She looked as fresh and inviting as a spring day.
Then he registered her furious gaze, and his pleasure was forgotten. Not only had she ignored his request to remain at Carrick Park, now she had overheard his insensitive words.
Damnation.
It truly was a rotten day.
Stepping forward, he held out his hand. “Do not be ridiculous, Talia.”
“Why not?” Her green eyes smoldered beneath a layer of ice. “It would be the perfect solution to be rid of your unwanted wife.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TALIA PRESSED a hand to her heart, startled to discover she was not bleeding from the wound Gabriel had just delivered.
Certainly it felt as if he had stabbed a dagger to the center of her chest.
She had been a fool.
When she had left for London she had tried to convince herself that the past few days of separation would have proven to her husband that he needed her as more than just a warm body in his bed. And that once they were reunited he would have to put the past behind them and build a new relationship.
But hearing his harsh condemnation of Silas Dobson had effectively crushed her fragile hope.
He clearly had not forgiven her father for forcing him into an unwanted marriage, and if Silas Dobson was unfit to cross the threshold of Gabriel’s precious townhouse, then what did it say of her own welcome?
Ignoring his outstretched hand, she allowed her gaze to skim over his lean form attired in a gold jacket and sage-green waistcoat. He looked tired. Perhaps his nights had been as restless as hers.
But then, that would mean he actually cared. And that was obviously a silly fantasy.
Cursing the fresh stab of pain, Talia jerked her attention toward Hugo, who moved forward to grasp her hand and raise it to his lips.
“Ah, a delight to see you again, my lady,” Lord Rothwell murmured, the concern in his golden eyes nearly making her cry.
“Not a delight for everyone, it would seem,” she muttered.
Rothwell’s lips parted, but before he could speak Gabriel had reached to grasp his arm and pull him away from Talia.
“Hugo, if you will excuse us?”
“Do try not to be an ass, Ashcombe,” Lord Rothwell drawled, offering Talia a last smile. “Until later.”
Talia watched him stroll from the room, closing the door firmly behind his large form.
Once alone with her husband, Talia wrapped her arms around her waist and forced herself to meet his gaze. Even if her journey had not ended as she’d desired, she would not allow her courage to falter now.
“Why have you traveled to London?” he asked.
“I had a ridiculous thought that I could convince you that I belong at your side,” she admitted, relieved when her voice came out steady. Her pride was battered enough without revealing how grievously he had managed to injure her. “Obviously it was a wasted journey.”
Somehow he managed to look offended by her words. “What the hell do you mean? Of course you belong at my side.”
“Only when we are being chased through France or secluded in the countryside.”
He frowned, regarding her with a puzzled frown as if she were speaking a foreign language.
“You are angry because I did not bring you to London?”
God almighty, she wanted to slap him. Was he being deliberately obtuse?
“I am angry because you treat me as if I am a shameful secret.”
Reaching out, he grasped her shoulders and glared down at her with a furious expression.
“Have you gone utterly mad?”
“Do not pretend you are not embarrassed to have me as the Countess of Ashcombe.”
He hissed in a sharp breath, pretending as if he were shocked by her accusation.
“For God’s sake, Talia, I could not possibly be more proud to claim you as my wife,” he ground out, his fingers biting into the flesh of her shoulders.
She frowned, studying his ashen pallor and the seemingly genuine disbelief that shimmered in his eyes.
“Then why did you refuse to bring me to London?”
“Because I did not want you to have to endure the unpleasant gossip.”
It was the same excuse he had given before leaving Devonshire, and she gave an exasperated shake of her head at his stubborn insistence.
“I am not a child, Gabriel. I am perfectly capable of ignoring the spiteful comments and insults.” She hunched a shoulder at the painful reminder of her years spent in London ballrooms. “It is not as if I have not spent most of my life doing so.”
He scowled, his grip easing so his hands could rub a soothing path down her arms.
“Well, I cannot bear the thought of you being wounded by their vicious tongues.”
“And your solution is to keep me away from society?” she asked tartly.
He gave an evasive shrug. “For now.”
“Why?” She jerked away from the beguiling stroke of his hands, refusing to be distracted by his skillful touch. “Time will not make me more acceptable as the Countess of Ashcombe. No matter how many months or years pass, I will always be the daughter of a baseborn merchant who bullied a peer of the realm into an unwanted marriage.”
“Shh, my dear.”
He reached for her, but Talia stepped hurriedly backward, bumping into one of the long glass cases that filled the room.
“No, do not touch me,” she commanded. “I am furious with you.”
He grimaced, but with an obvious effort he forced himself to drop his hand and draw in a deep, steadying breath.
“I surmised as much,” he said, hesitating as he considered his words. “Although you are mistaken, my dear.”
“Mistaken about what?”
