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“Sure and me mam didn’t know him either. She never mentioned him, but little bits about her life in Belfast slipped out here and there. She’d done what most women did to earn money when they’re desperate. She’d left Belfast so I wouldn’t grow up with people calling me a son of a whore. In London, she could start over. She didn’t prostitute herself in England, not on her back, but the factory she worked in was just as bad.”
“I’m sorry.” And Bridget was. For the first time she’d felt genuine compassion for Callahan Kelly. She’d thought him a thief and a conman, but now his choices made sense. They hadn’t really been choices at all. And she pitied the little boy whose mother was away all day and whose work probably barely kept the two of them clothed and fed.
“She’s dead now. Got sick and couldn’t work. I was already a decent thief by then, but I learned to be better or we wouldn’t have eaten and would have been turned out of our rat-infested room.”
“How old were you when she died?”
“Fifteen.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t tell you this so you’ll pity me, lass.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t. But I need to know so the—er, marriage appears real.”
“Right. And your da? When did he die?”
All the compassion she’d felt immediately froze. “I was ten.” And in her opinion, he should have died years earlier.
“What kind of work did he do?”
“I don’t want to talk about him. Make up whatever you like about him. I’ll go along with your story.”
Callahan didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, he murmured, “He was that bad, was he?”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” she said through clenched teeth.
He spread his hands. “Fine.” She thought he might try to go back to sleep now. She would have allowed it. She hadn’t thought this discussion through well enough, hadn’t realized how personal it would be. Baron had always told the agents he trained that they would be most believable if they stuck to the truth as much as possible. No changing names or family history. Or if a change was necessary, make the slightest one possible. Now, she was the one not following the rules.
“Why don’t we talk about how we met?” he suggested.
“We met in a train station.” The sky beyond the curtains was growing lighter, and she appreciated it. The dark carriage was far too cozy with only the lanterns to light their faces. “Obviously, we can’t mention what we were doing there. But we can say we were both traveling and ended up sitting together. It was a whirlwind courtship, and we married three months later.”
“I wasted no time getting leg-shackled.”
“Why would you when you’d met the right woman?”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t. Not that I’ve ever thought of marrying, but if I was the marrying sort. I can’t see you marrying so—shall we say, spontaneously?”
“You were most persuasive.”
“You fell in love with me wit and charm.”
“Ha! Unlikely.”
He gave her a dark look. “Then what made you fall in love with me?” She recognized the challenge in his voice. As much as she might want to evade the question, it was relevant.
“Let’s say that I loved your accent. It reminded me of my father.”
“Your dearly loved father. The one you won’t discuss.”
“I fell in love with your accent and your good looks.”
Now his face brightened. “Me good looks? What specifically do you like about me looks, lass?”
“It’s not me who likes your looks. It’s the woman you supposedly married.” She stared at her clipboard as she spoke, as though she found the travel documents there fascinating.
He smiled faintly, obviously humoring her. “Of course. Still, we should get our story straight. What about me looks most appealed to you?”
She bit her lips. Should she be truthful or...oh, what difference did it make? Everything about him was appealing—except his arrogant attitude.
“I’ll tell if you tell,” he said, voice singsong. She almost laughed. He could definitely be charismatic when he wanted. Of course, her father could be charming when it suited him too. She had to be careful not to let Callahan’s charm fool her. Everything about this marriage was superficial, and her attraction was superficial as well.
