Chapter 9 #2
She stopped directly in front of his chair, blazing with righteous indignation.
“I may be merely a secretary, Lord Trenwith, but I am not a fool. I understand the complexities of diplomatic work, the need for discretion and secrecy. But I am also a human being, with rights and desires of my own. Rights that you have trampled upon without a moment’s consideration. ”
He set down his wine glass and looked up at her, his expression unreadable. “Are you quite finished, Miss Bigsby?”
“No, I am not finished!” Henri snapped, resuming her agitated pacing.
“I am far from finished. You have turned my entire world upside down, and I deserve better than cryptic hints and requests for patience. I deserve the truth, the whole truth, about why my life has been sacrificed to your political necessities.”
She whirled to face him again, her chest heaving with the force of her emotions. “And I deserve the courtesy of being treated as an intelligent adult capable of understanding complex situations, rather than a child to be managed with pretty lies and false promises.”
Lord Trenwith rose slowly from his chair, his movement deliberate and controlled. When he spoke, it was quiet but carried an undertone of steel that made Henri take an involuntary step backward.
“You are quite right, Miss Bigsby,” he said. “You deserve a great deal more than you have received. But unfortunately, what we deserve and what circumstances permit are rarely the same thing.”
Henri stared at him, surprised by his calm acknowledgment of her grievances. She had expected argument, justification, perhaps even anger in return. Instead, she found herself facing a man who was as trapped as she was herself.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths and impossible choices. Henri’s anger began to ebb again, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that matched the exhaustion she saw in the viscount’s eyes.
“How long?” she asked quietly. “How long must this continue?”
“I cannot say,” he replied with obvious regret. “But I give you my word that it will end as soon as it is possible. And when it does, I will do everything in my power to make amends for what you have suffered.”
Henri sank back into her chair, suddenly feeling every hour of the past few days weighing upon her shoulders. She was trapped in a situation beyond her control, dependent upon the word of a man whose motives she could only partially understand.
But at least now she had some glimpse of the larger forces at work. If the viscount truly was negotiating for the freedom of imprisoned Englishmen, if lives truly hung in the balance, then perhaps her sacrifice served some greater purpose.
However, she was finally getting the chance to vent her ire, and he would damn well listen until she was done.
Gabriel remained seated as Miss Bigsby jumped to her feet once more and resumed her impassioned tirade, watching her pace the small dining room with the sort of focused attention he usually reserved for diplomatic negotiations.
But this was no ordinary negotiation, and Miss Bigsby was certainly no ordinary opponent.
She moved with such grace even in her anger, her hands gesticulating expressively as she cataloged his transgressions with devastating precision.
The firelight caught the honey-brown highlights in her hair, and her cheeks were flushed with the force of her emotions.
Gabriel found himself thinking that he had never seen her look more beautiful than she did in this moment, blazing with righteous indignation.
As he watched her animated figure, Gabriel’s mind drifted to considerations of the past few years.
His life had felt adrift since unexpectedly inheriting his title and consequently losing his more immersive place in the military, disconnected from any sense of real purpose beyond his diplomatic duties.
The endless negotiations, the careful balancing of competing interests, the isolation that came with his clandestine work—it had all begun to feel hollow, meaningless.
But sitting here, watching the young lady’s passionate defense of her rights and dignity, Gabriel found himself thinking that marrying her might not be such a terrible thing after all, despite his aversion to allowing someone so close to him.
Perhaps he could make some changes to his life.
Perhaps he could inform the Crown that he was no longer available for these covert assignments.
Perhaps he could take Miss Bigsby to his country seat at Trenwith Abbey and properly assume his duties as a viscount with an accomplished bride at his side who could help him properly represent the people who relied on the title there.
The prospect sounded oddly pleasant. More than pleasant, if he was being honest with himself. The only obstacle to such an appealing future was that Miss Bigsby would have to agree to wed him.
Her tirade rose to a crescendo as she delivered her final accusations, then she stopped directly next to his chair, breathing hard from the exertion of her speech.
