Gabriel jerked awake in the gray pre-dawn light, his heart racing and cold sweat dampening his brow despite the chill. The nightmare’s echo lingered, her condemning words ringing in his ears even as he looked down to find her still sleeping peacefully against his shoulder, her face soft and unguarded in slumber.
The contrast between his fears and the reality of her trust—because she must trust him on some level to sleep so peacefully in his arms—left Gabriel shaken. Perhaps his dreams were merely his conscience finally asserting itself, forcing him to confront the possibility that his actions, however well-intentioned, were fundamentally selfish.
He had told himself he was protecting her, protecting his mission, protecting the imprisoned agents whose freedom depended upon his success. But as Gabriel watched the first pale light of dawn filter through the snow-covered windows, he could no longer avoid the truth that terrified him most. Mayhap, he had chosen this path not just out of duty, but because he could not bear the thought of letting Miss Bigsby slip away from him again.
And for that weakness, they would both pay a price he was only beginning to understand.
CHAPTER 6
“Sir, wit you well I will never consent to be taken, while my life lasteth.”
Sir Thomas Malory,Le Morte d’Arthur
Around midmorning, Henri was startled awake by a sudden brightness flooding the carriage interior. She blinked against the unexpected glare, realizing that the sun had finally emerged from behind the storm clouds. The transformation was remarkable. What had been a world of gray and white only hours before was now dazzling with sunlight reflecting off the snow-covered landscape.
Lord Trenwith stirred beside her, extricating himself from their shared blanket and the greatcoat. Henri felt the immediate loss of his warmth and found herself oddly bereft as he moved away from her. The cold air rushed in to fill the space he had occupied, making her shiver despite the sun’s brightness.
“I shall investigate the road,” he murmured, reaching for the door handle. “The storm appears to have passed.”
Henri watched him step down, his boots crunching in the snow as he walked ahead to assess their situation. She flexed her freed wrists, grateful for the temporary reprieve from the silk cords that had bound her during their earlier travel. Her shoulders still ached from the hours she had spent restrained, but at least she could move her arms freely while they sheltered from the storm. Henri took the opportunity to comb her hair out with her fingers and straighten her wrinkled carriage dress before opening the door and jumping down. She scooped up snow with her bare hands and used it to rinse out her mouth and dab her face clean before hurriedly pulling her gloves back on.
All the while, the viscount was examining the road, occasionally kicking at the snow to gauge its depth. The sight was strangely domestic, a gentleman checking travel conditions, yet Henri could not shake the fantastical knowledge that she was his prisoner, helpless like some character from a Gothic novel.
When Lord Trenwith returned, he pulled out another bundle of food procured from their last stop. Henri’s stomach clenched with hunger at the sight of bread and cheese, only sharpened by the cold, but she found herself reluctant to accept anything from her captor.
“The snow is not very deep,” he announced as he settled back onto the bench seat, crumpled and unshaven, but nevertheless still an infuriatingly handsome man. She dared not think what a fright she must be in comparison. “Perhaps two or three inches at most. We can leave in a couple of hours once the sun has had time to soften the worst of it.”
“Leave for where?” Henri demanded. “Lord Trenwith, I insist you tell me where you are taking me.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and Henri thought she saw regret flicker across his features. But when he spoke, his voice was as controlled as ever.
“Somewhere safe, Miss Bigsby. That is all I can tell you for now.”
“Safe?” Henri’s voice rose despite her efforts to maintain composure. “You call this safe? I was bound like a criminal, transported against my will to heaven knows where, and you speak of safety?”
“Your current discomfort is temporary,” Lord Trenwith replied, unwrapping the food. “There are matters that require my immediate attention.”
Henri stared at him, trying to read the truth in his blank expression. “What matters? Lord Trenwith, I insist you tell me what this is about.”
“I cannot explain yet …” He paused, seeming to choose his words with great care. “Miss Bigsby, I will tell you what you need to know.”
“Then why not take me to Uncle Reggie? Or to the authorities? Why this … this kidnapping?”
Lord Trenwith was quiet for so long that Henri began to think he would not answer at all. When he finally spoke, his words were measured.
“There are considerations that must be taken into account. Larger matters that affect more lives than just your own.”
The enigmatic response only fueled Henri’s frustration. “I am not a child, my lord. I work in political circles. I understand that there are often complex situations that require discretion. But surely I deserve some explanation for why my life has been turned upside down.”
“You deserve a great deal more than you are currently receiving,” Lord Trenwith said quietly, and there was sympathyin his tone that made Henri soften with unwanted affinity. “But explanations must wait.”
Henri wanted to press him further, but the futility of her situation was becoming clear. Lord Trenwith was not going to reveal his plans, no matter how reasonably she argued or how desperately she pleaded. She was entirely at his mercy, a realization that filled her with equal parts rage and an uncomfortable flutter of something that might have been anticipation.
When they were finally ready to depart, Lord Trenwith produced the silk cords and handkerchief with obvious reluctance.
“I am sorry, Miss Bigsby,” he said, and Henri thought his regret might actually be genuine. “But I cannot risk you attempting to flee or attract attention as we travel.”
“You cannot mean to keep me bound for the entire journey,” Henri protested, even as she allowed him to secure her wrists once again. His touch was gentle but firm, and she found herself disturbingly aware of the touch of his fingers as they brushed against her skin.
