Page 42 of The Hidden Lord
But immediately, she watched his expression grow guarded again.
“I am helping you assist Signor di Bianchi,” he responded carefully. “Is that not sufficient?”
The disappointment was immediate. Here she had taken such a tremendous leap of faith, agreeing to marry a man she barely knew, and he still would not trust her with even the most basic information about his behavior. She would have to endeavor to be patient, but it was not a trait she was known for.
“Of course,” Henri said quietly, though her tone undoubtedly betrayed her feelings.
Gabriel must have sensed her resentment but made no move to address it directly. Instead, he changed the subject with characteristic efficiency. “I have taken the liberty of arranging for a letter to be delivered to your family on Wednesday evening, informing them of our arrival some time on Thursday.”
Henri stared at him. “You have already arranged this? Without consulting me about what the letter should say?”
“I thought it best to handle the matter promptly,” Gabriel replied, his tone suggesting he saw nothing amiss with his autocratic decision. “Your mother and great-uncle will need time to adjust to the news.”
The casual way he had made such personal decisions on her behalf was both dismaying and illuminating. This was apparently how Gabriel approached all matters. With careful planning and complete control, but without any thought to consulting those affected by his choices.
Henri was beginning to understand just how private and self-contained her future husband truly was. The question that haunted her was whether she would ever be able to breach those carefully constructed walls, or whether she would spend her marriage forever on the outside, looking in. She had no wish to be treated as … as … well, she did not wish to be treated as his private secretary!
No, she would not be relegated to the role that Mr. Tyne held. She would find a way to be Gabriel’s wife and partner as he had intimated. With time, he was going to learn that she would not be assigned to the role of subordinate.
Gabriel noticedthe subtle shift in Henri’s demeanor immediately. The way her shoulders tensed slightly when he mentioned the letter to her family; the careful neutrality that crept into her expression when he evaded her questions. She was withdrawing from him again, and the familiar panic began to claw at his chest.
He had shown her the deciphered sketch, shared his expertise, allowed her glimpses of his work. Yet still she remained disappointed by him. The fear that she might reconsider their arrangement, that she might find him wanting as a husband before they had even spoken their vows, made his chest tighten.
Gabriel rose from behind his desk, moving around to where she sat studying the papers. “Henri,” he said quietly, gruffer than he intended.
She looked up at him, those amber eyes angry and bright in a way that terrified him more than any armed opponent ever had. Without allowing himself to think, Gabriel reached for her, drawing her up from the chair and into his arms. If words failed him, if he could not give her what it was she was seeking, perhaps he could remind her of the physical connection that blazed between them.
“Gabriel, what are you—” Henri began, but her protest was cut short as his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was hungry, desperate, and utterly consuming.
Gabriel lifted her easily, settling her on the edge of his desk among the scattered papers. His hands roamed over her curves with growing urgency, reacquainting himself with every line and hollow of her body. When Henri responded with equal fervor,her fingers tugging at his shirt to run them up his bared skin, Gabriel felt some of the terrible tension in his chest begin to ease.
“I need you,” he murmured against her throat, the words escaping before he could stop them. “Henri, I need …”
But he could not finish the thought, could not reveal the depth of longing that threatened to overwhelm him. Instead, he showed her with his hands and mouth, with the reverent way he worshipped her body through her clothes, grateful that women did not wear small pants as his hand slid up her leg to the juncture of her thighs where he discovered she was slick and ready for him, and then he was even more gratified when a guttural moan escaped her lips. He continued to caress her folds, circling the pearl at the center of her pleasure.
Their joining was fierce and urgent, Henri clinging to his shoulders as Gabriel moved within her with increasing intensity. The study chair creaked under their combined weight when he pulled her into his lap, her skirts bunched and billowing around them as she learned to move with him, to take her own pleasure as much as she gave it.
Gabriel was amazed anew by how completely Henri surrendered to the passion between them. There was no artifice in her responses, no calculation in the way she cried out his name when he found that perfect rhythm that drove them both toward completion. She was utterly genuine, utterly present, and the knowledge that she was his filled him with a fierce possessiveness.
When Henri collapsed against his chest, breathing hard, Gabriel held her close and marveled at the transformation her presence wrought in him. With her in his arms, he felt substantial, real in a way he had never experienced before. For so many years, he had felt like a ghost moving through life, observing from the edges, never quite connecting to the worldaround him. But Henri anchored him, made him feel like a man with a beating heart rather than a hollow shell going through the motions of existence.
The loneliest recesses of his soul, places he had thought permanently sealed off from human connection, warmed in her presence. She reached parts of him that he had forgotten existed, brought light to corners of his soul that had been shrouded in darkness for decades.
But even as Gabriel savored this revelation, he knew he must guard it. Such intense emotions, such reliance on another person’s presence, were precisely the kind of weakness that had cost him his grandfather’s acceptance all those years ago. Henri deserved a husband who could provide for her and accompany her through society with strength and composure. She did not need to be burdened with the knowledge of how completely she had captured his heart, how thoroughly she was becoming essential to his very sense of self.
Gabriel pressed his lips to Henri’s hair, breathing in her scent, and resolved to keep these harmful sentiments locked away. He would adore her with his body, provide for her with his resources, and shield her from the world with his position. But he would not overwhelm her with emotions that even he did not fully understand.
It was enough that she remained in his arms. It had to be enough.
CHAPTER 13
“Me repenteth of this marriage, for I fear we did not wisely.”
Sir Thomas Malory,Le Morte d’Arthur
JANUARY 30, 1822
Henri stood in the stark, utilitarian office of the British consulate, her hands trembling slightly as she smoothed the fabric of her wedding gown. The same traveling dress she had worn when Gabriel first kissed her seemed woefully inadequate for such a momentous occasion. Around her, the mundane business of diplomacy carried on in hushed tones, clerks shuffling papers and officials conducting the ordinary affairs of government with no regard for the life-altering ceremony about to take place.
