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—” She bit off her words, giving a resigned shake of her head. “What does it matter?”
“It does not.” He grasped her chin, peering deep into the eyes that held such remarkable innocence. “Even if I were idiotic enough to accept you are nothing more than a victim of your father’s machinations, it does not make the thought of having you as my bride any less unpalatable.”
He felt her quiver, her thick tangle of lashes lowering to hide the pain that flared through her eyes. Gabriel gritted his teeth against the sensation that was perilously close to regret tugging at his heart.
Dammit. He had nothing to regret.
“You have made your point, my lord,” she said. “Why are you here?”
“Obviously we must discuss our…” He struggled to force out the word. “Wedding.”
“Why?” She hunched a shoulder. “It is obvious that you and my father are capable of planning my future without bothering to consult me.”
His
