“No, it was not a mistake,” she assured him softly, her gaze absently straying over the dark silhouette of the Place d’Armes that had once been the center of Calais with its medieval watchtower and tidy square that was lined with shops. “I will never be a suitable Countess of Ashcombe.”
“You are wrong.” He hooked a finger beneath her chin and tugged her face back to meet his somber expression. “I love Gabriel, but there is no ignoring that over the past few years he has become…lost.”
“Lost?”
Rothwell carefully considered his words. “He was always conscious of his responsibilities as heir apparent, but with the unexpected death of his father at such a young age he has become increasingly isolated and inclined to distrust others.”
It was precisely what his housekeeper had revealed to her the day of her wedding to Gabriel. At the time she’d had no notion that it would be her husband’s hidden vulnerabilities that would be her undoing.
“He was alone,” she whispered.
“Precisely,” Rothwell agreed. “And I suspect that the typical society marriage would only have ensured his continued loneliness. He did not need the frigid perfection of a society maiden. He needed the warmth of a woman.” His fingers briefly squeezed her chin before he was pulling away. “Your warmth.”#p#分页标题#e#
His soft words touched the place deep inside her that feared she would never be more than a shameful burden Gabriel would have to bear for the sake of his family.
The thought she could offer her husband a gift that a flawless young debutant could not was a belief she desperately wished to cling to.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“I speak nothing but the truth.” His expression hardened. “Which is why I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger. I do not know what would become of Gabriel if he lost you.”
Realizing that she had been subtly outmaneuvered, Talia narrowed her gaze.
“You are very clever, Lord Rothwell,” she chided. “I pity the female you decide to wed. She will have to be on constant guard to avoid being manipulated by your charm.”
He arched a brow. “There will be no need for manipulation. I intend to make certain my bride is delighted to obey my every command.”
Talia snorted at the imperious certainty in his tone. How typical of a nobleman to speak of his mythical wife as if she were a well-trained hound rather than a flesh-and-blood woman with her own needs.
And how pathetic so many females allowed themselves to be treated in such a fashion.
Thankfully, she was no longer hampered by the expectations of society.
She would do whatever it might take to find and rescue Gabriel, but she would never again be his meek, subservient bride.
“Now I truly do pity her, but Gabriel was not so fortunate,” she informed her companion. “I intend to go with you and that is the end of the matter.”
With a shake of his head, Rothwell grasped her arm in a firm grip and tugged her toward the nearby street, his mouth thin with frustration.
“Stubborn female.”
It was becoming a familiar accusation, and Talia merely smiled as she was hauled through the darkness, content with her small victory. Eventually Lord Rothwell would decide that the danger was too great, and he would put down his foot. She was certain at that point no amount of pleading would alter his mind.
They remained silent as they traveled away from the city walls, traveling through increasingly elegant neighborhoods as they left the busy docks and coffee shops behind. The large nobleman walked with a purpose, as if he had a particular destination in mind that was not among the terraced townhouses with their red-tiled roofs and high arched windows that allowed light to spill onto the streets.
Talia followed in his wake, absently searching every shadowed alcove and alley as they hurried through the darkness. She did not expect to actually stumble over Gabriel. Their luck could not possibly be that good. But that did not keep her heart from leaping each time she caught sight of a large gentleman strolling down the street or stepping from a house.
They turned a corner, on the point of heading out of the neighborhood, when Talia came to a shocked halt, her hand reaching to grasp her companion’s arm. “Wait.”
Standing at her side, Lord Rothwell regarded her with an impatient scowl.
“What is it?”
She pointed toward a large house on the corner that was built of pale sandstone with a wide balcony on the second floor and a steeply pitched roof. There was a small garden that separated it from the surrounding homes and a narrow path that led to the mews behind the establishment.
“Jacques Gerard is here.”