Bride for a Night(30)

With no choice she had attired herself in the new clothing, although, without a maid, she had chosen to pull her hair into a simple braid that hung down her back. She would not be trapped in her chambers because she was too proud to take the unwanted clothing.

The footsteps she had been expecting for hours at last echoed through the gallery, and, accepting she could not avoid the inevitable, she turned to watch as Jacques Gerard strolled toward her.

A grudging smile tugged at her lips as she caught sight of his elegant charcoal-gray jacket that had been tailored to perfectly fit his lean body. His white cravat was tied in the latest style, and his black pantaloons clung with loving care to his muscular legs.

The humble vicar had been replaced by a gentleman with the sort of natural arrogance that was usually reserved to those born into power. And not for the first time Talia wondered just who this man truly was.

He was far too well-educated for a simple peasant, and yet, his hatred for the aristocracy was unmistakable.

A man of mystery.

Coming to a halt directly in front of her, Jacques reached for her hand, lifting her fingers to his mouth for a lingering kiss even as his gaze stroked with warm appreciation over her slender form.

“Bonsoir, ma petite,” he murmured, his attention lingering on the scooped neckline trimmed with a pretty Brussels lace that lay like a promise against the full curve of her breasts. “I see that the modiste did not disappoint. You look magnificent. Of course, you would appear even more magnificent if only I could coax a smile to those stubborn lips.”

She blushed during his heated scrutiny, unaccustomed to such blatant admiration. But oddly, she did not shrink as was her custom beneath a male’s attention, nor did she find herself plagued by the urge to stammer in embarrassment.

Perhaps it was being away from the constant badgering of her father that had stiffened her backbone. Or her growing confidence since becoming the Countess of Ashcombe.#p#分页标题#e#

Or perhaps it was Jacques who had never mocked her as a foolish wallflower but instead had treated her with a dignity and respect that she had never before experienced. At least until he had proven to be a traitor and kidnapped her, she wryly acknowledged.

Whatever the cause, she squarely met his steady gaze with a tilt of her chin.

“You are a fine one to call me stubborn.” She brushed a hand down the exquisite material of her gown. “You know very well I would not have accepted your charity unless you had my own dress taken away.”

He gave her fingers a light squeeze before allowing them to drop. “The clothes are a gift, not charity, and as a Frenchman renowned for his exquisite sense of fashion I had no choice but to rid the world of your tattered rags.”

“Hardly a rag.”

He waved aside her protest, his dark eyes shimmering with a wicked amusement that could tempt a saint.

“Besides, you are my guest. It is my duty, as well as my pleasure, to ensure you are provided with all the comforts you might desire.”

“I am your prisoner, not your guest.”

“Prisoner?” He lifted his brows in a pretense of innocence. “There are no bars on the windows and no shackles holding you against your will.”

“It is beneath you to pretend that I am here of my own free will,” she chastised.

“Come, ma petite,” he coaxed, skimming a finger down her cheek. “It has not been such a terrible adventure, has it?”

She jerked from his touch, her eyes narrowing at his patronizing tone.

“I have been bullied and coerced and manipulated by others my entire life, Monsieur Gerard,” she said between clenched teeth. “I had foolishly hoped I might have found a place where I could control my own destiny, as well as friends who appreciated my independence, when I arrived at Carrick Park.”

A brief flash of regret shot through his eyes before he cupped her chin in his hand and regarded her with a resolute expression.

“Oui, it was a foolish hope. You were never destined to enjoy your independence for long.”

She frowned. “There is no need to mock me.”

“Talia, use that considerable intelligence of yours,” he commanded.

“What do you mean?”

“You could not have remained alone at Carrick Park.”

“I do not comprehend why not,” she protested. “It seemed a satisfactory arrangement.”

His lips twisted. “For you perhaps, but I can assure you that your husband would soon have been joining you in Devonshire. Or demanding that you return to London.”

She stiffened at the mention of Gabriel. She had done her best not to think of her husband since those first hours after her kidnapping when she had ridiculously held on to a hope that he would come charging to her rescue. As if he would bother himself to chase after his unwanted wife even if he had known she was taken hostage. She was such a fool.