“My sentiments exactly.”
Hugo scowled at Gabriel’s dry retort. “I suppose I need not ask how this particular disaster occurred,” he rasped. “Only Harry could force you into such an untenable situation.”
Gabriel shrugged. Hugo had never bothered to hide his disgust for Harry and his reckless extravagances.
“He certainly can take a share of the blame,” he admitted.
“A share?” Hugo shook his head. “It is common knowledge that Harry jilted Miss Dobson after disappearing with her dowry. Typical of him.”
Gabriel ignored the stab of possessive outrage at 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.”