“Only until we reach safety,” he replied, and Henri noticed that he avoided her eyes as he spoke. “I give you my word that these restraints are temporary.”
The gag followed, and Henri submitted to it with as much dignity as she could manage. There was something deeply unsettling about the intimate nature of his ministrations, the way he ensured the silk did not pull at her hair, how he checked that she could breathe comfortably around the obstruction. It was the consideration of a man who cared about her welfare, yet who was willing to override her every protest and desire. She supposed she ought to struggle, ought to attempt to make a run for it, but then she would not learn what he was up to. Strangely,they were cooperating with each other as she wondered if she had been afflicted with madness.
The journey resumed with agonizing slowness. The melting snow had turned the roads into quagmired channels of mud and slush that sucked at the wheels and made every mile a struggle. Henri found herself thrown about despite Lord Trenwith’s careful driving, and more than once, she feared they might become completely mired.
As the hours passed, Henri tried desperately to determine their direction and destination. The sun provided some guidance, but the winding country lanes made it difficult to maintain any sense of their heading. She thought they might be traveling generally southeast, but beyond that, Henri could only guess at their ultimate goal.
With time to think, Henri’s thoughts raced back and forth to the events of the past day. What had her assailant been doing at Danbury’s estate? The madman who had threatened her with the pistol had been there for the same manuscript as she. Had Lord Trenwith also been after the same manuscript? He certainly had made a point of bringing it along. Did she need to be worried about him? Did the scoundrel know who she was?
There were no answers, just more and more questions.
The countryside altered almost imperceptibly as the carriage rolled on. The gentle rise and fall of the land began to ease, the vistas opening wider beneath a sky brushed with pale light. Through the narrow vents, a fresher quality crept into the air. Cooler, sharper, with some elusive tang that she could not place. Henri drew in another breath, a faint unease curling in her chest without any clear reason why.
As night began to fall, Henri’s worst fears were confirmed. The sound reached her ears gradually at first. A rhythmic rushing that she initially mistook for wind through trees. But asthey drew closer, the sound became unmistakable. The crash of waves against shore.
Fear struck her like a physical blow. The sharp cries of gulls wheeled overhead, mingling with the wind that salted her lips. Beneath it came the ceaseless rush and hiss of water over shingle. Lord Trenwith was taking her to the coast. He meant to see her carried across the Channel. He was removing her from England entirely.
Henri began to struggle against her bonds with renewed desperation, throwing herself against the walls in an attempt to signal distress to anyone who might hear. But the silk cords held fast, and her muffled cries were lost in the sound of wind and waves.
The carriage finally stopped, and Henri heard Lord Trenwith speaking to someone in low, urgent tones. Through the window, she could make out the dark bulk of a sailboat riding at anchor in a small secluded cove. Lanterns flickered aboard, casting pale, shifting light that gleamed on the restless water, and she saw figures moving about in hurried preparation. The wind howled through the narrow channel of rocks, bringing with it the roar of distant surf.
After Lord Trenwith opened the door, she watched him retrieve the manuscript and sketch from the hidden compartment and place them in a large pocket of his greatcoat. Then he reached for her. Henri fought him with every ounce of strength she possessed. She kicked and twisted, trying to make herself as difficult to manage as possible, but his superior strength made her efforts futile. He lifted her bodily from the carriage, pressing her close to his chest, the wind whipping around them in icy gusts that rattled the door on its hinges and stung her eyes with salt spray.
“Miss Bigsby, please,” he shouted over the shrieking wind. “I know this seems frightening, but you must trust me. I will not allow any harm to come to you.”
Henri’s response was a renewed struggle that nearly sent them both tumbling onto the slick, uneven ground. His arms tightened around her, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he fought to maintain his footing on the slippery shingle, wet with spray and treacherous with hidden rocks. She caught a glimpse of a weathered man leading their carriage and horses away into the darkness, the animals’ breath steaming in the cold night air, presumably to return both vehicle and team to whatever inn or stable Lord Trenwith had arranged. The efficiency of the operation suggested it had all been planned in advance.
