trembled, acutely aware of his warm body pressed so intimately against her own.

  This had to be some new punishment, she told herself. He could not possibly want her with the raw hunger that tightened his face and hardened his body.

  “Ah, yes, which explains why you so eagerly banished me to the country,” she reminded him.

  His head lowered until his breath brushed her cheek in the promise of a kiss.

  “I was angry and not thinking clearly.”

  She dared not allow herself to be swayed. “And why I just discovered you with a near-naked woman in your arms.”

  He shifted to nibble at the edge of her lips. “She was not in my arms.”

  Renegade excitement tingled through her, making her knees weak and her heart flutter.

  “But she had been, had she not?” She had to know the truth. It was like a nagging thorn in the center of her heart.

  He teased her lips with slow, melting kisses. “I have no interest in women such as Sophia,” he whispered, his hands tracing the delicate curve of her spine. “Not so long as I have my sweet, biddable bride returned to me.”

  It was her sharp, urgent response to his touch that had Talia abruptly turning her head to escape the delectable kisses. She did not want to remember the breathtaking pleasure of being skillfully ravished by her husband. Or the aching satisfaction of being held tenderly in his arms as she slept.

  It had only made the inevitable rejection more painful to endure.

  “That sweet biddable bride no longer exists,” she snapped.

  He nuzzled at the pulse pounding at the base of her throat, his tongue tasting of the fluttering beat.

  “I could demand her return.”

  She grasped the lapels of his jacket as warm bliss poured like honey through her body. Oh, heavens, she wanted to press even closer to his hard muscles. To feel those clever fingers stroking over her bare skin and his lips exploring her in the same intimate manner he had used during their wedding night.

  Instead she held herself rigid.

  She had her pride, did she not?

  “You could demand that the sun rise in the west, but it is likely you would be disappointed.”

  He chuckled at her stubbornness, obviously aware that she was far from indifferent to his touch.

  “There are husbands who would beat you into submission,” he said, his mouth finding a vulnerable spot just below her ear.

  She quivered, swallowing her moan of pleasure. “I am not helpless.”

  “So you have proven.” His lips feathered against her skin, sending another rash of pleasure through her. “And in truth, only the weak and lazy must resort to violence to earn the cooperation of a beautiful woman.” His hands cupped the curve of her buttocks, pressing her against the thrust of his arousal. “There are far more pleasant means to tame her.”

  She forced her hands against his chest, perturbed by the aching need that pulsed deep inside her.

  “No.”

  He pulled back to regard her with a brooding intensity. “Frightened I might speak the truth?”

  Yes. She was terrified.

  After years of her father’s bullying, followed by Gabriel’s brutal humiliation, Talia had at last settled into a comfortable existence. It was unnerving to think that he had only to kiss her to have her toss aside all she had gained over the past weeks just to fulfill a physical desire.

  “This is hardly the time or place for such nonsense,” she said huskily.

  Gabriel lifted his head with obvious reluctance, his eyes dark with frustration.

  “Soon, my dear,” he said, his voice a low warning. “Very soon.”

  THE NEXT FEW HOURS proved to be distinctly unpleasant for Gabriel.

  It was bad enough to be forced to clear a path through the thick underbrush while he was fully aroused and aching with unfulfilled need. Hell, each step was a misery, making him wonder why he had been stupid enough to take her in his arms.

  But it was the biting fear that they might stumble into even worse danger as they haphazardly fled from Jacques Gerard that haunted his every move.

  He needed to find shelter where they could rest and wait for daylight. Once he could determine their exact position, he was confident he could lead them to his waiting yacht with little difficulty.

  Of course, finding a shelter in the middle of enemy territory was easier said than done.

  It was nearing dawn when they at last stepped from the trees, and he caught sight of a farmhouse set near a wide stream.

  Even from a distance he could determine that the house had been recently burned, leaving little more than a charred shell of bricks. Thankfully, a large barn across the stable yard appeared to be reasonably intact.

  Coming to a halt, he placed his hands lightly on Talia’s shoulders, his heart lurching as the brush of pink sunlight revealed the weariness that shadowed her eyes and slumped her shoulders. Her hair had long since become a mass of tangled curls, while her dress was ruined beyond repair.

  She was on the edge of utter collapse, but not once had she complained or demanded that he carry her through the rough countryside. Of course, he could hardly be surprised. This was the same woman who had leaped from her window and attacked a hulking French soldier to rescue him from the cellars.

  He knew of no other woman who possessed her unflinching bravery. Certainly no ladies of society.

