Chapter Twenty #2
already have been missed, that someone might be looking for him at that very moment, made her want to jump out of her skin.
“I—we—need your help,” she said without preamble as he locked the door and turned to face her.
“What’s happened?” His voice was sharp.
She told him, as quickly and succinctly as she could. By the time she finished, his arms were folded over his chest and his
face was like thunder.
“So, having escaped death by the grace of God—and myself!—when they decided to turn gunrunners, the O’Reillys are having another
go at getting themselves killed, are they? Did it not occur to you that it might not be the smartest thing you ever did to
get involved in their idiot schemes again?”
He was sounding more Irish than usual, which she’d learned tended to happen when he was in the grip of some strong emotion.
The times she’d noticed it before, he’d been talking to roomfuls of men about the importance of avoiding a wholescale conflict between Britain and Ireland.
Right now, what was fueling it was, she thought, anger, both at her and on her behalf.
She squared her shoulders at him. “I’m a trained nurse. And Seamus was in a bad way. Left untreated much longer, he would
have died.”
“And so O’Reilly came to fetch you. For his cousin. Which was bad enough by itself but might have only earned you a prison
term if you were caught. But then they went and involved you in the murder of what is quite possibly, from the sound of it,
an agent of the British government.”
“Donal had no idea that would happen. He was—we were all—caught by surprise.”
“He’s always getting caught by surprise, it seems. What surprises me is that you keep letting him pull you in to his surprises.” His face went hard. “They’ll execute you, you know. The Brits.
Stand you up against a brick wall and shoot you. Woman or not. With no mercy.” His tone had changed. It was harsh, almost
cold.
“I’m aware.”
“You’re aware.” Suddenly his eyes blazed hot. “Do you love him so much then, Lady Thomas? That you’re willing to risk your life for him?”
“No. No. If you’re meaning Donal, I don’t love him at all, or at least, only as a friend, or a brother. Anything more that was once
between us is over. But—”
A knock on the door interrupted.
“Get in the dressing room.”
She was already darting for the door in the corner of the room even as he pointed at it.
By the time the valet, because it was the valet, left, Rynn was ready to scream with anxiety.
Every passing minute seemed to her like an hour.
When Maguire, resplendent now in a black tuxedo coat with his hair brushed neatly back and his bow tie tied, opened the dressing room door at last and indicated with a mocking gesture that she could leave the seat she had improvised for herself on his upturned valise, she did, walking past him into the room with her head held high before turning to face him.
“Are you going to help us or not?”
“Am I going to put my life and everything I hold dear at risk to save the lives of a pair of hotheaded fools who are working
against the very thing I’m here working for? Is that what you’re asking me?”
Their gazes held. When he put it like that . . .
“Please,” she said.
“Why not go to your husband for help?”
“I don’t want Thomas to know.” She made the admission reluctantly. “His father is so adamantly against the rebellion, and—”
She broke off.
“There’s O’Reilly.” The sardonic note in his voice left her in no doubt about what he was inferring.
“Yes. But not in the way you mean. Thomas isn’t jealous, he’s not that kind of man. It’s . . . I don’t want to put him in
a position where he would be a party to this if anything were to go wrong.” And, although she would never admit it to anyone,
she didn’t think there was anything that Thomas could do. The type of expertise needed to get Donal and Seamus safe away was
far outside his experience.
“Just so you know, every man is that kind of man,” Maguire said. “What makes you think I’m even capable of doing what you
want?”
“I know you are. Just like I know you’re in touch with men you can call on to help get Donal and Seamus safe away.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I know, all right? You may ape the legitimate businessman as much as you want, but we both know it’s only an act.”
“Much as I hate to disabuse you of the wrongheaded notions you seem to have of me, I am a legitimate businessman. It might interest you to hear that I just signed an exclusive deal with Lord Somerset for my company
to act as the sole shipping agent transporting the gin and rum manufactured in his distilleries to America. Quite a coup,
that. And now that such a bastion of the aristocracy is on board, there’ll be more.”
“Lord Somerset? You’ve gone into business with Lord Somerset?” There could only be one—and he would be her half-sister Penelope’s
mother’s second husband.
There must have been an odd note to her voice, because he looked closely at her.
“Do you find something strange in that?”
“It’s just . . . I’ve heard he’s so very, very respectable.” She tucked the information away to be mulled over later and returned
to the topic at hand. “If that is indeed the case, it’s doubly in your best interest to help us. If Donal and Seamus are arrested,
there’s no telling what they might be coerced or tortured into revealing. For example, I doubt it would suit your purpose
if your role in the events of Christmas night were to be revealed.”
“Are you by any chance threatening me?”
“No. No, of course not. We agreed to keep each other’s secrets, and I would never betray that. I am simply asking for your
help. As a fellow countryman. And a friend.”
“Friends, are we?”
“I think so, yes.” Casting a hunted look at the deepening twilight she could just glimpse through a crack in the drawn curtains
over the single window, she clasped her hands together in distress. “Oh, would you stop wasting time? If someone goes looking
for Bingle and finds him there with Seamus—” She broke off as his eyes, which had been regarding her narrowly, dropped to
fasten on her chest.
“There’s blood on your dress.” His words were abrupt. Having found the dressing room oppressively warm, she’d unbuttoned her jacket, which hung open. Glancing down at herself, she realized that he was looking at the stains that marred the front of her dress.
Seeing them, she barely repressed a shudder.
“Where are they?” He sounded grim. He looked grim, she discovered. He also looked big and tough and like a man who was infinitely
capable of dealing with any dire situation that came his way.
As ill-tempered as the question sounded, it was capitulation, she knew. “Seamus is in a lodging house at 200 Chapel Street,
Room 314. Bingle’s body is there as well. It needs to be carried out somehow without anyone realizing what it is, and Seamus
will require help leaving because I don’t think he can walk. Donal wore Bingle’s coat and hat when we left, so that anyone
who might have been watching Bingle enter the lodging house will also have seen him leave, so you won’t have to worry about
that. If you can get them safely away, and dispose of the body, hopefully we can brush through this without anyone suspecting
the truth.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.” Maguire’s response was dry. “And where is Donal?”
“In a pub across the street.”
To her relief, Maguire was already shrugging into his overcoat. “Afraid to show his face to me, was he?”
“I thought it would be best if I talked to you alone first.”
“Did you now?”
She finished buttoning up her jacket as he opened the door. “Yes. At the very least, I knew you wouldn’t turn me over to the
police.”
A grimace was his only answer as he followed her into the hall.