“You.” Here was his second plan, about to be sprung into motion. “I need you to reach all the men we have planted within the Fenian ranks. Let them know Bridget O’Malley has married me, and make certain they spread the knowledge with their Fenian contacts. I would do this myself if I was certain we could trust them, but it is imperative no one know I am the source of the information, and I do not dare put my faith in anyone but you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you are the best we have in our ranks,” he said honestly. Strathmore had been through hell on earth, and he had survived. He was damaged, but he had survived. And he was honest, loyal, and brave. There was no other man he would entrust with this all-important task, aside from Clay.
“Why not Arden?”
Leo stiffened at the mentioning of the Duke of Arden, who had been determined to take Leo’s place for the last two years at least. “He and I have no love lost. I do not trust him, Strathmore. I do not have any intention of losing my wife. We need to flush the Fenians from their nest and put this to rest.”
Griffin was oddly alert for a man deprived of slumber. “What if she is guilty?”
“She is not guilty,” he gritted. Every action he was taking was predicated on that truth. He wanted her to be free to love him. Wanted to be free to love her as well. “But regardless, when this mission is completed, I am relinquishing my position. The actions I have taken in recent weeks have not been in the best interest of the League, and I know it. I also know the time has come for me to take a step back.”
“For your sake, I hope she is not guilty, Carlisle.”
“She is not,” he repeated. And he believed it. He believed it to his marrow. He knew Bridget O’Malley, and not just every delectable inch of her body, but her heart as well. She was stubborn and fierce and fiery, independent, strong, and sometimes foolish. Brave and inspiring and beautiful and his. She was not a murderess. She believed in Home Rule, but as for the rest of it, he could find no evidence she had ever had a hand in the atrocities that had happened in Dublin. She was not guilty. And he was going to set her free of the burdens of her past and prove her innocence, even if it cost him the League.
She meant more to him than that. More to him than anything. Than anyone. And here was a realization that should take his breath. Make fear grip him. Yet again, all he felt inside was peace. Rightness.
Strathmore nodded. “I am more than happy to give you the aid you need. The information will be spread by the end of the day. But Carlisle, you need to have armed guards in place, on the chance these villains do not approve of her marrying an Englishman.”
“I have men in place as we speak.”
“Of course you do.” The duke paused, his gaze sharpening. “Did it occur to you these fiends may come after you specifically for taking one of their own?”
He was not untouchable. They had come after the Duke of Burghly, had they not? Yes, the thought had occurred to him, but he didn’t give a damn. He would do anything for Bridget. To protect her. To keep her. To make her his forever. “Let them come for me if they dare. I will be ready.”
Strathmore stared at him in silence for so long, Leo fought the urge to twitch. And then he finally broke the silence. “Why did you shoot her?”
“She was attempting to abduct Clay’s son.” He admitted this only out of necessity.
“Jesus.” Griffin shook his head. “I realize I have not slept in three full days, but this is lunacy, even by my standards. Please tell me Clay knows you married the woman.”
Leo wished he could answer in the affirmative. “He does not.” And it was something he needed to rectify. He loved his brother, cherished him, and as far as he knew, Clay, his new wife, their son, and his mother were still in Oxfordshire, in a state of bliss he hated like hell to interrupt. But it was inevitable, a reckoning he would face as stoically as all the rest of what was to come.
“Oh, hell.”
“Precisely.” Leo’s tone was grim. He wished suddenly for a coffee. Or a whisky, even if it was unseemly early for such an indulgence.
“You love her, don’t you?” Griffin asked softly.
“Yes.” More than anything. More than anyone. Hopelessly. Helplessly. “I do.”
“You’re a bigger fool than I thought you were, Carlisle.”
“Yes,” Leo agreed again, unrepentant, without hesitation. “I am. I have one more request for you. I also need you to use your Dublin contacts to find out everything you can about Cullen O’Malley.”
Specifically, just how guilty he was. Or how innocent.
One way or another, the truth would emerge.
And Leo would be waiting.
The day hadcome.
For at least the hundredth time since its arrival the day before, Bridget scanned the terse contents of the missive from one Mrs. Eudora Templeton.
My dear Duchess,
