“It is my haven.” His lips quirked into a self-deprecating half-smile. “Less than five others know of its existence, and you can now count yourself among them.”
“Thank you for trusting me enough with its secret,” she said, understanding how much this meant for him.
For Leopold Travers, Duke of Carlisle, this was as close to an admission of his feelings for her as he could reasonably get. She understood it for what it was, and she appreciated it all the same. Leo was no ordinary man, and neither was she an ordinary woman. Together, they might have had a chance at being extraordinary, were there not other forces conspiring to tear them apart.
“I brought you here to show you how much I trust you,” he said. “But I also brought you here so we could have a private conversation. This is the one chamber in the entire household where I am ensured nothing that is said shall be overheard.”
His dark gaze on hers gave her pause.
And then, suddenly, epiphany.
“You brought me here so I would confess.” If bitterness tinged her voice, it could not be helped. What had seemed a beautiful gesture, indicative of the way he felt for her, suddenly seemed tawdry. A cruel joke he had decided to perpetrate against her. Here, it seemed, was the heart of the difference she had sensed in his kiss. Perhaps that kiss had been their last. A goodbye.
“I brought you here so we could be honest with each other.”
“No.” Feeling suddenly like a caged animal, she spun on her heel and ran for the door, only to realize it had been sealed once more. Frustrated, she ran her hands along its carved wood surface, her fingers probing for release mechanisms, even the slightest hint of abnormality.
“You’ll not find it.”
The soft warning at her shoulder had her turning her ire toward him.
How dare he be so handsome? So unfairly beautiful? How dare he make her feel special by bringing her here before revealing the reason why?
Gritting her teeth, she cast him a sidelong glance. The sharp, sculpted planes of his face, those dark eyes, that sensual mouth and the beautifully hewn features made her catch her breath, despite the anger rising within her. “What was your intention in bringing me here?”
“Truth.”
“Your truth or mine?” she could not help asking.
“Ours.” He cupped her face. “No one will hear us here. I’m going to help you, Bridget. But I cannot help you unless you tell me everything. I need to know how deep your involvement with the Fenians runs. I need names. Specifics. Truths. Your truths are our truths, and with the answers you give me, I can extricate you from this godawful mess. I can extricate the both of us.”
She wanted to tell him everything. Oh, how she wanted to confess all, to believe he would help Cullen. That he would help her.
But she was also terrified.
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
His lips flattened, his eyes going cold. “Have you forgotten I know when you are lying to me?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, shutting out the sight of him. “What I have not forgotten is you and I are on opposite sides of a war. This armistice will not endure. You and I both know that.”
“You are correct, Bridget. It will not.” His voice held a razor’s edge of anger as he paused, appearing to consider his next words. “That is precisely why I have brought you here. Open your eyes and look at me, damn you. See me.”
She shook her head, eyes still tightly closed. If she could not meet his gaze, she could remain firm in the decisions she must make. He was her Gorgon. She could not look. Would not look. She needed to be strong. Her reckoning had reached her sooner than she had imagined it would, and in an entirely different manner, but there was no denying it any longer.
It was here.
“I cannot,” she said resolutely. “You must resign yourself to knowing I will go, Leo. I will leave you, because the man tasked with apprehending Fenians cannot also be the man who is bedding one.”
“You are not a Fenian, damn it. You are my wife.” Though his tone was harsh, his touch remained tender, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones in slow, tender strokes.
Those strokes made her weak. Weak as she must not be.
“Am I not?” With a cry, she opened her eyes at last, seeing his beloved visage through the sheen of her tears. “I am a proud Irishwoman, and I shall be until the day I die. I am not of your kind, nor would I wish to be. I have hosted the men you seek to imprison in my parlor. I count them trusted friends. I have kept their secrets and done as they wished of me. Does that not make me guilty?”
“What crimes have you committed, damn you?” he demanded.
“Coercion,” she said solemnly. “Arrest me. Take me to prison now. Make it swift.”
