Page 15 of How to Tempt An Earl
‘How many men do you think Roan has sent?’ He was all seriousness now.
‘I thought perhaps two or three,’ she began, uncertain. That no longer seemed a likely number. It didn’t matter so much to her if there was one or seven—as long as a particular man was among them, it would be dangerous for her. Ammon Vincent was known as ‘the Bulldog’ for good reason. He would stop at nothing to find her for purposes she did not allow herself to contemplate.
‘We’ve seen more than that tonight. I am guessing at least seven, three of which are temporarily out of play now while they lick their wounds.’
Kieran fixed her with a hard stare. ‘I think you’ve greatly under-estimated your worth to Roan. A notorious dealer in weapons has sent seven of his henchmen after a single young woman. He would not go to all of this effort simply to stop a warning. It makes me wonder what else you know. What else is he afraid you will tell us? Given that tonight I have been chased through the alleys of Soho, shot at, had a brick thrown through my window and been forced to abandon my townhome, I think it’s time you and I had a talk. What’s the rest of the story, Celeste?’
Chapter Eight
She’d known it would come to this—the request for more information. He’d protected her tonight and killed for her without hesitation. He would expect something in return, something that would make his efforts worthwhile. She’d hoped it wouldn’t happen so soon. To give away too much would be to lose her leverage. And yet, to give away nothing might cause him to lose interest, to think she was leading him on. Her sense of fair play felt it only right that she told him. He had put himself at risk for her. He’d earned, if not her trust, then at leastsomethingfrom her. After all, protecting herhadbeen in his best interest. If anything happened to her, it would also happen to her information. She had to give him a piece, but not everything: just enough to keep him with her, to ensure she remained of interest to him.
She drew a breath. ‘I have a list. I will give you half of that list when we reach Wrexham and the other half once I am free of Roan.’
‘Is this list important to me?’ Kieran folded his arms behind his head and gave every impression of a man settling in for the long haul.
‘Of utmost importance, I would think. It contains the names of the men who were involved in the sabotage attempt at Wapping, and on that list is the name of the explosives expert who was to be rowed out to the ship that night.’ She held her face impassive, her gaze steady, willing herself not to give away an iota of her desperation. She had nothing else to bargain with.
‘My God, you should have said so at once.’ A hungry dark flame leapt in his eyes.
‘You know I could not. To give everything to you all at once exposes me. As you pointed out yesterday, I would no longer have any use, no longer be worth protecting, if I had nothing left to give.’
‘I would give you myword,’ he growled defensively, clearly insulted by her suggestion.
She shook her head. ‘A word? Am I to stake my life on the word of a man I barely know? Tsk, tsk, now who is the naïve one?’
He fumed, clearly not liking having had his honour called into question, but she had no room for principle at the moment. This was about the practicality of staying alive. She needed insurance he would keep her alive, that he wouldn’t leave her to fend off Ammon Vincent on her own.
His fuming subsided. ‘I see your point. I do not like it, but I understand it.’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘How did you come by the list?’
‘The same way I came by a lot of pieces in Roan’s household. It was lying around.’ She let that bit of information drop in the hope it might provoke curiosity. Instead, it prompted scepticism.
‘You may have overplayed your hand there.’ Kieran grimaced. ‘Roan’s too careful. He wouldn’t leave sensitive information out in the open for just anyone to see.’
‘I wasn’t “anyone”. I was his ward, and I was never expected or allowed to leave.’ She leaned forward in earnest to make him understand. ‘When he sent for me after my schooling finished, he didn’t just bring me into his home, he brought me into his world, whether I wanted to be there or not. There was no choice for me. It was made clear that I would not leave the grounds of his estate. On the rare occasion that I did, it would be under heavy escort. I was to serve as his hostess and, if the time came when a marriage could be advantageous, it would be a match made in his world, to a person of his choosing, and then I would act as his worm in another man’s house.’
She shook her head. ‘He could leave about whatever material he wanted. I was going nowhere. I was no threat to him. I was less than his prisoner. A prisoner might have hope of escape, of freedom in the future. I was his slave. He owned me in every way possible and the law allowed it.’ Her throat clogged a little at saying the words out loud. That last had been her father’s betrayal. She would never know what had possessed her father to make Roan her guardian.
‘Dear Lord, what a nightmare that must have been.’ He breathed deeply. She watched his eyes, waiting for pity to move in those velvety depths, and steeled herself for the inevitable. Pity would be a natural response from a man like him. He was a warrior. He was strong. He’d never be another’s captive.
‘Yes, itwasawful, but I don’t want your pity,’ she said quickly, as if she could ward it off. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. Pity was an emotion reserved for the weak, the pathetic.
‘Is that what you see in my eyes? If so, look again.’ Kieran pierced her with a dark stare that unleashed a complicated warmth—not only the warmth of comfort, of knowing she was safe with him, but the warmth of want, the precursor to a heat that could burn with something hotter—desire, something she could not allow. She was on the run and the running didn’t stop here, didn’t stop with him. It couldn’t stop with him.
‘I’m not in the habit of pitying survivors.’ Kieran’s voice was low, seductively inviting in the privacy of the coach. ‘I admire survivors. I admire strong women. You are both, to have made it this far on your own. You got out, and you’ve lived to tell about it, if you want. It’s your story, but it’s a long way to Wrexham. Would you tell me?’
‘Yes.’ She breathed the single word. She would tell him. He would understand. Not because he’d experienced something similar but because he’d lived the opposite—the absolute freedom of summers at Willow Park with his brothers, embraced by the security and support of a family.
* * *
Kieran was used to hearing horror stories—stories of loss, of desperation and of revenge. These were the things that motivated informants to come forward, to sell information in dark rooms across Europe and to meet clandestinely with strangers. There were certainly all of those elements in Celeste’s tale but the true darkness of her story came from what it lacked. Kieran recognised the absent elements within minutes: any mention of family, the security of routine, or the comfort and anchor of home. What security she had came from her own wits; what home she had came with the price of pleasing Roan and adhering to his wishes.
‘School was a shield, a buffer of sorts for me; it kept me from understanding what Roan did and what my father did for him. I didn’t realise it at the time,’ she began. ‘Instead, I resented my schooling. I moved establishments every few years based on where my father was working. To a young girl, it seemed that I was being pulled away just when I was getting settled, just making friends. Every time I moved, it took longer to settle, longer to believe that this time I would get to stay, although I would convince myself in the end—all to no avail.’
She looked up and met his eyes. ‘I think now that Roan may have planned it that way. Not for me, especially, but for my father. I’ve come to think that Roan didn’t want my father to get too comfortable somewhere. If he did, he might have friends, or allies, who would have been able and willing to help him get out.’
‘Did he want out?’ Kieran asked carefully. She’d trusted him enough to tell him her story. That was no small thing, but he didn’t want to ask for too much too soon and scare her off, even as the questions mounted in his mind.
‘I like to think he did.’ Her gaze returned to her lap, fixed on her hands. ‘The truth is, I didn’t really understand what my father did until I was out of school and Roan had sent for me. I thought my father was a banker, a financier—and he was, just for a corrupt dealer in firearms. There was so much I didn’t understand until later.’
