“You still sent me away,” she reminded him.
“I had a futile hope that distance would lessen my hunger, but it only made it worse.” He shook his head in disgust. “I was miserable without you.”
He was miserable without her? She frowned. She could still recall his frigid expression as he had informed her she was to be sent away. And the weeks she had spent alone at Carrick Park, convinced that she was to be abandoned forever.
Did she dare to believe that he had been hiding his true feelings?
“I thought you hated me.”
“Never,” he rasped, lowering his head to press a tender kiss to her temple. “God, Talia, I was such an idiot.”
“Yes, you were.”
His chuckle was unsteady as he shifted his lips to brush a caress over her brow.
“Then it will please you to know that I was properly punished when I discovered you had been kidnapped.” He pulled back, his smile fading. “I knew I would never forgive myself if you were harmed.”
“You always feel it your duty to protect others,” she murmured.
He made a choked sound of disbelief. “Bloody hell, Talia, if it were only duty I felt, then I would have requested the king send soldiers to rescue you. I would never have traveled to France. And certainly I would never have allowed Hugo to put his life in danger.” His gaze seared over her face, lingering a long moment on her lips. “I already sensed you were claiming a place in my heart, and when you arrived in the cellars of Jacques’s palace to rescue me, I was certain I could never live without you.”
For a moment she thought she must have mistaken his words.
“Your heart?” she whispered.
“My heart.” He shifted to grasp her hand and lift it to the center of his chest. Talia gasped as she felt the thunderous pounding beneath her palm. “You were so astonishingly courageous and you cared enough to put yourself at risk to come for me when you could have escaped.”
She gazed helplessly into his handsome face. “I could not leave you behind.”
“No, you couldn’t.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, stroking her sensitive skin as his eyes warmed with an emotion she never dreamed possible. “And that is why I love you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE WORDS LEFT Gabriel’s lips before he could call them back, and for a heart-stopping moment he was uncertain which of them was more shocked.
Certainly he had known his feelings for Talia went deeper than lust. Or even the mild affection many gentlemen felt for their wives. Hell, the raw, overpowering need he possessed for this woman seemed beyond mere words.
But he had never consciously considered making such a revealing declaration.
Now that the words hung in the air, however, he had no desire to take them back.
Why should he?
He was not ashamed of his feelings for Talia. In truth, he would willingly shout them to the world.
His only concern was Talia’s stunned reaction.
Surely she should be a bit more pleased by his announcement?
Unless, of course, she did not return his feelings?
Had he destroyed any hope of her love…
No. He squashed the unbearable notion.
No matter how long it might take, or what he had to do, he would eventually win her heart.
She cleared her throat at last and managed to croak, “Did you just say you love me?”
He smoothed a hand up the curve of her spine, cupping her nape in a loose grip. He did not think she intended to bolt, but he was unwilling to take any risks.
“I did.”
Her expression remained wary, as if unable to accept the truth of his words.
“You no longer fear I might be a burden?”
“My feelings for you…” He faltered, unable to describe the emotions that filled his heart.
Dammit, he was not a bloody poet.
Talia allowed her hand to slide up his chest and gently placed it against his cheek as she regarded him with a pleading gaze.
“Please tell me.”
He sighed, unable to deny her soft plea. “I thought they would make me weak, but I have never felt stronger,” he admitted softly. “As if there is nothing I cannot accomplish with you at my side.”
Her mouth parted, then with a low cry she threw her arms around his neck and flashed a dazzling smile.
“Gabriel.”
He hauled her tightly against his body. He was not entirely certain what had prompted her sudden embrace. Or that smile that warmed him to the tips of his toes. And at the moment he did not care.
The sensation of her soft curves pressed against him was a delectable distraction, reminding him that it had been far too long since she had shared his bed.
“My beautiful wife,” he murmured, lowering his head to press a hungry kiss to her lips.
An urgent heat exploded through him as her lips softened and parted in welcome, allowing his tongue to dip into the sweet temptation of her mouth.
He felt her shiver, and he pressed a hand to the lower curve of her back, urging her against his aching arousal. He heard her breath catch and started planning the quickest route to his bedchamber without being interrupted by a servant. But Talia pressed her hands against his chest and arched away from his seeking lips.
“Wait,” she breathed.
He groaned in genuine pain, desperate to have her naked beneath him.
“I have missed you, my dear.”
“I still need to know why you did not want me to travel to London.”
He frowned, uncertain why she continued to nag upon his perfectly reasonable request that she remain in Devonshire.
“I have told you. I do not want you hurt.”
“But…”
He shifted his hand to press a finger against her lips. It was obvious that Talia was too preoccupied to be properly seduced. He had no choice but to confess his plot.
“Allow me to finish,” he commanded.
She arched a warning brow, but thankfully he felt the amused twitch of her lips beneath his finger.
“Very well, my lord.”
He absently outlined the full curve of her lower lip. “I cannot alter what happened in the past, but I can make certain that your future among society is considerably more pleasant.”