As they neared the edge of the cove, Henri heard a voice raised in anger. A stocky man with graying hair and wind-beaten features stood in a small boat that bobbed and bumped against the rocks, gesticulating furiously and shouting in rapid French.
“What are you doing?” the captain demanded, cutting sharply across the wind. “You told me nothing about a woman!”
Lord Trenwith replied in French, his tone calm but unyielding. Henri caught enough of the exchange to understand that the captain was furious about her presence and the delay it had caused.
“We are late,” the captain snapped in French. “The tide is already turning. We should have left an hour ago.”
“Then we must leave now,” the viscount called back firmly, shifting her weight in his arms. Henri twisted violently, trying to break free, but he merely tightened his hold with grim determination.
Without waiting for further argument, he stepped into the freezing shallows, icy water swirling around his boots and soaking the hem of his coat. Salt spray lashed them both inpunishing gusts, and Henri gasped as freezing droplets struck her face and neck to send a convulsive shiver down her spine.
She realized abruptly that Lord Trenwith must be just as cold. She felt the tremor that rippled through his body where it pressed against hers, his coat already heavy and sodden with seawater, the wind tearing at his hair and clothes without mercy. Yet he did not hesitate. He did not slow. His grip was secure, even protective, and his jaw was set in a hard, determined line as he trudged forward against the pull of the waves.
He splashed through the water to the waiting small boat, shifting her higher in his arms to keep her dry.
“Captain Joubert, I apologize for the delay,” he called evenly over Henri’s head, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather rather than restraining a furious woman while raising his voice in the damp flurry of turbulent air. “Circumstances required … flexibility.”
Captain Joubert muttered something uncomplimentary in French about being discovered, but he finally gestured for them to board, shaking his head in irritation. Lord Trenwith did not wait for further argument. He shifted her in his arms and stepped into the swaying boat, placing her firmly onto one of the narrow benches before settling down beside her, boots dripping and coat heavy with seawater. Silently, without meeting her eyes, he removed the gag from her mouth and the cords from her wrists.
They pushed off immediately, oars biting into the black water with harsh, rhythmic splashes. Salt spray stung her face, and she wrapped her aching arms around herself, shivering violently in her cloak, which was miraculously mostly dry due to his efforts to keep her above the splash of the waves. Lord Trenwith sat close beside her, his breathing harsh with effort, water streaming from his lower half to pool around his sodden boots in the bottom of the boat.
When they reached the sloop’s side, crewmen hauled them aboard with hurried, rough efficiency. Henri stumbled as the deck pitched underfoot, her shoes slipping on the wet planks. Lord Trenwith’s grip on her arm steadied her just long enough for him to steer her toward the companionway. Captain Joubert barked orders behind them, clearly eager to be underway.
Lord Trenwith guided her below into a small dimly lit cabin, the lantern swaying wildly on its hook with each heave of the ship. He urged her onto a narrow bunk and immediately the oilskin bundle from his overcoat pocket. She watched in frozen silence as he carefully unwrapped the manuscript and sketch to check them, his fingers steady as he rewrapped them despite the pitch and roll of the vessel. He stowed them securely in what appeared to be a waterproof chest, snapping it shut with decisive finality.
Without pausing, he began to peel off his drenched coat, the fabric making a wet, sucking sound as he forced it from his arms. Henri blinked, startled, then quickly turned her face away, her cheeks burning with mortification as she realized he was shedding his soaked garments. But not before she caught a glimpse of broad shoulders, rippling muscles, and a sandy brown dusting of curling hair over his powerful chest, which caused an unexpected stirring of curiosity. She heard the thud of boots hitting the deck and the rustle of linen and wool as he changed.
Henri kept her gaze fixed firmly on the bulkhead, despite her impulse to glance back, watching instead the long shadows cast by the flickering lamplight across the cramped cabin. Heat prickled in her ears despite the chill that clung to her shivering form, and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself, determined not to turn and look. This might be the closest she had ever been to a naked man, but she would resist the urgeto peek if it killed her. Behind her, she heard the sound of dry clothes being pulled on with brisk, impatient motions.
At last, he spoke from just behind her shoulder, rough but steadier. “You may turn around now, Miss Bigsby. I am decent.”