“What do you have to say to that, Lord Trenwith?” she demanded, her chin lifted in challenge.
Gabriel considered her for a long moment, taking in the determined set of her jaw, the way she held herself with such dignity despite everything she had endured. Then he slowly rose to his feet, gazing down into her face with a renewal of interest that he made no attempt to hide.
“Gabriel,” he said quietly.
“What?” Miss Bigsby blinked, clearly not expecting such a response.
“If we are to wed, you should call me by my given name. Gabriel.”
She shook her head firmly. “We are not to wed, Lord Trenwith.”
“Gabriel,” he repeated with gentle insistence.
She firmed her jaw, delivering her words with great deliberation. “We are not to wed, Lord Trenwith.”
Gabriel smiled then. He was beginning to understand something important about Miss Henrietta Bigsby. She was not a woman who could be bullied or cajoled into submission. She would have to be persuaded, and persuasion was something Gabriel had considerable experience with.
A woman like her, possessing such courage and passion, such a sense of adventure … It must take an iron will to keep the fires of desire banked. A spinster, on the shelf—what would happen if those fires were lit?
Gabriel felt his loins begin to thrum in approval as he considered how he could convince her to accept his offer of marriage. And how much he would enjoy that act of persuasion. This was the one occasion in which his personal wishes and his duty deliciously coincided.
“I find I like the challenge, Miss Bigsby,” Gabriel said, his tone carrying a warmth that had been absent during their earlier conversations. “You have always had a knack for engaging my senses, for making me feel more alive and connected with the world.”
She stared at him, clearly taken aback by this unexpected turn in their conversation. “Lord Trenwith, I hardly think—”
“Gabriel,” he corrected gently, then gestured toward the door. “But perhaps we should continue this discussion another time. You have had a long day, and I suspect you would benefit from more rest.”
Gabriel offered his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it.
They made their way back up the narrow staircase in relative silence, though Gabriel was acutely aware of her presence beside him.
The scent of lavender that clung to her hair, the warmth of her hand resting lightly on his sleeve, the rustle of her skirts as they climbed.
When they reached her door, Gabriel turned to face her, noting how the lamplight from the corridor cast soft shadows across her features.
“Good night, Miss Bigsby. I trust you will sleep well.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak, perhaps to deliver another lecture about his high-handed behavior or to demand more answers about their situation. But before she could declare whatever protest was forming, Gabriel stepped closer and gently cupped her face in his hands.
“Gabriel,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing lightly across her cheekbones. “My name is Gabriel.”
Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss soft but unmistakably purposeful.
Miss Bigsby went very still in his arms, her intake of breath sharp with surprise.
But she did not pull away, and Gabriel allowed himself to savor the feel of her mouth, the way she melted against him despite her obvious shock.
When he finally lifted his head, her eyes were wide with confusion. Gabriel smiled and took a step back, executing a small bow.
“Good night, Miss Bigsby. Sweet dreams.”
He waited until she had entered her room and closed the door behind her, then locked it before making his way back down the corridor. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to convince her that marriage to him was not the disaster she believed it to be.
But tonight, Gabriel found himself looking forward to the campaign ahead with more enthusiasm than he had felt for anything in years. Henrietta Bigsby was proving to be the most intriguing and worthwhile challenge of his entire diplomatic career.
And like his other negotiations, this was one he had every intention of winning.
To her dismay, Henri opened like a flower to the sun, their kiss deepening as his large hands came up to clasp her waist. But then they were gliding upward, and she felt his fingers brushing the under swell of her breasts.
Everything was white-hot heat as hitherto unsuspected passion burst out of her like a tidal wave sweeping over the shore.
She barely comprehended he was speaking before the door was shut, followed by a decisive click announcing it was locked.
Henri stood frozen for several heartbeats, her hand pressed to her lips, still feeling Gabriel’s mouth against hers. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she felt oddly breathless, as if she had been running rather than simply kissed by a man she should despise.