Jacques snorted at Gabriel’s bravado. “You forget that I know Talia better than you, Ashcombe.”
The Frenchman was fortunate that Gabriel was bound to the column. Otherwise he would surely be dead.
Talia belonged to him.
And the fact that this man would dare to believe he could take her away was like a match being tossed onto a powder keg.
“You know nothing of my wife, you bastard.”
Jacques’s secretive smile was a deliberate reminder that Talia had turned to the Frenchman for much-needed comfort after her husband had discarded her.
“I know she felt compelled to ensure that a poor country vicar was not being harmed by a pair of ruffians despite the obvious danger to herself,” he smoothly pointed out. “And that she risked her own neck to rescue a husband who is utterly unworthy of her concern. She would never have left France if she feared you were in danger.”
A cold premonition stabbed through his heart. He knew Talia would never leave him in jeopardy. Hell, that was the reason he had not told her of his plans.
But even if she had discovered his absence before the ship had set sail, he could not believe his crew or his friend would have been so excessively stupid as to allow her to come in search of him.
“Whatever her preference, Hugo would have insisted that Talia return to England.”
“He could have insisted all he desired, but she would not have left you behind.”
The smug assurance in the Frenchman’s voice sliced through Gabriel, his vague sense of unease becoming a hard knot of dread.
“You have captured her.”
Jacques offered a mocking dip of his head. “Oui.”
Gabriel growled low in his throat, his fear for Talia a tangible force that threatened to choke him.
Bloody hell. He should never have left the yacht. Pride and his ever-present sense of duty might have demanded that he capture his brother and return him to England so he could face his punishment, but his heart had warned him to remain with Talia.#p#分页标题#e#
Unfortunately, he had forgotten how to listen to his heart the day he’d buried his father.
Now his wife was once again paying for his inability to be the husband she needed.
“Where is she?”
“Safely tucked in my private suite.” There was a taunting pause. “Where she belongs.”
Gabriel silently contemplated the pleasure of smashing the smug grin off Jacques Gerard’s too-handsome face. Or maybe he would wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck and squeeze the life from him.
Yes, that was precisely what he needed to soothe his gnawing frustration.
Instead he forced himself to thrust aside the maddening thought of his wife once again in this man’s clutches and attempted to concentrate on his limited options.
He could do nothing to help Talia until he managed to escape. Or better yet, to convince Jacques to release him.
“Even without our return to England, you cannot hope to return Harry to London as your spy,” he said with the unwavering confidence that he used when arguing a bill before the House of Lords.
It was amazing what could be accomplished with sheer audacity.
Jacques shrugged. “They have no reason to suspect your brother as anything more than a cad who left his bride at the altar and then disappeared with her dowry.” Jacques squared his shoulders, a disturbingly grim expression replacing his mocking smile. “Still, his current state of disgrace might impede his ability to move without restraint among society, which is why I intend to ensure that no door will be closed to him.”
“And how do you intend to accomplish such a feat?”
A prickling tension filled the vast library before Jacques met Gabriel’s searching gaze with a defiant tilt of his chin.
“I intend to make him the Earl of Ashcombe,” he said. “No one will dare snub him once he stands in your shoes.”
Gabriel tensed, disbelief slamming into him.
Holy hell, he was an idiot.
He had been prepared for Jacques to hold him hostage. And even for the predictable demands for money to ensure his release. It was what any nobleman could expect after being captured by the enemy.
But he had never truly considered he would be sacrificed so Harry could return to London as the Earl of Ashcombe.
Now he struggled to accept Jacques’s bloodthirsty plot.
“You intend to murder me?”
“War is a brutal affair. Sacrifices must be made.” Jacques glanced toward Hugo, who remained unconscious on the sofa. “A pity really. The two of you would have brought a fine ransom.”
Gabriel’s disbelief was forgotten as a flare of panic seared through him. It was one thing for his life to be threatened, it was quite another to watch in frustration as his friend lay helpless and unable to protect himself.