The corridor was blissfully empty.
Caleb closed the door and locked it.
“That was rather dramatic,” she said. He looked at her, then moved back a step, careful not to trip over the all but invisible wire of one of his traps. He need space as he didn’t trust himself not to try to take her into his arms.
“Didn’t Mrs. Jacobs explain the rules?” he asked.
“Yes, but I thought this worth the risk.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “I know you asked me to vacate the house. It’s not as easy as that, but I am—”
She waved a hand. “That’s not what this is about. I’m actually glad you are still here.”
There went his heart into his throat again. He swallowed. “Why is that?” His voice was slightly higher than he would have liked, but it didn’t falter.
“Because I need your help.”
Caleb took a breath and attempted to slow his racing heart. “Shouldn’t you ask your husband for help?”
“I am asking you. I went to a man today with the intent of hiring him to find...a missing person. He agreed, but the price he asked was too high. I’ve searched for him myself but have exhausted my limited skills in this area. I know you have talents others do not. I thought you might do this for me as a favor.” She looked down at the floor and then back up again. “Because it concerns you as well.”
“How is that?”
“The person I am searching for is your son.”
Three
Caleb reached for the table edge, his legs as unsteady as those of a man who’d just walked out of a gin house. “What did you say?”
“You’d better sit down. You’ve gone white as a sheet.”
“Watch the wire,” he said.
She looked down then up at the bucket of nails suspended above her. Stepping over the wire, she reached for one of the chairs at his table and pulled it out, then pushed him down onto it. She looked warily about his room. “Are there any other traps?”
“Not at the moment.”
“This is bigger than my room, and your furnishings are not quite so worn.”
He didn’t have the wherewithal to tell her that he’d spent some of his all-too-ample time making the room comfortable and setting up traps.
“What does your window look out upon?”
At least she had the wits not to go to the curtains and fling them open. And she had the sense to know he’d had a big shock and that speaking of trivialities would mitigate the effect.
“The street.”
“Of course. I look at another building and an alleyway.” She bent to peer at him. “Do you need a drink, or have you recovered sufficiently?”
“You said I have a son?”
“Yes.”
“I need a drink.” He put a hand to his throat, which felt as though it had closed. He gestured to the floor by the washbasin where he kept a bottle of brandy. She crossed to it, and he had time to look at her. Yesterday, she’d been dressed plainly, almost matronly. Today, she wore a gown of deep red, practically an earthy brown. It was the sort of color that made her skin look flushed and healthy. Her hair was more elaborate as well. The severe bun had been replaced by a loose upsweep with a cascade of loose tendrils.
He might have taken a moment to admire her figure, but she set the brandy down hard on the table. “I can’t find a glass.”
“No need.” He uncorked the neck and drank straight from the bottle, closing his eyes as the liquid burned a path down his throat. The warmth was immediate. He savored it, then took another healthy swig just for good measure.
“Better?” she asked.
“Yes. Do sit.”
“I’d rather stand. I made a request for assistance.”
“To find my son.” He frowned. “How is it I have a son?”
Her brows went up. “I thought you, of all people, understood how these things work.”
“We were—that is to say, I was careful.” He hadn’t spilled his seed inside her. He’d been careful to withdraw every time. He’d known he’d have to go to the Continent, and he’d known there was a good chance he would die. His plan had always been to find her and marry her if he survived. He hadn’t known then that his work in the war would haunt him long afterward.
“I can only suppose that method of child prevention isn’t infallible,” she remarked dryly. “A few weeks after you left, I found I was with child.”
Caleb drank again. This time, it was to prevent his legs from standing and carrying him toward her. He wanted to hold her. “I’m so sorry, Bridget.” He raked a hand through his hair, regret slamming through him. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you. You must have known you’d be ostracized.”
“I could have dealt with verbal abuse and slurs against my moral character if I had known you were coming back. If I thought you cared for me.”
He did stand now. “Of course I cared for you. I told you.” He reached for her, but she swatted his hand away.
“If you cared for me, you would have told me you were going, not have left it to the undersecretary to give me the news.”
“Bridget.” He spread his hands. “I couldn’t tell you or anyone.”
“And you were always one to follow the rules.”
Caleb fisted a hand in his thoroughly disheveled hair. “This wasn’t a rule. It was an order. If you only knew the nature of my mission, you would understand why it had to remain secret and why my death had to be fabricated.”
“But I didn’t understand any of that. I truly believed you were dead, and there I was, pregnant with your child.”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen. I meant to come back and marry you. I had no idea everything would go so wrong.”
“Neither did I. Everything went very, very wrong, and I’ve spent the last six years trying to find a way to make it right.”
Caleb pulled the other chair out from the table. “Please, sit. Tell me what happened.”
Reluctantly, she sat, stiff and formal. He sat too and offered her the brandy bottle. She shook her head.
“Did you marry?” he asked. “Or was that a falsehood to protect your reputation?” He was an arse for asking this first. Of all the things he needed to know, this detail was probably the least important. But he wanted the answer. Was she another man’s wife? Had he been the reason she’d married a man she didn’t love, though he had to admit it would be better for all of them if she did love the man. What could Caleb offer her? And Bridget deserved happiness.
“I married a man named Robert Lavery.”
Caleb furrowed his brow and drank again. He didn’t remember any Lavery. “Did I know him?”
“No. After you went to the war and I realized I was pregnant, I left the Foreign Office. I found some work teaching art to students and sold a few of my own sketches to a printshop below my classroom. On my way coming and going, I met Robbie. He was kind, gentle, obviously infatuated with me.”
Caleb had no doubt that it hadn’t been difficult for her to attract men, even men willing to marry her. But the way she spoke of this Robbie made his hand on the brandy bottle loosen. She hadn’t loved him. He should have wanted her to find love, but he couldn’t bring himself to be that magnanimous. He supposed he was selfish that way.