“It is a surprise,” she returned, keeping her tone light as the horses thundered on, down the road, leading them both to an uncertain destiny.For the good of the cause, she reminded herself.For Cullen. Anything to save his life.
She was a soldier, performing the duty asked of her. She would deliver the boy because she had to, not because she wanted to. Cullen’s future, or lack thereof, depended upon her every action, and she would do well to remind herself of that.
Oh, Cullen.
Thinking of him made her heart heavy, filled her with the sadness she kept at bay most days with zealous discipline. His boyish grin, sparkling blue eyes, dark hair marred by the cowlick she had so often attempted to tame, without success. How she loved him, loved him as she never had another.
Bridget closed her eyes for a scant moment as the gig they’d taken that morning rumbled toward the train station. And then she forced them open once more, for she alone was in charge of this nonsense. She was the driver, barreling toward mayhem.
And it was her fault. She was the one who had volunteered herself for this unwanted task, the most dangerous task John could have envisioned. Success was within her grasp, for she had done it, had she not? Here she was, Bridget O’Malley, the young Duke of Burghly at her side, having been pried from the bosom of his family with embarrassing ease that morning.
How easily a lamb could be led astray.
And not just lambs either, but the fiercest, most dangerous men could be as vulnerable. She had made the Duke of Carlisle a fool, had infiltrated his brother’s household without an inkling of suspicion. She had kissed him. Flirted with him. Plotted against him beneath his nose, and he, the vaunted leader of the Special League, had been completely unaware. Bridget had faced him in battle, and she had won.
But you enjoyed his kisses, whispered that awful voice inside her.
You thrilled at his touch.
Yes, the Duke of Carlisle had been an Achilles heel. But she had also stayed her course, proving that not even her weaknesses could keep her from her duties and her loyalties.
Even so, she could not deny it was the stakes of this gamble that made her hands tremble on the reins, the knot of fear and guilt swelling inside her to ridiculous proportions. That made the bile rising in her throat continue to make its steadfast presence known.
“I want to go home, Miss Palliser.”
The young duke’s polite request, underscored with fear and worry, struck her in the vicinity of her already anxious heart.
Guilt, which had begun to drench her, turned into a deluge. He was but a child, and he wanted to return to his mother.
Stay the course, she reminded herself sternly when part of her wanted to continue her charade, instead of carrying through with the plan of abducting him. To return him safely to Harlton Hall after they drove about on their feigned expedition. To make it seem real. Return to her charmed chamber with the eastward-facing windows. Forget this had ever happened.
But that part of her needed to be stifled by the rest of her. Conscience and concern could have no place in this fight. It was all about gaining what the cause wanted, what they needed, by any means possible. Fair or foul. But more than that, it was about saving someone she loved. If she did as John ordered, she could help to free Cullen. She could not afford to lose sight of the goal of seeing him walk free and unencumbered on the streets of Dublin once more.
Kilmainham Gaol was a hell of a place for an eighteen-year-old young man to find himself on account of his poor decisions. She could only pray he would be the same young man she had known when he emerged.
Thoughts of prison made her grip on the reins tighten, her teeth grinding together with so much force, her jaw ached. She would not find herself in the same straits as Cullen, she vowed, for she was older. Wiser. More careful.
Surely she was.
“We shall return you to your home in a trice,” she lied to the lad, struggling to keep her voice even and calm.
She knew she must say something comforting, though she hated herself for deceiving him so thoroughly. For being the person who had been entrusted with his care, and yet also the same person who would betray him.
“But I wish to go home now, Miss Palliser,” the young duke insisted again, a quaver creeping into his voice.
Of course he was frightened. He was a sweet, kind young boy who had just lost his father to murder. Whose mother had become the target of subsequent attacks. Who was himself at the mercy of a woman he had only known for mere days. A veritable stranger, and one he could not trust at that, though he did not know it.
Bridget thought of the lovely, kind, and welcoming Duchess of Burghly as the horse and cart plodded along. Her guilt grew, doubling and tripling within her, until it was all she knew, a sea of sickness.
“But we cannot go home now, Your Grace,” she said softly. “Our adventure has only just begun.”
“I do not like this adventure.” The tremor in his voice lanced her. “I wish to return to my mother and father.”
Doubts gripped her, tightening like manacles. “You will return soon enough,” she lied.
“I do not think I would prefer a surprise this morning, Miss Palliser,” the young duke pressed, concern in his voice.
Bridget felt as if she had swallowed a belly full of poison. She did not want to be responsible for separating the young man at her side from his family. It was wrong, and with each beat of the horses’ hooves on the road, she was reminded.