  He shuddered at the mere thought of his mother or any other female he had known over the years being in Talia’s situation. Gods, there would have been nothing but shrieking and swooning and hysterical demands that he somehow whisk them magically back to the comforts of their home.

  A wry smile twisted his lips at the pride that surged through him. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

  Mere weeks ago he had condemned her for not being worthy to become his bride. And now he had to accept that she was far superior to any oth
er female who had the blood of nobility running through her veins.

  A female of genuine worth, not just shallow polish.

  “Wait here,” he commanded in soft tones.

  She frowned. “Where are you going?”

  He nodded toward the farmhouse. “You can barely keep yourself upright. We must find a place to rest.”

  “Jacques will soon discover we have escaped,” she protested. “The guards will be searching for us.”

  He tucked a curl behind her ear, his thumb brushing the bruises beneath her eyes.

  “There is a vast amount of land between Jacques’s lair and England,” he assured her. “So long as we do not collapse in the middle of the road from exhaustion, we should be safe enough.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Must you always have your own way?”

  “Of course, I am an earl,” he said with a playful arrogance that brought a welcome flush of color to her cheeks. “It is my destiny to have my own way. Besides which, I am always right, so why should I not insist on others bowing to my—”

  She slapped a hand across his mouth, her eyes narrowed. “If you continue on I fear I will be vilely ill.”

  Grasping her hand, he pressed her fingers to his lips before stepping back.

  “Rest here. I will return in a moment.”

  She bit her lip, obvious concern shimmering in her eyes. “Gabriel.”

  “Be at ease,” he soothed, “I only intend to make sure there is no one near. I will soon return.”

  “Unless you are shot.”

  “You will not be rid of me that easily, my dear.” His faint smile faded as he regarded her somberly. “Do not move from this spot, do you understand?”

  She waved a limp hand. “I am too weary to disobey you, my lord.”

  “Good. Perhaps God does answer prayers,” he muttered, turning on his heel to head across the damp meadow.

  Giving the burnt cottage a cursory inspection, Gabriel shifted his attention to the detached stone barn with a red tile roof that had received only minimum damage from the fire. He pulled open the wide wooden door, cautiously searching through the two-storied structure before moving on to the remaining outbuildings and the surrounding grounds.

  Only when he was certain there were no hidden dangers did he return to Talia, his lips thinning at the sight of her seated on the ground, her head bowed in weariness.

  Dammit, he was her husband.

  She should never have been exposed to such danger. Or have been forced to endure such harsh conditions.

  It was untenable.

  In the future he would make certain she did not take a step outside the door unless he was firmly at her side.

  Dismissing Talia’s inevitable outrage at his restriction, Gabriel leaned down to scoop her into his arms, his determination hardening at the feel of her tiny body cradled against his chest. Despite her delectable curves, she was as light as a feather.

  Clearly he would also have to supervise her meals from now on, he decided. He would not have it said he refused to feed his own wife.

  Her eyes fluttered open as he carried her across the field.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It is time you were tucked in bed.”

  “Oh, it is evil of you to tease me,” she complained, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I would give anything to be in the comfort of my bed.”

  His lips twisted, knowing whatever she would be willing to give was nothing in comparison to what he would sacrifice for the opportunity to join her in the comforts of her bed.

  He had wanted her for so long it had become a perpetual ache.

  With an effort, he managed a strained smile. “A proper wife would claim she was content so long as she was at her husband’s side.”

  “Well, bully for the proper wife,” she countered, although she readily nestled her head against his shoulder. “I want a soft mattress and a feather pillow and linen sheets.”

  He shook his head at her continued defiance. “What am I to do with you?”

  “What do you want to do with me?”

  “A dangerous question.”

  Their gazes clashed with a sudden flare of heat and delayed promise. He felt Talia tense before she lowered her lashes, shielding the emotions she did not wish to share.

  But it was too late.

  Talia might have transformed from a shy mouse to a prickly shrew, but she wanted him with the same blinding need that held him captive.

  Satisfaction coursed through him, easing his frustration as they entered the barn, and he crossed the plank floor to the far corner that was piled with loose hay.

  The air was musty with only a hint of rosy dawn penetrating through the shuttered windows. From the loft above there was the unmistakable scratch of scurrying mice. Still, it was reasonably clean with a tidy row of farm equipment along one wall that had been left behind, as well as a few household items that had been rescued from the farmhouse. No doubt the owners hoped to return once the war had run its predictable course.

  “Here,” he murmured, bending to lay Talia on the hay. “Not the most comfortable of beds, but it is better than the ground. Give me your bundle.”

