Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands #3)(64)

Carlisle’s gaze was on him, hard and assessing. “Liverpool is where Vanreid just spent a great deal of time. We suspect him of bringing supplies and funds to aid the Fenians already planted in England. The address inside the box could have been planted to mislead us, or it could be a valuable asset to our cause. Either way, we need one of our best men to be our eyes and ears there for the next month at least. If there is a dynamite ring based in Liverpool we will run them to bloody ground before they can set one more bomb.”

Sebastian nodded. Vanreid again. Why could Carlisle not accept that Vanreid, a corpulent animal who had beaten his own daughter and attempted to marry her off to an aging reprobate, was the source of the evil they wanted to defeat? That Daisy had no part in it? That she was an innocent victim who deserved far more than a false marriage to a man who had done nothing but deceive her from the day he’d met her? For his part in this travesty, Sebastian could not keep his gorge from rising each time he thought of it.

But his was not to question. He owed his loyalty to the League and to his country first, regardless of how unpalatable he found his present task. “I’ll need to inform Daisy of my plans.”

“No.” Carlisle stalked forward again, dark as a thundercloud. “You will inform her of nothing. Her part in this plot remains unclear, but she is not to be trusted. Indeed, you must not even think of her as your wife. She is a means to an end. Nothing more. Am I understood, Trent?”

The words tumbled about in his mind, settled into his veins, cold as winter’s ice. A means to an end. Nothing. He saw her face, lovely and expressive. Thought of the way she came alive in his arms, all innocent fire. Heard her words. I love you. She had slipped past his battlements and crept beneath his skin, and he could never do what Carlisle asked. Not any longer.

For as long as he lived, the taste of her—sweet, wild, delicious—would remain with him. Some long-overlooked restlessness inside him hungered for her. He could kiss her senseless on a thousand nights under a hundred different moons, and he would still want her more than he had the night before.

She was not—could never again be—just a means to an end.

“She is an innocent in this, Carlisle.” Sebastian met him halfway, unafraid and unapologetic. Yes, he had a duty but he also had a mind of his own, and everything in him told him that Daisy was not a part of whatever evil her father sowed. Maybe it was what he wanted to believe. Something had changed for him from the moment he’d met her, and it left him questioning everything: his loyalty, his oath, the League, his instincts, his own bloody honor.

Everything.

The duke considered him. “You’ve been bedding her against my orders, then.”

It was not a question, but a statement. Rage swarmed through him to hear Carlisle speak so cavalierly of her, as if she were no better than a tavern doxy. He clenched his fists at his sides to keep from smashing one of them into his superior’s jaw. “Go to hell.”

“Jesus.” Carlisle stared at him, his expression for once undisguised. It was pure, unadulterated disgust. “I never would have expected it of you, Trent.”

He didn’t wish to discuss Daisy with anyone, and especially not the Duke of Carlisle. It felt like a betrayal of her. “Goddamn you, Carlisle, the League doesn’t own my cock, and I’ll do with it what I like. Furthermore, I swear to you that I have uncovered nothing to suggest she has even an inkling of the Fenian plots. She cannot abide by her father, who beat her and wanted to marry her off to Breckly despite her own vehement objections.”

“That is what she wants you to believe. I daresay this wouldn’t be the first time a good man has fallen prey to a traitorous cunny.” Carlisle snorted. “Certainly won’t be the last.”

He had never longed to thrash a man to within an inch of his life more. Sebastian took a menacing step forward. “Do not dare to disparage her in my presence again.”

Carlisle met him halfway. They squared off, boot to boot, of a height with each other. Sebastian was a bit leaner than Carlisle, but he was sure he could win handily in a bout of fisticuffs.

“Push me at your peril, Trent,” Carlisle warned, his tone soft yet somehow as harsh as a whip. “Forget whatever spell she’s cast upon you with her wiles. We have far more important tasks at hand. More bombs will be fashioned and lit in the streets. They’ve already blown apart a building and killed a child. Innocent lives will be taken unless we act, goddamn it.”

Yes, damn it all to hell. Sebastian took a breath, his superior’s stern admonition recalling the stakes to him. Dynamite. Death and destruction. So many lives were in danger. How many more innocents would shed their blood and lives at the hands of these monsters unless they were stopped? He had sworn to defend his country, and regardless of the way he felt for Daisy, he had to stay true to his oath.

“Liverpool,” Sebastian muttered, flexing his hands. He would not beat Carlisle senseless. Not today. Another day, perhaps. For now, there remained a different sort of war to fight.

“Yes.” Carlisle’s eyes blazed with something akin to madness. “I need you in Liverpool. I need you clearheaded and alert. You’ve always been one of the best, Trent, and we can’t afford to lose you now.”

He would go, though the notion left him cold and hollow. Curious feeling, that. For the entirety of his years serving in the League, only one other mission had given him pause. And that one had been marrying Daisy Vanreid.