“I cannot say.”
The pieces began falling into place in Henri’s mind. A secret negotiation in a French port city. Lord Trenwith’s mysterious comings and goings, his careful avoidance of any details about his diplomatic work. Perhaps English agents imprisoned abroad?
“You are negotiating for the release of prisoners on behalf of the Crown,” she stated. It was not a question.
His slight shrug neither confirmed nor rejected her deduction, but Henri felt some of her anger begin to ebb, replaced by a grudging understanding of the forces that had led to her predicament. If his lordship truly was working to free imprisoned Englishmen, if lives truly hung in the balance, then perhaps his erratic actions made some sort of sense. She supposed she should be grateful that he had arrived at Danbury’s library when he had, or she might even now be buried in the cold, hard ground while her family wept over her premature demise. She tried not to let this soften her resolve as she considered this alternate circumstance, but it was difficult to resist.
“But why kidnap me?” she pressed. “Surely, there were other ways to handle whatever crisis my presence at Danbury’s estate created.”
“Perhaps,” the viscount admitted. “But I was not permitted the luxury of careful consideration. The situation required immediate action.”
“And now?” Henri asked. “How long must I remain your prisoner while these negotiations continue?”
Lord Trenwith was quiet for another long moment, his fingers turning his wine glass slowly on the table. “Perhaps in a few days I will be in a position to tell you a little more,” he said finally. “For now, I can only ask for your patience.”
Henri’s temper, which had been simmering throughout their conversation, finally boiled over. She pushed back from the table and shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor.
“Patience?” she demanded, beginning to pace the small confines of the dining room with quick, agitated steps. “You speak of patience while holding me captive in a foreign country? You expect me to sit quietly while you conduct your mysterious business, giving me no indication of when I might expect to return home?”
She spun to face him, her hands gesticulating wildly as days of frustration poured out in a torrent of words. “I have been kidnapped, bound, transported across the Channel against my will, and locked in an attic like some common criminal. My reputation is destroyed, my position lost, my family undoubtedly worried sick. And you ask for patience?”
He remained seated, watching her outburst with the sort of calm attention one might give to a force of nature. His very stillness only inflamed Henri’s anger further.
“You speak of honor and duty,” she continued, her voice rising with each word. “But where is the honor in treating me like a possession to be moved about at your convenience? Where is the duty in destroying an innocent woman’s life to serve your political machinations?”
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 seatedas 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 transgressionswith 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.
