Read Online Bride for a Night by Rosemary Rogers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rosemary Rogers
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future had mysteriously eased.
Perhaps it was her first sight of the grand manor house.
Constructed near the limestone cliff overlooking the English Channel, the house had once been a monastery of pale brown stone. The newer additions blended nicely with the original structure with rows of Elizabethan windows and slanted roofs. Ivy climbed along the front bays, softening the angular lines and allowing the structure to meld with the untamed parkland that surrounded the estate. The same ivy could be found on the rambling stables and outbuildings that were spread beyond the gardens.
It was not as large or as tidily manicured as some country estates, but Talia found herself immediately drawn to the rugged, natural beauty.
It felt like…home.
Far more so than her father’s gaudy house in Sloane Square. Or Gabriel’s frigidly elegant townhouse.
But, more likely it was the unexpected realization that so far away from the incessant criticism of her father and the smoldering fury of her husband, she could breathe freely. She was finally given the opportunity to make decisions for herself, which filled her with a strength she never dreamed possible.
Over the past month she’d slowly managed to earn the trust of the wary servants and tenants who had clearly been leery of meeting the latest Countess of Ashcombe.
They did not care that she was the daughter of Silas Dobson or that her ancestors could not be traced back to the Garden of Eden. For them, all that mattered was her genuine interest in their lives and her willingness to do what was within her power to ease their troubles.
Passing by the small redbrick church with a slate roof and an enclosed porch that framed the entrance, Talia came to a halt at the sight of a slender, dark-haired gentleman. He stepped through the high hedge that separated the church from the vicarage.
A smile curved her lips. Vicar Jack Gerard did not resemble any man of God that Talia had ever met.
He was very young, not more than a few years older than Talia, and so exquisitely handsome that there was little wonder the pews were overflowing on Sunday morning. What woman could resist the perfect male features and velvet brown eyes that held a hint of devilish humor? And while he was careful to wear simple black coats and breeches with a modestly tied cravat, he possessed such an innate sense of style and grace that he made even the finest noblemen appear more like preening peacocks than gentlemen of fashion.
Of course, he would not cast Gabriel in the shade, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind. For all his faults, her breathtakingly handsome husband possessed a dominating presence that commanded attention no matter where he might be.
It was a voice that Talia was swift to dismiss.
Gabriel clearly desired to pretend she did not exist. For her own peace of mind it would be wise for her to do the same.
Grimly turning her thoughts away from Gabriel, Talia studiously concentrated on the approaching vicar. Which allowed her to catch sight of his subtle change of expression when he realized he was not alone.
Was that…dismay?
There seemed no other word to describe his response.
But his momentary reaction was swiftly hidden behind a brilliant smile of welcome, and Talia assured herself that it was nothing more than a trick of the growing dusk.
As if to prove her point, the vicar took her hand and lifted her fingers to his lips, his kiss lingering just a hint too long.
“Good evening, my lady,” he murmured, his low voice edged by an elusive accent.
It was rumored that his parents had fled the French revolution to settle in England, although Talia was painfully aware that gossip rarely held any truth. And so far as Talia was concerned his past did not matter.
From their first meeting he had treated her with a beguiling charm that she had greedily encouraged, allowing his flirtations to ease the wounds of Gabriel’s sharp rejection.
Not to mention the icy lack of welcome
Perhaps it was her first sight of the grand manor house.
Constructed near the limestone cliff overlooking the English Channel, the house had once been a monastery of pale brown stone. The newer additions blended nicely with the original structure with rows of Elizabethan windows and slanted roofs. Ivy climbed along the front bays, softening the angular lines and allowing the structure to meld with the untamed parkland that surrounded the estate. The same ivy could be found on the rambling stables and outbuildings that were spread beyond the gardens.
It was not as large or as tidily manicured as some country estates, but Talia found herself immediately drawn to the rugged, natural beauty.
It felt like…home.
Far more so than her father’s gaudy house in Sloane Square. Or Gabriel’s frigidly elegant townhouse.
But, more likely it was the unexpected realization that so far away from the incessant criticism of her father and the smoldering fury of her husband, she could breathe freely. She was finally given the opportunity to make decisions for herself, which filled her with a strength she never dreamed possible.
Over the past month she’d slowly managed to earn the trust of the wary servants and tenants who had clearly been leery of meeting the latest Countess of Ashcombe.
They did not care that she was the daughter of Silas Dobson or that her ancestors could not be traced back to the Garden of Eden. For them, all that mattered was her genuine interest in their lives and her willingness to do what was within her power to ease their troubles.
Passing by the small redbrick church with a slate roof and an enclosed porch that framed the entrance, Talia came to a halt at the sight of a slender, dark-haired gentleman. He stepped through the high hedge that separated the church from the vicarage.
A smile curved her lips. Vicar Jack Gerard did not resemble any man of God that Talia had ever met.
He was very young, not more than a few years older than Talia, and so exquisitely handsome that there was little wonder the pews were overflowing on Sunday morning. What woman could resist the perfect male features and velvet brown eyes that held a hint of devilish humor? And while he was careful to wear simple black coats and breeches with a modestly tied cravat, he possessed such an innate sense of style and grace that he made even the finest noblemen appear more like preening peacocks than gentlemen of fashion.
Of course, he would not cast Gabriel in the shade, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind. For all his faults, her breathtakingly handsome husband possessed a dominating presence that commanded attention no matter where he might be.
It was a voice that Talia was swift to dismiss.
Gabriel clearly desired to pretend she did not exist. For her own peace of mind it would be wise for her to do the same.
Grimly turning her thoughts away from Gabriel, Talia studiously concentrated on the approaching vicar. Which allowed her to catch sight of his subtle change of expression when he realized he was not alone.
Was that…dismay?
There seemed no other word to describe his response.
But his momentary reaction was swiftly hidden behind a brilliant smile of welcome, and Talia assured herself that it was nothing more than a trick of the growing dusk.
As if to prove her point, the vicar took her hand and lifted her fingers to his lips, his kiss lingering just a hint too long.
“Good evening, my lady,” he murmured, his low voice edged by an elusive accent.
It was rumored that his parents had fled the French revolution to settle in England, although Talia was painfully aware that gossip rarely held any truth. And so far as Talia was concerned his past did not matter.
From their first meeting he had treated her with a beguiling charm that she had greedily encouraged, allowing his flirtations to ease the wounds of Gabriel’s sharp rejection.
Not to mention the icy lack of welcome
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