Read an Excerpt

Gabriel's Bride

1815

A torrential summer rain poured from the sky, drenching to the skin those dauntless souls who ventured outside, and turning the already rutted, stinking streets into a sea of mud. But inside the taproom of Black Jack's Inn, the air fairly seethed with the pulse of life and raucous, masculine laughter.

Although it was only a few blocks from the Waterfront, Black Jack's was one of the better establishments of the city. It boasted excellent food, clean sheets, and respectable service, all at a fair price.

On this particular wet, dreary night, the table in the far comer was occupied by two well-dressed men, one with hair as dark as the midnight hour, the other slender and chestnut-haired. After weeks at sea, they'd decided to forego the ship's cramped quarters for the pleasures of a warm, comfortable mattress.

"To a safe trip back to England-and to the earl of Wakefield and his future bride!"

The laughter-filled voice belonged to one Sir Christopher Marley. Lord Gabriel Sinclair, however, was not so eager to join the toast. And little wonder, for his impending nuptials were hardly to his liking ...

They were most certainly not of his doing.

He stared into his glass as if it held the secrets of the world. These last weeks had blurred into a dream-sweet heaven, a nightmare.

Stuart was dead, a casualty of the battle of New Orleans.

Stuart. An unseen hand seemed to close about his heart and squeeze. In truth, his brother's death was something Gabriel had never once considered. He and Stuart had never been truly close, and the years had foundthem drifting further and further apart. Gabriel had left Farleigh the day of his mother's funeral, and he'd not been back. In truth, he had turned his back on his father and set about building a successful shipping business of his own. And in so doing, Gabriel had turned his back on all that he was.

Bitter remembrance seared his heart. Needless, his father had not sought him out, even when he'd left to march with the English forces against Napoleon. No, not once in nearly five years had his father deigned to call upon him. Indeed, it was as if he never existed ...

But all that had changed with Stuart's death.

It was inevitable, perhaps ... Gabriel's mind slid back in time, back to his last meeting in his father's London study when he'd learned his brother was dead.

His father had not changed. He was as arrogant, as imperious ... as cold as ever.

"You are now the earl of Wakefield, the next duke of Farleigh,"his father said in that frigid, formal tone Gabriel remembered so well-and hated so intensely. "'Tis your duty to marry, to give me a grandson so that our family name does not die out."

Duty. God, but the word was suddenly vile. In truth, Gabriel had known precious little of duty, for that was the role for which Stuart had been groomed.

He forced himself to relax, then smiled lazily. "Oh, I've many uses for women, Father, both in the bedroom and without." He paused, taking a perverse delight at his father's expression, visible proof of his displeasure. He gave a short laugh and continued. "Fortunately, none of them have ever included marriage."

Brows the color of iron drew together over Edmund Sinclair's eyes. His hair, still well in abundance, was streaked with the same iron-gray. Gabriel did not flinch from such piercing regard, the way he had done so often as a child. "Ah, yes, so it would seem." The duke's tone was icily distant. "I've been kept apprised of your ... activities. It seems you've had many a mistress yet never a wife."

Gabriel's smile vanished. The man had dared to spy upon him! He glared at his father, only barely able to conceal his temper.

"With a title comes responsibility, Gabriel, as well as respectability. In light of your ... behavior, I believe the first step should be to remedy the situation. You must take a wife. Now. From your own lips, you've indicated no preference. I,therefore, propose a solution. Since Stuart can no longer wed Lady Evelyn, it seems only logical that you take his place."

Gabriel had known, of course, of Stuart's betrothal to Lady Evelyn, only child of the duke of Warrenton, whose estate bordered Farleigh in Kent.

"Indeed," his father had gone on,"I see no reason why the wedding should not take place as planned."

For an instant, Gabriel had been too stunned to reply. It was only later that he realized he should have expected such haughty presumption-after all, this was his father with whom he was dealing.

The urge to walk away was almost overpowering. Lord, he'd been tempted to do exactly that, to shirk his so-called duty and to hell with his father. Yet something stopped him ...

Gabriel was many things, but never a fool. Farleigh was a grand estate, and a future dukedom was a powerful lure indeed ...

Perhaps, he decided grimly, this was fate's way of seeking to erase those miserable years of his youth.

"Well?" Oh, but his father's note of impatience was far too familiar. "Have you nothing to say, Gabriel? If so, then I must assume you have no objection to wedding Lady Evelyn."

Gabriel clenched his fists at his sides. "Father," he said evenly, "the years have not changed you. You possess no will but your own. You acknowledge no will but your own. Would it truly matter to you if I harbored some objection?" Even as he spoke, his mind was otherwise encumbered. He needed time to consider, time to decide one way or the other ...

One thing stood out high in his mind. If he chose to wed Lady Evelyn, it would be done not to please his father,