She stilled, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I do not doubt your ability to browbeat others into pretending they accept me, but to be honest, I would prefer their insults.”
He chuckled. There were moments when he forgot just how naïve she was.
“You underestimate my skills. There will be no need for browbeating.” He paused, realizing he was not being entirely truthful. “At least not from me.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Then who? Lord Rothwell?”
“His undoubted approval of you will certainly be of assistance, but your greatest weapon will be my mother.”
“Your mother?” she whispered. “Good lord.”
Gabriel did not blame her for her disbelief.
The dowager countess’s horror in having Talia as the next Countess of Ashcombe had been the source of avid interest throughout society. The older woman had rarely missed an opportunity to bemoan the cruel fate that had brought Silas Dobson into her life, without once admitting that any blame for that fate might lie at Harry’s feet.
And, of course, her dramatic exit from London on the day of the wedding had ensured that none were left in doubt of her disapproval.
Gabriel, however, understood his mother well enough to know that her flamboyant outrage had more to do with her pleasure at being the center of attention and less to do with her feelings for Talia.
“Whatever her numerous faults, my mother does happen to be the unquestionable ruler of the fashionable world,” he pointed out in tones that defied argument.
“Yes, but she detests me.”
He shrugged. “She does not know you.”
Talia hunched a defensive shoulder, her expression darkening with
unpleasant memories.
“That did not prevent her from fleeing London rather than attending our wedding.”
His hand moved, stroking down her throat in a comforting gesture. Dammit. This was precisely why he did not wish to have this discussion with her. He did not want her to suffer the painful reminiscences of her awkward years among society. Or their less than romantic wedding.
“You would not have denied her such a wondrous opportunity to earn the sympathy of her friends as she was driven from her home by the evil interloper who stole her son, her title and her position?” he teased.
Her eyes flashed with emerald fire. “I do not find this amusing.”
“You will become accustomed to my mother’s love for melodrama,” he promised, hoping that he spoke the truth. He had become resigned to his mother’s excessive emotions. He could only hope that Talia would learn to be likewise tolerant. “Especially when she is given the opportunity to play the role of the tragic heroine.”
She wavered, a hint of uncertainty softening her expression.
“You are saying that her anger was a pretense?”
“Who can say how much she believes and how much is a performance?” he admitted wryly. “I do know that she will soon grow weary of her self-imposed exile to Kent, and she will be eager for an excuse to return to London.” He bent down to steal a swift kiss, his body still hard with frustrated desire. “I intend to offer that excuse.”
Her hand curled around the nape of his neck, her fingers threading into his hair so she could gently tug his head back to meet her searching gaze.
“What are you plotting?”
“I intend for her to visit Carrick Park so she can come to know you.”
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip, unable to hide her flare of unease. “Are you certain that is a sound notion?”
“Of course I am. She will adore you, I promise.”
She grimaced. “You can promise all you like, but I do not believe she could ever come to adore the daughter of Silas Dobson.”
Gabriel chose his words carefully. He had made a promise to himself that he would never lie to Talia again. But neither would he allow her to fear that she would never be accepted by her husband’s family. His mother was…not a complicated woman.
She delighted in her excessive bouts of emotion, but they were as shallow as they were mercurial. Talia would never genuinely understand a woman who could change her feelings with the same ease she changed a gown.
For now it was enough to convince his tender young bride that she could win her mother-in-law’s approval.
“She will adore you because you are generous and kind and loyal,” he informed her.
She remained unimpressed. “You make me sound like a favorite hound.”
“Fine.” He peered deep into her eyes, smiling with all the love that filled his heart. “Then she will adore you because she will see that you are my heart, and that without you my life would be devoid of happiness.”
As hoped, Talia melted beneath his low words, her fingers moving down the line of his jaw in a gentle promise.
“She will realize all that?”
He bit back a groan. His body wanted to be finished comforting Talia with words. It urged him to prove his love and commitment to her happiness in a far more primitive means.
Thankfully he was intelligent enough to realize that tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her up the stairs to his bedchamber was going to have to wait. At least until Talia was satisfied he had no nefarious plot in trying to keep her away from London.
“Absolutely,” he managed to mutter.
“And then?”
With an effort he forced himself to concentrate on his scheme to smooth Talia’s return to the ton. It was, after all, rather brilliant.
“Then she will return to London with the astonishing pronouncement that she finds her daughter-in-law an absolutely delightful young woman whom she fully intends to sponsor during the upcoming season,” he said, a smile of satisfaction curling his lips. “The various hostesses will be vying for the opportunity to lure you to their gatherings.”
She frowned, considering his explanation for a long moment. “You make it seem very simple.”
He lifted his brows in amusement. “Talia, we have survived my brother’s treachery, your father’s brutish bullying and being captured by French spies. Everything else is simple.”
She shook her head. “None of them were nearly so lethal as the ton.”
“Trust me, we will have every one of those pompous idiots kneeling at your pretty feet before the season is over.”
