Henri looked up into his eyes, seeing the hope and fear warring there, understanding suddenly that this proud, controlled man was laying his heart bare before her. Even as he fought for his self-control, the knowledge that she held such power over him, that she could bring him joy or devastation, was both thrilling and terrifying.
As she lay beneath him, their bodies still joined, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her chest, Henri found her acceptance of her new path. After all, what challenge could be more worthy of her intelligence and determination than unlocking the mysteries of Gabriel Strathmore’s guarded heart?
Gabriel helped Henri clean herself,his hands gentle with a dampened cloth from the basin. The intimacy of the act, tending to her in this tender way, felt more vulnerable somehow than what they had just shared. He was acutely aware of every soft sound she made, every flutter of her lashes as she watched him minister to her.
When he finished, Gabriel found himself at a loss. The desperate need to secure her agreement pressed against his chest like a physical weight. He had shown her passion, pleasure, the promise of what their marriage could hold. But would it be enough? The uncertainty clawed at him, making him feel more exposed than he had ever been in a negotiation. Never had the stakes been so personal, so vital to his very existence.
He climbed back into the bed beside her, his movements careful and controlled despite the chaos in his mind. Gabriel pulled the coverlet over them both, then hesitated, unsure whether to reach for her or maintain a respectful distance. The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of decisions yet to be made.
Henri settled the matter by turning toward him, her soft body seeking his. Gabriel’s arms came around her instinctively, drawing her close against his chest. The simple trust in her gesture made his throat tight with emotion he barely recognized.
“Gabriel,” Henri whispered against his shoulder, soft but clear in the quiet room. “I will marry you.”
The words washed over him, stealing his breath entirely. Gabriel went rigid, certain he had misheard, that his desperate mind was conjuring the very words he most longed to hear.But Henri lifted her head to meet his gaze, and the steady determination in her eyes confirmed what she had said.
Joy. Pure, overwhelming, and utterly foreign. It crashed over him in waves which he did his best to hide. Gabriel had known satisfaction, triumph, even contentment, but this feeling was different. It filled every corner of his being, bright and warm and so intense it was almost painful. For a moment, he could not speak, could not breathe, could only stare at her in wonder.
“You … you truly mean it?” The question escaped him before he could stop it, revealing the depth of his uncertainty. “This is not some stratagem to make me lower my guard so you might escape?”
Henri’s lips curved in a wry smile. “As you so astutely pointed out, I have never been good at keeping secrets. I am honest to a fault, and it would be nigh impossible for me to pretend such a thing convincingly.” Her expression grew more serious. “And I keep my promises, Gabriel. When I give my word, it means something.”
Gabriel searched her face, looking for any sign of deception, any hint that this was merely a clever maneuver. But all he saw was Henri—brilliant, fierce, beautiful Henri—staring back at him with an acceptance that made his heart race.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Gabriel pulled her fully into his arms, burying his face in the fragrant locks of her hair. He breathed her in deeply, this woman who had agreed to be his wife, who had just given him everything he had scarcely dared to hope for. The sweetness of her filled his senses. The subtle scent of her skin, the feel of her body pressed against his, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
“Henri,” he murmured against her temple, her name a prayer on his lips. “My Henri.”
She nestled closer to him, her hand resting over his heart as though she could feel the way it thundered in his chest.Gabriel tightened his hold on her, as if she might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.
Sleep should have come easily after such emotional and physical exertion, but Gabriel found himself caught in a restless half-doze. The moment his eyes closed, the dreams began. Memories of his grandfather’s cold rejection, the disgust in those pale blue eyes when Gabriel had grieved as a boy.“Five years old and already displaying such weakness,”the old man’s harsh criticisms echoed in his mind.
He jolted awake with a gasp, his heart pounding, only to find Henri still warm and solid in his arms. The relief was immediate and overwhelming. She was here, she had chosen him, she had promised. Gabriel buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent like a talisman against the ghosts that plagued him.
But each time he drifted off again, the dreams returned. His grandfather’s cutting disgust, the certainty that he was fundamentally unworthy of love, that anyone who claimed to care for him was either lying or would inevitably leave when they discovered his true nature. He would wake with a start, his arms automatically tightening around Henri to reassure himself that she was still there, that this was not some elaborate dream destined to crumble like everything else he had ever dared to want.
Each time he surfaced from the tormented sleep, the joy of her acceptance would wash over him anew, followed quickly by a fierce protectiveness and the paralyzing fear that, somehow, he would lose her too.
Gabriel held her through the night, his body finally finding rest even as his heart remained full to bursting with this new, precious happiness that Henri had given him, along with the creeping dread that he would lose her if he misstepped.
CHAPTER 12
“The heart that holdeth love in silence suffereth a thousandfold.”
Sir Thomas Malory,Le Morte d’Arthur
JANUARY 29, 1822
The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the council chamber as Gabriel and Étienne set their hands to the treaty. The ceremony was brief but momentous. Weeks of careful negotiation reduced to ink upon vellum and sealed with the firm clasp of hands between two men who, though they had stood for opposing nations, had found a measure of mutual respect.
“Mon ami,” Étienne said as they shook hands, his dark eyes filled with genuine satisfaction. “I cannot express my gratitude for your involvement in these talks. Without your persistenceand diplomatic skill, I fear we would still be arguing over the wording of the first paragraph.”
Gabriel felt a surge of relief so profound it was almost dizzying. He could finally leave Calais. “The pleasure was entirely mine, Marquis. These men have waited far too long for their freedom.”
“Indeed. I have already sent word to the prison authorities,” Étienne assured him, straightening the stack of signed documents with characteristic precision. “The prisoners will be handed over to your consulate by evening. You may inform your government that the matter is concluded to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Gabriel nodded, maintaining his professional composure even as his heart began to race with different concerns entirely. The negotiations were finished. The agents would be free within hours. Which meant he was also free to attend to the more pressing matter of securing their marriage license and ensuring that Henri remained safely by his side.
“If you will excuse me,” Gabriel said, already moving toward the door. “I have some urgent personal business to attend to before the prisoners arrive.”