“Most important, you are mistaken if you dare to think that I am anything but absurdly happy that you are the current Countess of Ashcombe.”
She flinched at the low words, desperate to believe him even as she was terrified to endure yet another disappointment.
“I just overheard you admitting that you could not bear to have Silas Dobson step over your precious threshold,” she reminded him, her voice harsh. “How can you forget that I am his daughter?”
He muttered a curse, shoving impatient fingers through his hair.
“Dammit, Talia, he is not welcome in my home because of what he has done to you.”
“To me?”
“Why would you be surprised?” His brows snapped together at her bewilderment. “You are his only child. He should have cherished you as the precious treasure that you are, but instead he bullied you into entering society despite the obvious fact you were miserable among the foolish twits.”
The same thoughts had passed through Talia’s mind more than once, but Silas was her father and for all his selfishness she would always love him.
“He was doing what he thought best for me.”
“He did what was best for himself.”
“Gabriel,” she attempted to protest.
“No,” he said in unyielding tones. “I must say this and it will never be mentioned again.”
She hunched a shoulder. “If you insist.”
“Silas Dobson is consumed with a hunger to rise above his humble beginnings, which is an admirable enough trait until he realized he could not purchase his way in society. His only option was to barter his daughter for the title he longed to possess.”
His hand lifted as her lips parted to inform him that he had no need to point out her father’s faults. She was intimately acquainted with her father’s lust for social acceptance and his willingness to go to any lengths to satisfy them.
Heaving a sigh, she snapped her lips shut, and Gabriel continued.
“He gave no thought to you or your happiness when he chose Harry as your bridegroom, who anyone with the least amount of sense would have known would make you a terrible husband, or when he demanded that I take my brother’s place. He treated you as if you were his property, not his only family, and to my mind that i
s unforgivable.”
“I do not defend my father,” she softly argued, “but he cannot change who he is.”
Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “No, I suppose he cannot.”
“And he is the only family I have.”
“Yes, I know.” His expression softened. “And if I am to be completely honest, I owe him a debt of gratitude I can never repay.”
“Gratitude?”
His lips twisted into a humorless smile at her bewilderment.
“Did you never realize how often I glanced in your direction when we were in the same room?”
“Enough, Gabriel.” Her brows snapped together at his poor jest. “There is no need to pretend…”
“This is no pretense,” he interrupted. “I noticed you the first occasion you were introduced to society. How could I not? Unlike the other debutantes who were forever giggling and fluttering about like irritating butterflies in an effort to attract attention, you always sat apart.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing he would not play with her tortured heart.
“That is because I was unwelcome, as you very well know.”
“Not entirely.” He took a cautious step forward, although he was wise enough not to try and grab her. She was so fragile at the moment she thought she might shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest touch. “You are not the sort to be content with the role of a silly flirt who has no interest beyond dancing and the latest gossip.” He peered deep into her wide eyes. “You were as bored at those parties as I was.”
A tremor shook her as she recalled those brief moments of insight, when she had been certain she shared a bond with Gabriel, even if he would never realize their connection.
Could they have been more than mere figments of her imagination?
She shook her head. “If you truly did glance my way, you were excessively discreet,” she said dryly. “I would have wagered my father’s last quid you had never so much as noticed me, let alone recalled my name.”
“I did not wish to admit my interest, not even to myself,” he smoothly retorted.
“Why? Because I was the daughter of a mere merchant?”
“In part.” He wearily rubbed the back of his neck. “I am not proud of my snobbery, but I cannot deny that it played a role.”
Talia flinched, but she preferred his honesty to pretense. “And the other part?”
“I had made the decision that my wife would be chosen because of her suitability to assume the role of the Countess of Ashcombe and not because of my own wish to have her as my wife.” He held her startled gaze. “Indeed, I intended to ensure that I had no feelings for her whatsoever.”
She made a sound of disbelief. She had known that many members of nobility were satisfied with arranged marriages, but she had supposed that they must at least hope for a measure of affection.
Otherwise it was surely no more than a soulless business arrangement.
“You desired to be indifferent to your wife?”
“Utterly and completely.”
“But…” She struggled to follow any logic that would lead a man to a loveless marriage when he could surely have any woman he pleased. “Why?”
“It is difficult to explain,” he muttered, heaving a faint sigh as he studied Talia’s stubborn expression. He clearly did not have to read her mind to know that she was far from satisfied with his explanation. “You know that I was young when my father died and I inherited his title?”
“Yes,” she agreed slowly, searching his guarded expression as she wondered what the devil his father’s death had to do with their conversation. “I know that it was very difficult for you.”
“It was.” Pain darkened his eyes. “I had trained all my life to become an earl, but I was still overwhelmed by the sense of responsibility that I was forced to shoulder. Suddenly I had servants and tenants who were all depending upon me to take care of them.” He shuddered. “And then there was my family.”
