“Was it?” Jack’s gaze sweeps the room, taking in the positioning of the agents, the closed door, the intimidating atmosphere. His analysis is quick, thorough, professional. “Because it looks suspiciously like an interrogation to me. Three agents, isolated location, psychological pressure techniques. Rather by-the-book, actually.”
Morrison’s face flushes slightly. “We were merely establishing…”
“You were attempting to break down my husband’s psychological defences through isolation and intimidation,” Jack interrupts coldly. “Standard intelligence gathering techniques, but inappropriate when applied to a diplomatic partner who’s volunteered to cooperate with your objectives.”
He moves toward me without hesitation, extending his hand. The gesture is simple, but it completely changes the power dynamic in the room.
“Come on, Dyfri. We’re done here.”
I take his hand and stand, noting the way his fingers curl protectively around mine, the way he positions himself slightly between me and the agents.
“Gentlemen,” I say to Morrison and his colleagues, allowing an edge of frost to enter my voice. “This has been illuminating.”
Jack leads me from the room without another word, his grip on my hand firm and possessive. We walk in silence until we’re well away from the dusty office, back in the populated corridors of Number 10 where conversations are less likely to turn threatening.
Only then does he slow his pace, his anger seeming to drain away as concern takes its place.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice gentle now, worried.
I study his face, looking for signs of calculation or political manoeuvring. Instead, I see only genuine concern and a lingering protective anger on my behalf.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, though something warm and complicated is unfurling in my chest. “They were simply... establishing parameters.”
“They were being arseholes,” Jack says bluntly. “Interrogating you like some sort of criminal instead of treating you like the diplomatic asset you are.”
The fierce protectiveness in his voice does something strange to my equilibrium. I don’t know for sure if he’s being protective or possessive, but either way, it’s deeply alluring. The way he’d stormed into that room, the authority in his voice, the immediate way he’d positioned himself between me and potential threats...
It’s making my emotions squirm and tingle in ways I’m not entirely prepared to deal with.
“Jack,” I say quietly, “you didn’t need to…”
“Yes, I did.” He stops walking and turns to face me fully, his expression fierce. “They don’t get to treat you like that.They don’t get to question your loyalty or your motives or reduce you to a set of useful prejudices.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know you can.” His smile is soft, fond, completely at odds with the commanding presence he’d displayed moments ago. “But you don’t have to anymore. That’s what having a husband means, isn’t it? Having someone who has your back?”
The words hit me with unexpected force. Having someone who has your back. The concept is so foreign, so impossible given my lived experience, that I can barely process it.
But looking at Jack’s face, seeing the sincerity there, the determination, the quiet strength that everyone else seems determined to overlook...
Maybe it doesn’t have to be impossible anymore.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “I suppose it does.”
And as we walk back to our quarters, his hand still warm in mine, I find myself thinking how deeply Morrison and his colleagues are wrong about Jack Caxton’s intelligence.
Because it takes remarkable intelligence to see past all my defences.
And it takes a big heart to offer protection to someone who’s never had it, to care about someone not worth caring about.
They think Jack is simple, straightforward, easy to dismiss.
They have no idea what they’re dealing with.
And that, I’m beginning to realize, might be the greatest weapon we have.
Chapter nineteen
