She loved her half sister, and she was grateful to her for her steadfast intervention on her behalf, but she was not certain she could trust her. Indeed, Bridget’s life experiences had taught her to trust no one, and that was what she did. Even with Leo, though she loved him and had given her body to him, there remained a part of her she reserved only for herself. It was the part of her that would go into action should he ever betray her.
Why, then, would she do something as foolish as confessing her sins to anyone, even if it was Daisy?
“I know you are guilty, dearest,” said her half sister, shocking her with her calm acceptance. “It is why Sebastian and I felt it was best for Carlisle to marry you. It was the only way we could be ensured you would remain safe.”
Bridget’s brows snapped together as she attempted to make sense of the revelation. “You know?”
“Of course I know, Bridget. You disappeared without warning and could not be reached. I had word that you had become embroiled in a particularly cutthroat band of Fenians. You attempted to abduct the Duke of Burghly, and though I know you had no intention of doing him harm, I am afraid your past leaves one with a rather clear picture.”
Her frown deepened, for this made no sense. None whatsoever. “You knew I was guilty, and yet you wished to help me anyway?”
“Of course.” Daisy smiled at her, and though there was a tinge of sadness in that smile, it was undeniably genuine. “I know your heart is good, Bridget, and you would not take the actions you have unless you felt as if you had no choice in the matter. You are my sister, and I will always do everything in my power to help you.”
Tears stung Bridget’s eyes. Tears of gratitude. Of love. For so long, she had been an island, her shores battered by violent seas on all sides. Alone. But she was beginning to realize she need not remain that way. That there could be strength in admitting others into her heart. If only she could keep them there. If only she could pause this moment, and never move forward into the maelstrom inevitably awaiting her.
“Thank you, Daisy,” she said softly. “I will always remember how good you have been to me, when I have least deserved it.”
“You deserve it, Bridget. It is only you who has convinced yourself you do not.”
Bridget did not bother to argue the point. She alone knew the truth. She was not worthy of anyone’s kindness, compassion, or love. She was betraying her brother with each day that passed, allowing him to rot in Kilmainham while she fell more in love with the enemy. And when the time came, she would have no choice but to betray Daisy and Leo too.
The only thing she deserved was scorn.
Leo waited forthe Duke of Trent to cease choking on his port. This was decidedly not the reaction to his declaration he had anticipated. Very well, he supposed he ought not to be surprised, but still.
He fixed Trent with a narrow glare. “Will you recover, do you think, or are you passing on to your reward?”
The duke gave another exaggerated cough. “Forgive me. Will you repeat what you just said to me? I believe I must have misheard.”
Leo knew what the blighter was after, but he decided to be deliberately obtuse. “Will you recover, do you think—”
“Not that bit,” Trent interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The sentence wherein you claimed to possess the capacity for emotion. I confess, I thought you were dead inside.”
Leo gritted his teeth. “I thought I was as well. It would seem we were both in err, and moreover, that fate and fortune harbor the devil’s own sense of humor.”
“You do realize you just confessed to being in love with a Fenian conspirator?” Trent asked, raising a brow. “The very same woman who abducted your nephew and held a pistol to his head?”
“The pistol was empty.” The words left him before he could hold them back or attempt to examine them.
But Christ, once they had emerged, he wished he could recall them, for he had unwittingly taken up the cudgels for Bridget in the exact same fashion Trent had not long ago. He was acutely aware of just how much had altered in the intervening time since that day.
Trent grinned. “The mighty Duke of Carlisle, felled by one Irish lass. I never thought to see the day.”
Leo barely resisted the urge to smash the duke in his teeth. “Have you finished gloating now, or do you require more time?”
“Another minute more, if you please.” Trent’s smile widened. “You must admit, this is highly irregular.”
“Thoroughly unwanted,” he growled. “Entirely foolish. I am aware I have taken leave of my senses, thank you. As they do not seem likely to restore themselves to me any time soon, perhaps we might move our dialogue forward, before I deliver you the sound trouncing you deserve.”
“It would be no trouncing, and you know it.” Trent raised his glass in a mock salute, still making no effort to disguise his delight.
The duke was a formidable opponent. But at the moment, he was not inclined to acknowledge Trent’s pugilistic prowess. At the moment, all he wanted to do was pound the man’s face in until he stopped grinning like a child who had just been given a pony for Christmas.
“It would be the trouncing of the century,” he declared, his tone as grim as he felt. “Indeed, itwill beif you do not cease exulting in my misery. I require your aid.”
Trent took a sip of his port. “My aid? Wonders shall never cease.”
He skewered the duke with a look he hoped conveyed his severe displeasure and impatience both. “I would hate to have to strangle you with your necktie before we rejoin the ladies. Murder just after dinner seems so terribly uncouth.”
