He chuckled at her stubbornness, obviously aware that she was far from indifferent to his touch.
“There are husbands who would beat you into submission,” he said, his mouth finding a vulnerable spot just below her ear.
She quivered, swallowing her moan of pleasure. “I am not helpless.”
“So you have proven.” His lips feathered against her skin, sending another rash of pleasure through her. “And in truth, only the weak and lazy must resort to violence to earn the cooperation of a beautiful woman.” His hands cupped the curve of her buttocks, pressing her against the thrust of his arousal. “There are far more pleasant means to tame her.”
She forced her hands against his chest, perturbed by the aching need that pulsed deep inside her.
“No.”
He pulled back to regard her with a brooding intensity. “Frightened I might speak the truth?”
Yes. She was terrified.
After years of her father’s bullying, followed by Gabriel’s brutal humiliation, Talia had at last settled into a comfortable existence. It was unnerving to think that he had only to kiss her to have her toss aside all she had gained over the past weeks just to fulfill a physical desire.
“This is hardly the time or place for such nonsense,” she said huskily.
Gabriel lifted his head with obvious reluctance, his eyes dark with frustration.
“Soon, my dear,” he said, his voice a low warning. “Very soon.”
THE NEXT FEW HOURS proved to be distinctly unpleasant for Gabriel.
It was bad enough to be forced to clear a path through the thick underbrush while he was fully aroused and aching with unfulfilled need. Hell, each step was a misery, making him wonder why he had been stupid enough to take her in his arms.
But it was the biting fear that they might stumble into even worse danger as they haphazardly fled from Jacques Gerard that haunted his every move.
He needed to find shelter where they could rest and wait for daylight. Once he could determine their exact position, he was confident he could lead them to his waiting yacht with little difficulty.
Of course, finding a shelter in the middle of enemy territory was easier said than done.
It was nearing dawn when they at last stepped from the trees, and he caught sight of a farmhouse set near a wide stream.
Even from a distance he could determine that the house had been recently burned, leaving little more than a charred shell of bricks. Thankfully, a large barn across the stable yard appeared to be reasonably intact.
Coming to a halt, he placed his hands lightly on Talia’s shoulders, his heart lurching as the brush of pink sunlight revealed the weariness that shadowed her eyes and slumped her shoulders. Her hair had long since become a mass of tangled curls, while her dress was ruined beyond repair.
She was on the edge of utter collapse, but not once had she complained or demanded that he carry her through the rough countryside. Of course, he could hardly be surprised. This was the same woman who had leaped from her window and attacked a hulking French soldier to rescue him from the cellars.
He knew of no other woman who possessed her unflinching bravery. Certainly no ladies of society.
He shuddered at the mere thought of his mother or any other female he had known over the years being in Talia’s situation. Gods, there would have been nothing but shrieking and swooning and hysterical demands that he somehow whisk them magically back to the comforts of their home.
A wry smile twisted his lips at the pride that surged through him. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.
Mere weeks ago he had condemned her for not being worthy to become his bride. And now he had to accept that she was far superior to any oth
er female who had the blood of nobility running through her veins.
A female of genuine worth, not just shallow polish.
“Wait here,” he commanded in soft tones.
She frowned. “Where are you going?”
He nodded toward the farmhouse. “You can barely keep yourself upright. We must find a place to rest.”