“It is a wonder you did not bolt.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “Believe me, I considered the notion more than once,” he admitted. “Only the knowledge that my steward would find me and drag me back by the scruff of my neck kept me from packing my bags.”
Despite her determination to nurture the angry resentment burning in her heart, Talia found herself unable to ignore the glimpse of the vulnerable young man who must have been terrified by his father’s sudden death.
“Whatever your uncertainty, you have obviously accepted the need to fulfill your duties,” she said.
He smiled, as if genuinely pleased by her approval. “Over the years I have come to accept my position. I hope that my father would have been proud of what I have accomplished.”
She blinked. Good heavens. Surely he did not doubt his skills as an earl?
“Of course he would be proud,” she insisted, barely resisting the urge to reach out and brush back a lock of his tousled golden hair. “Your servants and tenants not only respect you, but they are clearly prospering beneath your care.”
“Our care,” he gently corrected. “They might respect my leadership, but they adore you. You have not only earned their loyalty in just a few weeks, but I have discovered that they truly would lay down their lives to protect you. They were plotting to invade France when they realized you had been taken by Jacques Gerard. It was only because I swore that I would return you safely to Carrick Park there was no mutiny.”
A pleased blush touched her cheeks. “I hope to do what I can to improve their lives and that of their children.”
He gently cupped her chin in his palm, tilting back her head to regard her with an oddly somber expression.
“Talia, you are destined to be the finest countess ever to grace the Ashcombe family.”
She became momentarily lost in the silver beauty of his eyes. But she was not going to allow herself to be charmed.
Silently chastising herself for being so susceptible to this man, she shook off his hand, her expression warning that she would not be diverted.
“You have yet to explain your wish for a wife you do not love.”
An obvious reluctance to finish the discussion tightened his jaw, but with a deep breath he forced himself to continue.
“As I said, I have come to accept my duties as an earl, but the responsibilities of becoming the head of the family have not been so easy to bear,” he confessed.
Talia sensed that she was touching an ancient wound that he was careful to keep hidden from others.
“Because of Harry’s habit of causing trouble?”
“Not entirely because of my brother,” he corrected her. “Even though Harry has been a constant source of concern, he was no more demanding than my mother.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “She had depended utterly upon my father, and after his death she expected me to devote myself to offering her comfort.”
“Ah.” Yet another dangerous surge of tenderness rushed through her heart. “And who offered you comfort?”
He flinched at her soft question, his eyes shimmering with a long-held pain.
“There was no one.” He clenched his hands as he slowly glanced around the room, no doubt remembering the days when his father sat behind the desk and admired his fine collection. “I had no opportunity to mourn.”
She bit her lip, blinking back sudden tears. “I am sorry.”
“So am I.” With a sad shake of his head, he returned his attention to Talia’s sympathetic expression. “I did not realize how much I resented the demands of my family, at least not consciously. But the mere thought of wedding a female who would make even more demands upon my emotions was frankly untenable.”
“Oh, Gabriel,” she breathed, beginning to comprehend his fear of emotion. He had, after all, been taught that love came with cumbersome duties and little reward. “Love should never be a burden.”
“So I am beginning to discover,” he conceded. Then without warning he tugged her into his arms.
“I was too much a coward to follow my instincts,” he interrupted her protest, holding her against his chest as he gazed down at her flushed face with sudden determination. “But once your father demanded that I become your bridegroom, I was swift enough to take advantage of the situation.”
She stilled, regarding him with a wary frown. “My father forced you to wed me.”
“Do you truly believe I could be forced to do anything against my will?” he drawled.
“What are you saying?”
His arms tightened around her, the heat of his hands searing through the sheer muslin of her gown.
“I agreed to your father’s demands because I wanted to agree.”
She sucked in a disbelieving breath, trying to pretend that her heart had not given a sudden leap of hope.
“You told me that you were marrying me to avoid a scandal.”
“That is what I told myself as well, but we both know that I possess the power and the resources to have destroyed your father had I genuinely been averse to taking you as my bride.” He peered deep into her eyes, willing her to believe him. “I married you because that was what I wanted. Even if I could not admit the truth, even to myself.”
“But…you were so cold and distant.”
“It was nothing more than a pretense.” His hands deliberately glided down her back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Once I had accepted that you were to be my wife I was nearly consumed with my desire for you.” She could feel the fine tremor that racked his body. “Damnation, the force of my need made me fall victim to my emotions which only reminded me of all the reasons I had avoided you to begin with. I knew I had to be rid of you.”
“That was why you sent me to the country?”
“Yes.” An aching regret filled his eyes. “It was my intention to leave after the wedding ceremony and not return until you were on your way to Carrick Park. But I could not stay away.” His voice was thick with an emotion that made her heart flutter and her breath elusive. “I ached to hold you in my arms.”
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