Bride For A Night. Rosemary Rogers

situation.

      As if sensing his dangerous fury, Talia leaned backward, unwittingly pressing open the window behind her.

      “If you are considering a tragic leap to bring an end to this farce, I would suggest that you wait until the guests have taken their leave,” he mocked, folding his arms over his blue jacket that he had matched with an ivory waistcoat and buff breeches. He had intended to spend the day at Tattersall’s in the hopes of acquiring a new pair of bays to pull his carriage. A convenient means to avoid his mother’s hysterical ranting at his refusal to prevent Harry’s imminent wedding. When Dobson had so rudely intruded into his townhouse, he had not considered the necessity of changing into more formal attire. “This travesty of a wedding has caused quite enough gossip.”

      She blinked, shaking her head. Almost as if hoping that he was an unwelcome vision she could make disappear.

      “Lord Ashcombe, why are you here?”

      “I believe you are well aware what has brought me here.”

      Her brows drew together. “Is there word of your brother? Has there been an accident?”

      He narrowed his gaze, not at all amused by her pretense of bewilderment.

      “Please don’t play coy with me, Miss Dobson. I have already spoken with your father.” His lip curled in disdain. “A shockingly unpleasant experience, I confess.”

      Talia jerked to her feet, her hand pressed to her enticing bosom.

      “My father?”

      Gabriel clenched his hands at his sides. Could a woman deliberately drain her face of all color?

      “I will admit you play the role of wounded martyr quite convincingly,” he said in biting tones. “My jaded heart might be touched if I was not aware that you and your father are shameless charlatans who will use any tactic, no matter how vile, to acquire a place among society.”

      “I am aware you disapprove of your brother taking me as his wife.”

      His sharp burst of laughter echoed through the room. “Not nearly so much as I disapprove taking you as my own wife.”

      “I…” She swayed, and for a moment Gabriel thought she might sink into a predictable swoon. Then, with a visible effort, she sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Your wife?” She shook her head in denial. “Is this a jest?”

      “I do not jest about the next Countess of Ashcombe.”

      “Dear God.”

      “Prayers will not help you now, my dear.”

      “Please,” she said softly. “I do not understand.”

      Gabriel fiercely told himself he would not be swayed by a pair of wounded emerald eyes.

      Damnation. The woman was as great a fraud as her bastard of a father.

      Was she not?

      “Determined to act the innocent?” he rasped. “Very well. After an hour spent enduring your father’s crass insults and his boorish bullying it has become obvious I have been neatly cornered. I might have admired his cunning if I weren’t the poor sod being coerced into marrying a female who could only hope to force a man down the aisle.”

      Long moments passed, the silence broken by the tick of the ormolu clock on the mantel and the distant twitter of lingering guests.

      “This makes no sense,” Talia said at last. “I am to wed Harry.”

      “In his typical fashion, my brother considered nothing beyond his selfish need to indulge his every desire. And, when it came time to pay the piper, he disappeared, leaving me to take responsibility yet again.”

      “But…” She licked her dry lips. “Surely you must have some notion of where he has gone?”

      “I have several notions, but it no longer matters where he is hiding, does it?” He didn’t bother to disguise his bitterness.

      She wrung her hands, her face tight with unexpected desperation.

      “I suppose there is no means to disguise the fact he did not arrive at the church this morning, but if he could be found and compelled to return to London…”

      “You would wed him after he abandoned you at the altar?” he snapped, oddly annoyed by her insistence to have Harry as her bridegroom.

      Did the female have feelings for his wastrel of a brother?

      Or was this just another clever ruse?

      Neither explanation gave him pleasure.

      “It is what my father desires,” she muttered.

      “Perhaps he did before he had the means to capture an earl. Now I can assure you he has no intention of settling on a mere younger son.”

      She appeared to struggle to follow his harsh words, a pulse fluttering at the base of her throat like a tiny bird caught in a cage.

      Heat pierced through him at the thought of pressing his lips to that tender spot. Would she taste as sweet as she promised? Or was that yet another deception?

      Thankfully unaware of his treacherous longings, Talia regarded him with a furrowed brow.

      “I am aware that my father has acquired influence among some members of society, but how could he possibly force you to marry me?”

      “Sordid blackmail.”

      “Blackmail?”

      “He has threatened to sue my brother for breach of promise, ensuring that my family name would be kept on the front pages of every scandal rag in England for months, if not years.”

      She flinched at his harsh explanation, her ashen face suddenly flooded scarlet.

      “Oh.”

      “Yes, oh,” he said, sneering. “Your father is well aware I will pay any price, no matter how obscene, to protect my mother from becoming a public spectacle.”

      “I…” She gave a helpless lift of her hands. “I am sorry.”

      Barely aware he was moving, Gabriel prowled to stand directly before her, breathing deeply of her warm scent. Lilac, he noted absently, combined with an earthy perfume that was uniquely her own.

      “Are you?” he growled.

      “Yes.” She shivered beneath his brooding gaze. “I know it is difficult to believe, but I am just as appalled as you by this farce of a marriage.”

      “I do not find it difficult, Miss Dobson, I find it impossible,” he countered, assuring himself that his stab of ire was at her continued charade and not at her horror at the thought of marrying him. “I am all too familiar with women like you.”

      “Women like me?”

      “Vulgar females who are willing to use whatever tactics necessary to acquire a husband.” He deliberately lowered his gaze to take in the soft curves modestly hidden beneath her silver gown. Had she been bold enough to display her charming wares she might have had more success on the marriage mart. “Of course, their tactics are usually more—”

      “Attractive?” she said, an unexpected hint of bitterness shimmering in the emerald eyes.

      “Polished,” he corrected.

      “Forgive me for being a disappointment. It seems to be my lot in life,” she said, her voice so low he could barely catch the words. “But in my defense, I never desired a husband enough to polish my tactics.”

      He frowned. So, there was a hint of spirit beneath that mousey demeanor.

      “That would be a good deal more convincing if you had not offered my brother an embarrassing sum of money to take you as his bride, even knowing he had no desire to be tied to you.”

      “It was my father—”