Page 5

Shecould read and write.

However, if the love note had only been to arrange an assignation, why had Mr. Westbrook posted extra security this morning? And why had Mrs. Dough tisked and tutted at the market earlier about strange happenings?

What have I done?

“I cannot lose this position,” Siobhan whispered, unwrapping the scarf around her neck to allow blessedly cool air to caress her hot skin. Since last night, her throat had become scratchier, and swallowing pained her. “I cannot, must not, become ill, either.”

Shefeared it might be too late for the latter, but she mustn’t go home.

Lostwork meant lost wages.

Despitewhat she’d told Mr. Westbrook earlier, Kimber might well need a physician.

Howmuch treatment and medicines would a pound cover?

Siobhancould save money by allowing Mr. Westbrook to examine Kimber. However, she couldn’t trust her siblings not to reveal the truth about her accidentally.

Thatmust never happen.

Itwas one thing for a duke’s handsome, wealthy adopted son to show kindness and munificence toward Siobhan but another entirely for him to forgive her for betraying him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Halfwayto the kitchen, she stopped and dropped her chin to her chest.

Shemust tell Mr. Westbrook about the note and her part in delivering the scrap of paper.

Itwas the right thing to do, no matter the consequences.

Herconscience demanded it.

Shewasn’t, however, revealing her gender. There remained the tiniest chance Mr. Westbrook wouldn’t sack her because she’d done the right thing.

And if wishes were whisky, everyone would dance jigs, as Da used to say.

Afterwrapping the scratchy scarf around her neck again, Siobhan pressed a hand to her waffy stomach.

“God save me. Greed brought me to this point.” Not so much greed but concern about Kimber. Eejit. “It’s no more than I deserve.”

Regardless, it wasn’t what Kimber and Paddy deserved.

Heavinga sigh, Siobhan changed directions and forced her feet to move forward. With each step, her head became foggier and her stomach more nauseous.

OutsideMr. Westbrook’s door, she closed her eyes to regain her equanimity while reaching into her pocket and extracting the pound note. She might never touch this much money again.

Mutedvoices echoed from within.

Summoningevery morsel of courage she possessed, she knocked.

“Come.” Mr. Westbrook’s melodic baritone bid her enter.

Shepushed the handle and stepped inside.

Hesat behind his big desk, seemingly relaxed, though he exchanged a speaking glance with Mr. Chandler.

“Yes, Sean?”

Itcame out in a rush.