Talia threaded her fingers through his hair and attempted to bring a halt to his caresses before she became utterly lost in his exquisite seduction.
There was something Gabriel was attempting to hide from her. Something that was clearly causing him great distress.
“Gabriel,” she said when he ignored her tugs on his hair.
“Hmm?”
“What is troubling you?”
He traced the tip of her breast with his tongue. “At the moment, nothing.”
“But…” Talia bit off her words, grimly accepting the unpalatable truth that while Gabriel might be willing to share his passion, he obviously still found her an unworthy confidante. And why should he? He had, after all, made it quite clear that their marriage was nothing more than a necessary evil. She swallowed the stupid lump that was lodged in her throat. “Never mind.”
Lifting his head, Gabriel gazed down at her with a sudden frown.
“A typical female response that is intended to ensure that I do mind.”
She stiffened, offended by his unfair accusation. “I do not play such games. If you do not wish to share your thoughts, then so be it.”
A hint of color flared along his cheekbones, but braced for a scathing response, Talia was unprepared as Gabriel surged to his feet, roughly shoving his fingers through his hair.
“Have you considered the notion that I might wish to escape from my thoughts for a while?”
His voice was low, but she did not miss the edge of raw distress. Thrusting aside her ingrained modesty, Talia ignored the fact they were both stark naked and lifted herself off the wooden floor to stand directly before him.
Lightly she touched his arm. “Is it possible to escape from your thoughts?”
Without warning he wrapped his arms around her waist, hauling her against his body with a tormented urgency.
“It depends upon the distraction,” he rasped, his lips moving in a tender caress over her temple and down her cheek, until he reached the corner of her mouth. It was then that he realized she remained stiff in his arms, her hands pressed against his chest, not in denial but not in welcome. Yanking back his head, he regarded her with a simmering frustration. “Damnation. Why do I feel as if I am being managed?”
She tilted her chin. “I told you, I do not—”
“For a female who does not play games you are remarkably good at them,” he interrupted in sharp tones, then sensing how easily he had wounded her, he heaved a sigh and pressed his forehead to hers. “Forgive me, Talia. You are right, I am troubled.”
Talia carefully considered her words, unwilling to destroy this fragile moment.
“Do you fear that we will not be able to escape the French?” she at last inquired.
A brief flare of amusement shimmered in his eyes. “Are you attempting to be insulting?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. You may be assured I shall have you safely aboard my ship by nightfall,” he drawled.
“Then what is it?”
There was a tense silence as he fought against his in-bred instinct to deal with his troubles on his own. He had devoted a lifetime to shouldering responsibilities and protecting others. It would never be easy for him to share.
Wisely, Talia forced herself to wait, knowing he would only retreat if she pressed him.
Eventually he lifted his head, although he kept his arms wrapped around her, as if he needed the warmth of her body snuggled close.
“I discovered information concerning my brother that I have not yet managed to accept,” he confessed, his voice hoarse.
Her mouth went dry with horror. “Dear lord, he is not—”
“No,” he hastily interrupted, his expression impossible to read. “He enjoys the unjust health of most sinners, so far as I know.” His jaw clenched. “Indeed, I have learned he is currently residing in Calais.”