Page 34 of The Hidden Lord
Gabriel applied his considerable analytical skills to the coded symbols. His training in cryptography, honed through years of diplomatic work, served him well as he began to identify patterns and relationships between the sketch and the manuscript text.
By midafternoon, he had made significant progress. The sketch was indeed a map, as he had suspected, with the coded symbols corresponding to Malory’s original work. More importantly, he had managed to work out what appeared to be the solution to the first clue.
Gabriel sat back in his chair, studying his work with satisfaction. The connection between the sketch and Horace’s murder was still unclear, but at least now he had concrete progress to discuss with her. Perhaps sharing this discovery would help rebuild some of the trust he had so carelessly damaged.
He called for Mr. Tyne and instructed him to bring Miss Bigsby down for tea. It was time to attempt a more civilized approach to their relationship, to see if he could salvage something from the wreckage of the past few days.
When Miss Bigsby appeared in the doorway of the small sitting room where Gabriel had arranged for tea and scones to be served, he was struck once again by her natural elegance. The blue gown she wore complemented her coloring beautifully, and someone, presumably Lisette, had arranged her honey-brown hair in a style that was both practical and becoming. Despite everything she had endured, she carried herself with a dignity that commanded respect.
“Miss Bigsby.” Gabriel rose as she entered, offering a slight bow. “Thank you for joining me. I thought perhaps we might enjoy a more pleasant afternoon than our previous encounters have provided.”
Her expression remained composed as she took the seat he indicated, though Gabriel noticed how she positioned herself to maintain maximum distance between them. “Lord Trenwith. Or should I say Monsieur Grantham? I confess I am no longer certain which identity you prefer.”
“Gabriel will suffice,” he replied, pouring tea. “I had hoped we might move beyond such formalities.”
“Formalities seem to be all we have left,” she rebuked coolly, accepting the delicate china cup he offered along with a scone smothered in jam. “Given that you refuse to share anything of substance about your work or your motives.” She kept her eyes firmly locked on his as she took a dainty bite of her scone.
Gabriel felt his jaw tighten at her pointed reference to his continued secrecy, and at the way her tongue darted out to lick jam from her lips, but he forced himself to maintain his composure. “There are matters I cannot discuss freely, as I have explained. But perhaps we might find other topics of mutual interest.”
“Such as my continued captivity?” she inquired with deceptive sweetness. “How much longer do you intend to keep me here, Lord Trenwith? Surely, your mysterious business mustbe nearing completion.” She sipped her tea while still holding his gaze in challenge.
Gabriel set down his own cup with careful precision. “Miss Bigsby, you must understand that your situation is more complex than simple captivity. There are considerations?—”
“Yes, you keep mentioning these mysterious considerations,” she interrupted, her amber eyes flashing with irritation. “But you never seem inclined to explain what they might be. Instead, you speak in riddles and expect me to accept your word that everything you have done has been necessary.”
Gabriel studied her face, noting the stubborn set of her jaw and the fire in her gaze. This was not the Henrietta Bigsby he remembered from their previous encounters—the charming, vivacious woman who had made his visits to Wells’s townhouse so memorable. This Miss Bigsby was guarded, suspicious, and clearly angry. He had created this version of her through his own actions, and the knowledge sat heavily on his conscience.
“Very well,” Gabriel said finally. “If you must know, part of my reluctance to release you immediately stems from your … reputation for indiscretion.”
Her cup rattled against its saucer as she set it down sharply. “I beg your pardon?”
“It is well-known that you cannot keep a secret,” Gabriel continued, though he regretted the words even as he spoke them. “Your tendency to share information, however innocently, could compromise sensitive matters that affect more lives than just your own.”
The color drained from her face, and Gabriel saw genuine hurt flicker across her features before anger replaced it. “I see. So in addition to being your prisoner, I am also your burden, a gossip too irresponsible to be trusted with important matters.”
Gabriel realized immediately that he had made a terrible mistake. Her pain sliced him like a dagger when he saw howhis words had wounded her. “Miss Bigsby, that is not what I meant?—”
“Is it not?” She was muted. Anguished. “You have made your opinion of my character quite clear, Lord Trenwith. I am a woman who cannot be trusted, who must be managed and controlled for the greater good.”
Gabriel reached across the small table, intending to take her hand. “Please, allow me to explain?—”
Miss Bigsby pulled back as if his touch burned. “Oh, I think you have explained quite enough,” she replied, rising from her chair with swift, angry movements. “Now perhaps you would be so good as to explain something else. That sketch I was carrying when you … rescued me from Sir Alpheus’s library. What have you done with it?”
Gabriel hesitated, recognizing the shift in her demeanor. She was no longer the hurt woman seeking understanding. Rather, she had become harder, more calculating. “I have been studying it. Making some progress, actually, in deciphering its meaning.”
“How fascinating,” she declared with false brightness. “And did it occur to you to include me in this investigation? Or am I too much of a gossip to be trusted with such important work?”
The bitterness in her voice made Gabriel wince. He had wanted to share his discoveries with her, but now she was throwing his own words back at him with devastating accuracy. “Miss Bigsby, please. If you could tell me about the sketch?—”
“No, you have made your position clear. I cannot keep secrets, so I cannot be trusted with information. Very well. But if that is your view of my character, then surely you can understand why I might be reluctant to share any information with you. Why I feel compelled to prove you wrong!”
Gabriel felt his temper begin to rise at her stubborn refusal to listen to reason. “This is childish, Miss Bigsby. The sketch may hold important clues that affect both our futures.”
“Then perhaps you should have thought of that before insulting my integrity,” she replied with icy composure. “If you believe I am incapable of discretion, then surely, my knowledge of that sketch’s origins would be of little value to you.”
Gabriel recognized the trap she had set for him, and he had to admire her tactical skill even as it frustrated him beyond measure. She was using his own words against him with the precision of a seasoned diplomat. This was not the charming, slightly scattered woman he had thought he knew. This was someone far more formidable.
“You are being deliberately difficult,” Gabriel said, his own composure beginning to fray.
