Lady of Seduction (23 page)

“Your contacts?” Caroline asked. Some of her suspicions it seemed were correct—a rebellion was afoot. But Grant’s part in
it was nothing she could have guessed. She still did not know for sure what he was doing.

“I do still have some friends in Dublin,” he said. “And they know that Muirin Inish is perfectly situated for
French schemes. The vicomte wanted
The Chronicle—
that was a good excuse for a covert visit, a chance for me to discover more about any plans Napoleon might have. But we did
not plan for such a villain as LaPlace. The man is a fanatic for Bonaparte.”

“He is a villain indeed,” she said, thinking of all the wounds LaPlace inflicted.

“He was obviously set on his own mission, and was prepared to do anything to achieve it,” Grant said. “I doubt those include
Irish independence. His papers tell us more, but I must get them to Dublin as soon as possible and see them into the right
hands. Perhaps we can stop the disaster of another rising before it’s too late. I fear I can say little else. I have to see
you safe, and then go on with my work alone.”

“So—you work with Irishmen?” she said, her mind reeling with it all. She especially did not like that word
alone.
She feared it meant after they reached Dublin she would not see him again.

“Yes. Do you see, Caro my dear? I just want to try and make up for all I did before, try to protect you,” he finished.

Did she see? She had feared he worked for the French, even as her instincts told her he could not. It made more sense he worked
for the British government, for that world of privilege he once lived at the center of. Did he still turn his back on his
Irish heritage? Did he still hate it? If only she could be sure.

“Oh, Grant,” she said. Her throat felt tight with the threat of tears. She leaped up and ran around the table to throw her
arms about his neck. “I can help you with this. I know I can.”

“No, Caroline,” he said firmly. His arms were hard around her waist. “It’s too dangerous. I told you what to expect so you
can be fully on your guard, but you can’t be involved in this any more than you already are. Remember what happened to your
sister Eliza in ninety-eight? She’s living in exile now, and it could have been worse. I won’t have that happen to you. My
work is only mine; I can tell you no more about it.”

“Maybe I can’t shoot or fight like Eliza,” she said. “But I know a great deal about Ireland. I can help in other ways.”

“You help by writing your history. People are dispirited by the Union. They need to find their pride again, their sense of
heritage. Books like yours have the power to do that. My job now is to get you safely to Dublin so you can finish your work.”

“And so you can deliver those papers, whatever they are?”

Grant gave her a tight smile. “Yes, that, too. And it must be soon. We have very little time to get to Dublin.”

“Then we must keep each other safe,” she said. And she would have to persuade him that she really could help with his work.
Ireland,
their
Ireland, was too precious to lose. Surely he saw that now, saw that they were a part of this country just as it was a part
of them. They had to fight for it, however they could.

Suddenly there was a pounding at the door. Startled, Caroline tumbled off Grant’s lap and landed on the floor.

“If you still want passage with old Fergus, you’ll have to hurry,” the landlady shouted.

Grant helped Caroline to her feet and scooped her clothes off the floor to hand them to her. “You heard the lady,” he said.
“No time to talk now.”

“Maybe not,” Caroline said as she tugged on her breeches and pulled the wrinkled shirt over her head. “But surely you must
know by now, Grant Dunmore—you can’t escape me. I will find out the truth, one way or another.”

He suddenly grabbed her wrist and spun her against him for a quick, hard kiss. “I know you’re the most damnably stubborn woman
ever. But I can be stubborn as well, and I won’t hurt you again.”

“Oh, don’t I know it? You are damnably stubborn,” she whispered. She kissed the line of his jaw, the tiny pulse that beat
there whenever he was being patient with her. “If nothing else, this should be a very interesting journey.”

He chuckled and lifted her off her feet to twirl her around until she laughed giddily. “Oh, Caro.
Interesting
is going to be the least of it.”

C
aroline leaned against the door of the livery stable as Grant negotiated to hire two horses. She studied the street beyond,
her hat pulled low over her brow to conceal her hair and add to the illusion that she was a lad. With her tall, slender figure
and her breasts bound with strips of linen, surely she could pull it off if no one looked too closely.

And no one paid her any mind as they hurried on their business. Killorgin was a busy port town, with brightly painted fishermen’s
houses lining the cobblestone streets and the briny smell of fish and pickled vegetables on the fresh breeze. The shops had
just opened for the day, and their owners swept the front steps and laid out their wares in the windows. Carts rattled past
laden with barrels and crates to be loaded on the waiting boats. It all seemed like a typical Irish coastal town.

But Caroline noticed that there were not as many boats in port as could be expected. Because of the unpredictable weather?
Or because of something else that kept them away from the waters—like English patrols and French
smugglers? Everyone seemed most intent on minding their own business, which was also odd for an Irish town. Usually curiosity
and natural chattiness got the better of people when they met with a stranger who might have new tales to tell.

Back in ’98 the town had been occupied by the army and the site of a raid and skirmish, one that was quickly put down. Since
then, things were quiet in the area. Everyone just wanted to rebuild their lives and make a living as they always had from
the sea and the ships. If the country rose up again against the English, or worse, if there was a French invasion, there would
be those who went to battle again. And there would be those who kept their heads down, frightened of more war and upheaval.

She should follow their example now and try to stay as quiet and unobtrusive as possible on this journey. She had to listen
and watch—especially where Grant was concerned. Could she trust him now? Everything was so precariously balanced, and it could
all change in an instant.

