Rosemary Rogers - Bride For A Night

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 from her more aristocratic neighbors who had yet to issue an invitation to their exclusive gatherings.

She already considered him a dear friend.

“Vicar.”

Lifting his head, he slowly inspected her apple-green walking dress edged with silver lace along the scooped bodice. A matching ribbon encircled her waist. Her bonnet was a jaunty yellow that had been dyed to match her half boots that peeked from beneath the hem of her gown.

Until arriving in Devonshire she would never have chosen a dress in such a vivid color, and certainly she would never have dared to reveal so much of her full bosom.

But with the vicar’s gentle encouragement she had sought out the local dressmaker and ordered a complete new wardrobe. She had even started to wear her hair in a casual style that allowed several glossy strands to frame her face.

Now, the sight of the appreciation simmering in his eyes made each tedious hour spent being poked, prodded and measured worthwhile.

“I must say you are appearing particularly fine today,” he said, continuing to hold her fingers in a gentle grip. “That gown suits you.”

She shyly preened beneath the warmth of his gaze. “Do you think so?”

“I do. The shade brings out the emerald of your eyes.” A wicked smile tugged at his lips. “May I indulge my vanity and tell myself that I can take a small measure of credit for your lovely ensemble?”

She chuckled. “You can take full credit, sir.”

“Please, I really must insist that you call me Jack,” he interrupted, giving her fingers a squeeze. “We are friends, are we not?”

She paused, a warning that her husband would not be pleased to discover his new bride speaking so intimately with another man. Even so, she tilted her chin in an unconscious gesture of pride.

Gabriel had given up his right to dictate her behavior when he had driven her from London.

“Jack,” she breathed.

Satisfaction flared through his dark eyes. “Much better. Now, what were you saying?”

“I was admitting that I shall unfortunately never develop a talent for fashion. Which is why I am so thankful for your advice.”

“A foolish business.” He shrugged. “You have far more important talents.”

“You are very kind.”

“No, my dear, I speak with all sincerity,” he assured her. “Your presence at Carrick Park has enriched the entire neighborhood.”

“Jack…”

“Only this morning Mrs. Jordan was singing your praises for having so quickly acquired a suitable doctor.” He overrode her embarrassed protest. “And Mr. Stone is convinced you are an angel for the meals you have provided for his family. And, of course, your plans for the new school have the entire countryside twittering with excitement.”

With a laugh, Talia pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. Her entire life had been filled with criticism and the knowledge she was a disappointment to those who were supposed to love her.

She had no notion how to accept such admiration.

“Enough.”

He took a step closer, releasing her hand so he could cup her chin in his palm.

“I simply wish you to know that your servants and tenants consider you to be one of the finest Countesses of Ashcombe in memory.”

Genuine warmth filled her heart. The realization that she had the power to improve the lives of those who depended upon her had given a sense of purpose to her days. And more than that, it had offered a newfound confidence in herself.

Something she had never expected.

“It is pleasant to think that I am not an utter failure in my position.”

His brows snapped into a frown. “Failure? Why would you say such a thing?”

“How can I not? As you are well aware, I have yet to be welcomed by my more noble neighbors. They are obviously not so pleased by my presence.”

He studied her pale face. “Does that trouble you?”

She grimaced. “The thought of bringing shame to my husband’s family troubles me.”

Without warning Jack grasped her upper arms in a firm grip, his dark eyes blazing.

“Do not,” he growled.

“Vicar…Jack.”

“Forgive me, but I cannot allow you to talk such nonsense,” he barked, not sounding the least apologetic.

Talia regarded him with a measure of surprise, taken off guard by the sudden vehemence in his tone.

“It is not nonsense to be concerned for my position as the Countess of Ashcombe.”

“Surely your position means tending to those in need, which you have done with admirably, rather than wasting your time and resources on impressing those unworthy of your concern?”

Talia frowned, suddenly suspicious that Jack Gerard hid dark depths behind his smooth charm. But she soon shrugged aside her brief moment of disquiet.

What was the matter with her? Jack was a handsome, excessively pleasant gentleman whom she counted a friend.

“I am not so certain my husband would agree with you,” she said, returning her attention to their conversation.

“Then he is a fool.”

“Jack,” she gently chastised.

“My lady…Talia…” He paused, as if searching for the proper words. “I have only been here a short while, but the people tend to confide in me.”

She laughed. It was rare that the church was not filled with eager females seeking a word alone with the handsome vicar.

“Yes, you do have a skill for earning the trust of others, especially if they happen to be the fairer sex,” she teased.

His expression never eased. “Then you will believe me when I tell you that the locals had few kind words for the previous countess.”

Her breath caught at his blunt confession. The sensible part of her knew she should gently turn the conversation in another direction. It was hardly polite to gossip about her mother-in-law with the local vicar. But a larger part of her was consumed with curiosity about the woman who had yet to acknowledge Talia as a member of her family.

“Why?”

“She is like far too many in society.” His voice was edged with disgust. “She cares for nothing beyond her own comforts and her social standing. In less than a month you have managed to spend more time among the tenants than she has in the past thirty years. Certainly she has never taken the effort to learn their names or to discover their needs.” He grimaced. “To be honest, I doubt she is even aware of them as more than additions to the barnyard animals.”

Talia frowned. She had always thought the Countess of Ashcombe a conceited, overly proud woman when she had seen her in London, but it was disturbing to think she had no concern for the poor and vulnerable.

“I do not believe she could be entirely oblivious to those who depend upon her.”

“No?” Jack pointed across the distant fields that provided a perfect view of Carrick Park. The sight was magnificent as the last rays of sunlight brushed the windows in pinks and violets, and the water cascading in the marble fountains sparkled like jewels. “Last winter she insisted that old Lucas be forced from the cottage that had been in his family for two hundred years because it spoiled her view of the church.”