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Chapter One
Bridget Murray consulted the small gold watch she held in her gloved hand and frowned. Nearby, the last train of the night blew out a burst of steam, sounding very much like an enormous, and rather impatient, horse. She looked about the deserted train station, her eyes roving over the same figures she’d observed the past forty-seven minutes. One lone porter sat on a bench, his eyelids half closed as he snoozed. Through the window of the small lounge, she noted the ticket seller beginning to gather his coat and hat. Bridget, in her dark traveling dress and old but still serviceable winter coat, stood between two columns, watch in hand and umbrella hooked on one arm.
Another minute ticked by. Where was he? The train would depart in twelve minutes. The rest of her charges were aboard, and she felt a twinge of unease at not being safely aboard herself, though she’d reminded herself several times that she still had plenty of time.
Baron wanted Kelly on that train, and Baron had asked her, specifically, to wait for the man. But she couldn’t make this Kelly come to the train station. He knew the train schedule, didn’t he? Surely, he did. Baron informed her Kelly had been given his ticket days ago. Whereas she had held the tickets for her other passengers.
She looked at her watch again just as a gust of steam from the train ruffled her black skirts and momentarily deafened her. When she looked up again, a man sprinted toward her.
He dashed down the platform, his greatcoat flying behind him, revealing dark, fitted evening clothes beneath. He’d lost his hat at some point and his chin-length hair flew back from his clean-shaven face. She might have retreated if not for the grin he wore. He looked like a man having the best night of his life.
She’d been struck momentarily immobile by his sheer masculine beauty. The way he moved, the way his eyes glittered, the way the wind whipped his hair back...
He was coming straight for her.
Bridget glanced at the train then the lounge, trying to decide which was closer should she need to flee. But even as she turned toward the lounge, the man, who was now only a few yards away, called out to her. “Are you Miss Bridget Murray?” His voice had a lilt she couldn’t place at the moment, but she understood him well enough.
“I am.” She shoved her watch into the reticule hanging from her wrist.
“Sure and I’m Callahan Kelly.” He skidded to a stop before her and reached up to doff his hat. Finding it missing, he shrugged and gave her a sweeping bow. Oh, yes, he was handsome. That was undeniable.
Even more undeniable was the fact that he was trouble. One look into his gray-blue eyes told her that.
A commotion at the other end of the platform caused him to straighten and cast a look over his shoulder. Just then four other men tumbled down the far stairwell. A remarkably tall man led three burly men. They paused and looked about as though searching for someone. She sighed. “They’re after you, of course.”
Kelly hissed in a breath and stepped behind the nearest column, pulling her with him. “How long until the train leaves?”
“Eleven minutes.” She peered around the column. The men had slowed, seemingly to search, and moved in the direction of the lounge behind her.
“Too long.” Kelly took her wrist and yanked her out from the columns and into the shadows at the back of the platform.
“Let go!” she objected as he pulled her into an archway built into the stone.
But instead of releasing her, he shoved her against the white tiled wall and pressed himself beside her. “Be quiet.”
Bridget brought her foot down hard on his shoe, and he jumped back, a look of incredulity in his eyes. She straightened. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I have not given you leave to touch me.”
“Bridget—”
“Miss Murray, if you please.”
“You’ll be Miss Murdered if you don’t shut up and step back.”
She might be angry, but she wasn’t an idiot. She could see the men who’d come for him were not the sort to listen to reason or, more importantly, to respect train schedules. She stepped back, pressing herself uncomfortably close to Mr. Kelly, and dug out her watch. “Nine minutes until the train departs.”
“We’ll catch the next one.”
She turned to face him. “You think trains to The Farm leave every day? I have strict instructions to be on that train no m—”
He cupped a hand at the back of her neck and pulled her face hard against his chest. Two seemingly contradictory thoughts entered her head at that moment.
One, she wanted to hit him.
Two, he smelled remarkably good. She had the ridiculous urge to bury her nose in his coat and press her cheek against his warm torso. Instead, she shoved back. His grip on her neck held, and they stared at each other, nose to nose.
“Unhand me!” she hissed.
“Me friends are just there.” His gray-blue eyes darted to the side. “Once they pass us, we make a run for it.”