“It felt as if I was negotiating the Treaty of Cateau-Cambresis, but I have at last procured us two horses,” Grant said as
he came up beside her. “The proprietor’s wife also sold us a basket of provisions so we shouldn’t have to stop for some time.”

“The weather looks promising as well,” Caroline said.

“I’m hoping we make it to Kilmallock by the evening, if we ride fast.”

“Er, about that…” Caroline said slowly.

He looked down at her with his brow arched. “Is there a problem?”

“No, it’s just—well, I am not what you would call an especially good rider.”

“Really? I thought all Irish countrywomen learned to ride before they could walk. Your sister was a bruising rider, as I recall.”

Caroline felt a twinge at the mention of Anna, who as well as being blond, pretty, and stylish was a veritable centauress.
She was even one of the few women in the county to ride with the local hunt. Caroline was not like that.

“I do know how to ride,” she said. “My father was a famous sportsman, and I think he bought us our first ponies the moment
we were born. I just don’t do it very often.”

Caroline didn’t think it necessary to mention her suspicion of horses. The way they looked at people from their soft brown
eyes always seemed to her as if they were planning something secret and nefarious. As if they were just waiting to throw a
person to the ground and then laugh at them.

As Grant laughed now. “Then we’ll insist on the most placid mount in the stable.”

“I don’t want to slow you down,” she cried as he led her around the building to the stable yard in back. “Perhaps I should
find passage on a post chaise.”

Yet even as she suggested it, she knew parting with him was the last thing she wanted to do. Not when she was so close to
finding out more of his secrets. And besides, what if there
was
an uprising again and the post coaches were stopped as they were in ’98?

He shook his head. “I shudder to think of the trouble you would get into on a post chaise. No, I said I would get you to Dublin,
and I will. Even if it’s on a horse.”

They quickly procured their mounts and transferred
the contents of the valise into saddlebags before setting out on the road out of town. At first they traveled in silence.
The traffic into Killorgin was thick for a couple of miles, carts packed with cargo for the ships and families on foot with
their market baskets. They had to maneuver their way through the crowds, and it took all Caroline’s concentration to feel
at ease in the saddle again and remember how to control the horse. Luckily her gray mare seemed as placid as promised and
not inclined to go running off into the woods.

After a while, the traffic thinned to a trickle, and they had the road almost to themselves. The sun climbed higher in the
watery-blue sky and beamed down on Caroline’s hat-covered head. She actually began to feel almost warm for the first time
in weeks. With Grant beside her and the open road stretched before them, she could almost forget the reality of their situation
and imagine herself on a pleasant country ride.

Almost.

She glanced at the bag strapped to Grant’s saddle, where she knew the papers were concealed. Her gaze slid over the cloth
of his breeches pulled taut over his hard thigh, and she thought of last night. The blindfold, the feeling of his body moving
against hers…

Her face suddenly felt hot, and she looked sharply away. He grinned at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, which
made her cheeks flame even higher.

“I think the horse likes you,” he said. “She hasn’t made even the tiniest move to throw you off and run away.”

While Grant, damn him, looked born to ride a horse. He sat easily, almost lazily, in the saddle with the reins carelessly
draped in his hand. “She’s probably just biding
her time, waiting for the perfect moment to dash my head against those boulders,” Caroline said. “But perhaps we have come
to an understanding.”

“If you’re tired we can stop for a rest.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s actually rather pleasant, all things considered. The sun is out, we’re not on a boat in the middle of
a storm…”

“And you’ll be back in a library in only a few days.”

They turned onto another, more narrow roadway lined with tall hedgerows. The sun smelled warm and soft on the thickets, and
all she could hear was the silence of the countryside broken only by birdsong and the faint bleating of sheep. She had forgotten
what the country was like after her years in Dublin, the freshness and clean beauty of it, the green, earthy smell.

Her life was waiting up ahead. As Grant said, she would be back in a library. She loved her books, the feel of the soft, old
paper under her fingers, the scent of leather covers and glue, the wonders of discovery to be found in the pages. She loved
her writing and thought it was important. But was that enough now? Was it really all she wanted?

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It will be nice to be home and to see my friends again. My niece and nephew will be getting so big
now! But I fear my little town house will be quiet and dull after all this.”

“And quiet without Lord Hartley there?”

Grant had hardly mentioned her husband. Caroline turned to him in surprise, which her horse took as a sign it should also
turn. She had to tug hard on the reins to keep them from plowing into the hedgerow.

Once they were on the path again, she said, “I do miss
Hartley at times, though he never lived in this house with me. His son lives in the grand Hartley house now. I especially
miss the evenings when we would sit by the fire and read together, or when we would go to the lectures at the Hibernian Society
and then discuss them after. But he has been gone for some time now, and we were not married all that long anyway. Sometimes…”

Sometimes it was hard for her to remember his face or the pleasant, soft way he would kiss her. That life seemed to fade further
and further away the longer she was with Grant.

“Tell me about him,” Grant said.

“You met him when you lived in Dublin. I think you even belonged to the same club.”

“Of course I met him. Dublin is a small place; one always seems to run into the same people everywhere. But we didn’t exactly
have the same interests back then.”

“No,” Caroline said. It was hard to think of two more different men than Grant and Hartley. “Hartley wasn’t much interested
in politics or wars, unless they happened a thousand years ago. He had no ambitions except for his studies.”

“He didn’t go around smashing people’s lives as I do?”

“No. He liked things quiet and calm so he could concentrate on his work. I think he would have been happiest to stay in his
library day and night, though I did occasionally coax him to the theater or a card party. It was a nice life. No fires or
riots.”