  Taking her rolled up dress, he tucked it beneath her head. Then, struggling out of his tight jacket, he gently laid it across her shoulders. Only when he was certain she was as comfortable as possible, did he lie down beside her and tuck her against his body.

  She stiffened. “Gabriel?”

  “Shh.” He laid a finger across her lips. “We will have only a few hours to rest. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  Braced for an argument, Gabriel was unprepared when she instead snuggled into his embrace and, with a soft sigh, allowed her eyes to close. Within moments, she was deeply asleep.

  Barely daring to breathe, he brushed the dark curls from her cheek and skimmed his lips over her forehead, savoring her sweet lilac scent. For long, timeless moments he simply gazed at the pale beauty of her face, allowing the sight of her to ease the savage fear that had been gnawing at him since her disappearance.

  Then, feeling ridiculously content, he pressed his lips to her throat and gave in to his own weariness.

  IT WAS MIDMORNING when Gabriel awoke with a stiff neck and empty stomach to discover the rosy dawn had been replaced with threatening clouds.

  Careful not to disturb his slumbering wife, he left the barn, needing to stretch his cramped muscles. And of course, there was the necessity of making a thorough search of the area. The barn was remote, but they were still in the middle of France. He would not lower his guard until they were safely returned to Devonshire.

  It took a half hour to be certain there were no lurking dangers, then another half hour to bathe in the local stream before he was filling two pails with water and using a third to gather apples from a nearby orchard.

  The raindrops were just beginning to fall when he stepped back into the barn. He kicked the door closed behind him, blocking out the damp as well as the distant rumble of thunder, leaving the barn shrouded in hay-scented shadows.

  Not that he minded the barren surroundings, he realized with a start of surprise.

  Odd for a man who had spent his entire life pampered by luxury.

  Perhaps it was the knowledge that for the first time since becoming the earl there was no secretary badgering him with reports from his various estates. Or awaiting correspondence from his Man of Business. Or the endless bills that arrived each morning. Not to mention his responsibilities to his position in the House of Lords. There were no servants hovering just out of sight. No mother with her constant complaints and no brother with his selfish demands.

  He was utterly alone with Talia.

  And that was nothing less than paradise.

  Kneeling at Talia’s side, Gabriel put the ladle he had cleaned into one of the buckets of water and set out the apples on his handkerchief. Not the finest breakfast, but it would serve for now.

  He turned his head as Talia stirred, a smile curving his lips as she
instinctively reached for him. She stiffened when she found nothing but empty boards, her eyes snapping open. “Gabriel?”

  “I am here, little shrew,” he murmured in soothing tones. “And I come bearing gifts.”

  With a blink, she struggled to a seated position, her eyes widening at the sight of apples.

  “Where did you get them?”

  “The apples came from the nearby orchard and the water from the stream just beyond the cottage.”

  She turned her head, allowing her gaze to slide over his disheveled appearance. He smiled wryly, knowing precisely what she was seeing. His hair was still wet from the stream and finger-combed to curl against his forehead. His jaw was unshaven and his thin linen shirt hung open at the neck to reveal a shocking amount of his chest.

  No doubt he possessed all the elegance of a pirate, but he did not miss the manner in which her eyes darkened and breath quickened.

  An answering surge of awareness thundered through him with shocking speed. Lord. How had this delicate gypsy managed to ensnare him with such ease? Certainly no other female had ever consumed him to the point where he thought he might go mad if he did not have her. Now.

  Obviously sensing the prickles of heat in the air, Talia nervously cleared her throat.

  “Did you fall in?”

  His laughter rumbled through the air as he shifted to settle behind her, his fingers nimbly dealing with the tiny ivory buttons.

  “I thought we could both use a good scrub, although I assumed you would prefer privacy for your bath.”

  He heard her sharply drawn breath as her bodice was pulled relentlessly downward.

  “Gabriel, what are you doing?”

  “Assisting my wife with her morning ablutions.” Bending his head, Gabriel planted hungry kisses down the side of her neck. “It is the duty of a devoted husband, is it not?”

  “Certainly not. It is the duty of the husband to stand guard at the door and make certain—”

  Her words were lost in a low moan of pleasure as he unlaced her corset and tossed it aside to cup her breasts through the sheer fabric of her chemise.

  “Do you enjoy that?” he whispered, brushing his thumbs over the tight peaks of her nipples. “Perhaps you would prefer this?” He plucked the ribbons holding up her undergarment and pushed it aside to cup the satin weight of her breasts in his hands.