the mere thought of Talia wed to his brother.
“Quite typical,” he agreed. “Which is why I should have foreseen the looming danger. I was a fool.”
Hugo breathed a low curse. “I will admit you were a fool, but only for allowing your guilt at Harry’s betrayal to trap you into a vile marriage.”
“Guilt?”
“Of course. Why else would you have wed the vulgar wench?”
Gabriel parted his lips to inform his friend that it hadn’t been guilt but rather sordid blackmail that had forced him into matrimony, but he swallowed the revealing words. It was not just embarrassment at having to admit he had been bested by Silas Dobson, but a disturbing suspicion that he was not being entirely honest with himself.
“My reasons do not concern you,” he snapped.
There was a pause before Hugo reluctantly turned the conversation.
“Have you managed to track down your brother?”
Gabriel shook his head. He had sent two of his most trusted footmen in search of Harry the moment he’d realized he was missing, but thus far they had been unable to discover anything more than the rumor his brother was seen heading toward Dover. “Not yet.”
“Bastard,” Hugo hissed.
“He cannot elude me forever.” Gabriel gave a sharp laugh. “Not that it truly matters now.”
“No, the damage has been done.” Hugo studied him for a long moment, seeming to consider his next words. “May I ask where you have stashed your blushing bride?”
Gabriel arched a brow. “Do you fear I’ve locked her in the wine cellar?”
“The rumor is that she has been whisked off to one of your estates, although I hold out hope that you had the good sense to drown her in the Thames.” Hugo’s lips twisted with a cruel humor. “Or at the very least had her transported to the colonies.”
Gabriel’s hand landed on the table with enough force to rattle his coffee cup and create a startled twitter of alarm that rippled through the room.
He ignored the disturbance, his gaze locked on his friend.
“This is my wife we are discussing.”
Hugo frowned, his jaw jutted to a stubborn angle. “Yes, a grasping, overly ambitious harpy who does not even have the decency to possess a hint of grace or beauty.”
Gabriel leaned forward, not giving a damn that his fury was entirely unreasonable.
“Not another word,” he warned.
Glancing toward Gabriel’s tightly clenched expression, Hugo jerkily settled back in his seat.
“Damn, Ashcombe,” he growled. “What is the matter with you?”
It was a question that Gabriel had no answer for, nor did he particularly care at the moment. His only thought was ensuring his friend understood that Talia now belonged to him.
“I will not have anyone insulting the Countess of Ashcombe,” he snarled. “Including you.”
“Even if she forced you into marriage?”
“Talia…” Gabriel faltered, not certain he was prepared to share his doubts. “What?”
“She claims she had no desire to wed either Harry or myself,” he at last confessed.
Hugo waved his hand dismissively. “Of course she would deny trading her soul for a title. What woman would confess such a truth?”
“I am not completely convinced of her guilt.”
His friend hissed, his eyes darkening with shock. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Gabriel narrowed his gaze. “Take care, Hugo.”
“If she had no desire to wed, then all she had to do was say no. The days of buying and selling women as if they are cattle are long past,” Hugo pressed. “She could not have been forced into marriage.”
It was precisely what Gabriel had told himself, but now he glared at Hugo, barely resisting the urge to punch his closest friend in the nose.
“Have you had the misfortune to meet Silas Dobson?”
Hugo grimaced. “A nasty bit of goods, but a damned shrewd businessman. I have invested in his latest shipping venture.”
“He is an uncouth brute who makes a habit of terrorizing those in his power.”
“That does not mean Miss Dobson…”
“Lady Ashcombe.”
Hugo’s jaw tightened at Gabriel’s interruption. “It does not necessarily follow that your wife is a victim. It is quite likely she was a willing conspirator with her father in plotting to claim the highest available title.”
Gabriel impatiently shook his head. He would soon enough determine the truth for himself.
“Her guilt or innocence no longer matters.”
Hugo’s frustration was replaced by a flare of sympathy. “True enough,” he murmured. “Harry made a deal with the devil and now you must pay.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Have you considered a career on the stage?”
“I…”
Hugo snapped his lips shut as a footman in the familiar blue-and-silver uniform of Ashcombe halted beside Gabriel and handed him a folded note.
“Pardon me, my lord,” he apologized. “This has just arrived from Devonshire. The messenger said it is urgent.”
“Thank you.” Expecting information on his brother, Gabriel was unprepared for his housekeeper’s plea for him to travel as fast as possible to Carrick Park. His blood ran cold as he shoved himself to his feet with enough violence to tumble his chair backward. “Damn. I must go.”
“Go?” Hugo swiftly lifted himself upright. “Go where?”
“Your ill wishes for my wife have come to pass,” he ground out, unfairly striking out at his friend as a fear he did not entirely understand clutched his heart.
Hugo flinched. “What the devil do you mean?”
“My wife has disappeared,” Gabriel turned on his heel, headed for the door. “You had best pray I find her.”
THE FRENCH CASTLE tucked in the countryside south of Paris retained much of its delicate charm despite the obvious ravages of war.
Built in a perfect square to frame the formal inner courtyard, the structure retained two towers from what Talia assumed to be a previous castle and vast wings that were constructed of a golden stone that shimmered in the sunlight. Along one wing a covered terrace was supported by a series of archways that
