Standing in the shadows as he waited for Armand’s return, Gabriel briefly allowed his thoughts to stray to Talia.
By now she should be well on her way to England. Had she realized yet he was not aboard the yacht? And if she had, was she anxious at his absence? Or was she secretly pleased to be rid of her bully of a husband?
The thought made him frown, even as he told himself he was being an idiot.
Had Talia not risked her own life to rescue him from Jacques Gerard’s cellars? And had she not responded with a ready urgency to his touch?
She might not have forgiven or forgotten the less than favorable beginning of their marriage, but she had obviously accepted him as her husband.
What more did he desire?
Dismissing the odd ache in the center of his heart, Gabriel returned his attention to his dark surroundings. He would deal with his wife when he returned to England, for tonight he had enough to occupy his mind.#p#分页标题#e#
Prepared when the French lad abruptly darted from a nearby alley, Gabriel stepped from the shadows.
“You have found him?”
The boy gave a sharp nod. “Follow me.”
Gabriel grasped Armand’s arm before he could dart away, his expression grim with warning.
“Take care, Armand. I am not a pigeon ripe for plucking.”
“Non, monsieur.” The boy’s expression of innocence was obviously rehearsed, but there was no mistaking the hint of genuine alarm in his brown eyes. “You have my word of honor.”
Releasing his grip, Gabriel gave a nod of his head. “Then let us be on our way.”
Armand led him past the old church where King Richard II had wed Isabelle of Valois and beyond the spacious steeply roofed Hotel Dessein with its elegant facade that catered to the more respectable visitors.
The farther from the center of town they traveled the narrower the streets and the shabbier the buildings until at last Armand slowed his rapid pace and Gabriel caught sight of the English-style building with hexagonal turrets and an inner courtyard where a number of drunken coxcombs mingled among the brightly lit gaming tables. Beyond the courtyard the open doors revealed a gaudily decorated salon. A number of females were temptingly posed to entice the gentlemen who had grown tired of the cards and dice and preferred a more intimate entertainment.
Cautiously, Gabriel inched toward the opening to the courtyard. He remained hidden in the shadows as Armand pointed toward the familiar young gentleman with tousled brown hair and pale eyes that were already glazed by drink.
Harry.
“Voilà,” Armand breathed, a cocky smile curving his lips.
Gabriel briefly studied his brother who was elegantly attired in a gold jacket and a black waistcoat embroidered with golden thread, his blood running cold at Harry’s nonchalant comfort among the French dandies.
Did he have no shame whatsoever?
Bridling his urge to rush into the courtyard and drag his brother from the bordel, he instead forced himself to turn toward the lad at his side.
“Is there another entrance?”
“This way.”
With a familiarity that made Gabriel wonder how much time Armand spent with the local whores, the boy led him along the stone wall that surrounded the property, pausing at a narrow wooden door.
Waiting for Gabriel’s nod, Armand pushed open the door and led him into a private garden with a perfect view of the courtyard.
“Will this do?” he asked.
“It will do very well.” Gabriel pulled out a fistful of coins and pressed them into the boy’s hand. “It is late, return to your home, Armand.”
“Merci, monsieur,” Armand breathed, his expression stunned at the small fortune. “Merci.”
“Straight home,” he commanded, shaking his head as the boy offered a cheeky grin and dashed through the door.
Accepting that there was nothing he could do for Armand, he turned to study his brother through the trellis.
He had managed to track down Harry, but now what? No matter what his fury, he was not stupid enough to create a scene when there were a few thousand French soldiers camped just outside the walls of the city.
Then again, he had no desire to stand in a damp garden for the entire night, waiting for his brother to grow weary of his entertainments and return to his lodgings.
Brooding on a possible means to lure his brother from the newly introduced La Roulette, Gabriel was slow to react when a slender form appeared from the stone steps behind him.
“Ah, bonjour,” a husky female voice murmured.
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Gabriel reached beneath his jacket for his loaded pistol, and smoothly turned to confront the vixen behind him. Her curls were the color of summer wheat tumbling over her shoulders left bare by a sheer robe. Her features were delicately drawn and her hazel eyes charming, if one ignored the calculating manner they slid over the strange man standing in her garden. With one glance Gabriel was confident that she knew the precise worth of his wine jacket and ivory waistcoat that had been perfectly sculpted to his body and the small fortune needed to purchase the ruby sparkling in the folds of his cravat.