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 The severe bun had been replaced by a loose upsweep with a cascade of loose tendrils.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