There was another pause, and Gabriel smothered his sigh of impatience. How could he blame her for her lingering unease? Not only was he requesting that she rely on the assistance of a woman who had treated her with blatant disdain, but she had endured years of abuse by the members of the aristocracy.
“I do,” she unexpectedly announced.
“Talia?”
“I do trust you.”
He trembled as her whispered words settled in his heart. Damn, he had been so terrified that he would never regain her trust. Now he pressed his lips to the hollow beneath her ear, torn between relief and the aching need to hear the words she had yet to utter.
“And?” he prompted, his voice hoarse.
“And what?”
He pulled back to regard her with a chiding glance. “Is there nothing else you wish to tell me?”
“Hmm.” She pretended to consider his question. “Mrs. Donaldson insisted that I bring your favorite gooseberry jelly and several meat pies with me. She has taken a crazy notion into her head that your fancy London cook is attempting to starve you.”
He lowered his head to nip at her lower lip. “That is not what I desire to hear.”
“Then perhaps you wish me to tell you of Mr. Price’s mule…”
“You know exactly the words I long to hear, my dear,” he growled. “Do not torture me.”
His tone was teasing, but there was nothing amusing about the agonizing knot of uncertainty in the pit of his stomach. It did not matter how often he assured himself that Talia would never have gone to such efforts to rescue him in France if she did not care for him. Or how readily she responded to his touch.
He was as uncertain as a young lad, desperately longing for her affection even as he feared it might be withheld.
“Very well.” Framing his face in her hands, she met his gaze with a slow, breathtaking smile. “I love you, Gabriel. With all my heart.”
His heart slammed against his ribs. “You are certain?”
She lifted onto her tiptoes, lightly brushing a kiss over his mouth.
“I was fascinated by you from the moment I first caught sight of you across the ballroom,” she admitted. “You were so astonishingly handsome.”
Joy bubbled through him as he offered a smug smile. “Yes, well, I cannot argue.”
She snorted. “Of course, you were also aloof, and cold and so impossibly arrogant that I was relieved you never glanced in my direction. You were terrifying.”
“No, not terrifying,” he murmured. “It was the only means I knew to keep others at a distance.”
“Well, it was certainly effective,” she ruefully assured him. “I assumed that you were destined to be a mere fantasy I could only admire from a distance. And then you arrived in my private chambers demanding that we be wed.”
“Please.” With a groan he pressed his forehead against hers, dreading the memory of how he had injured her. “I cannot bear to speak of that day.”
Her fingers tenderly caressed his cheek. “I was hurt by your cutting manner, and even more by your insistence that I leave London. But in some ways the opportunity to be away from my father’s constant criticism, and even your intimidating presence, allowed me to discover a strength that I never dreamed that I possessed.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “You are the strongest, most courageous woman I have ever known.”
“And then Jacques k
idnapped me…”
“The bastard.”
She chuckled at his low growl. “And you charged to the rescue.”
He lifted his head with a wry grimace. “That was my intent, but in the end you had to rescue me. Twice.”
Her fingers trailed down his jaw, her eyes soft with devotion that warmed Gabriel to the tips of his toes.
“You risked your life for me, and I knew that even if you could never return my feelings, that I would love you for all eternity.”
The words seared through him with overwhelming force. Driven by a need to show his emotions in a far more tangible method, he scooped her off her feet. He moaned at the feel of her warm body cradled against his chest, her skirts spilling over his arm and her unruly curls tickling his chin.
He had barely managed to take a step toward the door, however, when she touched her fingers to his cheek to capture his attention.
“A moment.”
He tilted back his head to glance toward the heavens. “Lord, no.”
“I have one last question.”
“You are deliberately attempting to punish me,” he muttered.
“Why did you not just admit why you wished me to remain at Carrick Park?” she demanded. “You made me believe that you were embarrassed to have me as your wife.”
He heaved a sigh, lowering his head to stab her with an impatient glare.
“Because I had no notion you could be so foolish.”
Her lips flattened in warning. “Gabriel.”
“I did not wish you to believe I was troubled by what society thinks of you, because I am not,” he said in a tight voice. “So far as I am concerned, they can all rot in the deepest pits of hell. But I knew eventually you would want to return to London, and I wished to make certain they could no longer hurt you with their vile tongues. But I did it for you and your comfort. Never because I cared what they might say.”
“Oh.” Her fingers drifted to his lips. “I love you.”
“Thank God.” He cast her a pleading gaze. “Now can we please retire to our chambers?”
Her soft chuckle filled the air. “Whatever are you waiting for?”
Eight months later
THE BALLROOM on the top floor of the Ashcombe’s London townhouse was a long, ivory room with a parquet floor that had been polished until it glowed. There were a dozen gilded half columns that framed the numerous double doors leading into the attached rooms that had been set up for dinner as well as card rooms for those who preferred to avoid the crowded dance floor. And overhead there was a vaulted ceiling with three massive chandeliers that were reflected in the soaring mirrors at each end of the room.
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