Moving closer to the lamp, she scanned the page, then sat back, marveling at his ingenuity. He’d written to his superiors saying that he’d learned of the skills and local knowledge of a Mr. Justin Jessop through an acquaintance in Fortuneswell. He’d sent a message to Jessop, followed by another to his commander in Scotland, outlining why his services were required back in Dorset. Rafe explained that an increase in smuggling activity, the soldier’s death, and his own injury had delayed the sending of the second letter. Justin had not deserted the army but was to be engaged in matters directly for the War Office, and that any warrant for his arrest should be withdrawn immediately and his record cleared.
Despite Rafe’s threat about interrogating her, she couldn’t help but admire him for what he’d done for Justin. Of course, Justin’s exemplary character and knowledge of the local area would genuinely benefit Rafe’s cause.
“It will do very well,” she said gratefully. “And any obligation you might feel toward my family for…any reason whatsoever…you can consider more than discharged.”
And perhaps she would also have to forgive him for having such a suspicious mind regarding her…
As she handed the letter back, she hoped the two men would become friends. It delighted her to think they’d be working for the common good.
She sipped at the schooner of sack she’d been given, enjoying the wash of warmth as it trickled down her throat. Danger had—at least for now—been averted, and the relief was enormous.
She took another longer drink. The sweet wine was delicious. She wondered where Rafe had obtained it, and whether it might have arrived as contraband. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? She was smiling at the thought when someone shook her shoulder.
She came back to earth to with a jolt. Rafe was kneeling before her, his face so close she could smell his cologne and see the swathe of dark stubble that shadowed his chin. He was hopefully no longer her enemy, so she allowed herself the pleasure of examining his face, admiring his rugged, masculine beauty, the sculpted lines of his mouth, and the fine creases that became dimples when he smiled.
He had two sorts of smile. There was the fleeting public one, which never reached his eyes, and was doubtless used to remind people he was an earl. But she’d also seen his private smile—a deep, heartfelt grin that lit his face like a wash of magical starlight.
She was a whisper away from tracing her fingers over the contours of that face and savoring those seductive lips with her own.
If only Justin weren’t observing them…
Rafe watched her for a long moment, his eyes darkening, then broke the spell by springing to his feet. “I think it’s time I returned Miss Allston to her bed,” he said crisply.
Justin sucked in a hissing breath, and her delicious imaginings came to an abrupt halt.
Rafe deserved a slap for that unfortunate choice of words, wretched man!
Had he been reading her mind? She flushed and prayed he hadn’t.
But he was right in saying she should return home. It was the dead of night, and she was at a remote farm, alone with not one, but two unmarried gentlemen. If Mama ever found out, she’d be sent to a nunnery.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Half past two. Don’t worry, your household will still be abed when we get there. I assume you let yourself out with a key this time and won’t be scaling the creeper to your window? It’s an awkward climb, as well I know.”
A strangled noise issued from Justin.
Oh lord. How was she going to explain that remark? Damn Rafe! He was being deliberately provoking.
“I can take her home, Seabourne,” Justin said curtly.
“Absolutely not. You won’t be safe until my letter reaches London, and even then, they’ll have to put the word out that you’re not a deserter. These things take time.”
Justin’s expression turned thunderous.
She gave him her fiercest stare. He mustn’t let himself be baited—not when his whole future hung in the balance. “Thank you,” she told Rafe before Justin could say anything. “You’re too kind. Justin is most grateful for your assistance, as am I. You’ve dug him out of a deep hole, sir, and we’re both indebted to you, are we not?”
There was a discernible pause before Justin replied, “Yes, quite so.”
She couldn’t blame him for being short-fused. But he’d soon learn to swallow his pride. He might not approve of Rafe’s manners or choice of words—nor did she—but he must surely admire the man’s generosity and courage. Their country’s cause was too important for them to be at loggerheads.
She stood up, smoothed her skirts, and turned toward the door. But before she reached it, Justin seized her hand and placed an ardent kiss upon it. Looking up, she saw a message of warning in his eyes. Smiling, she nodded her understanding, but he didn’t look reassured—particularly when Rafe draped her shawl about her shoulders and left his hands there moments too long for propriety, then offered her his arm.
She should be feeling a twinge of guilt at abandoning Justin. He’d come all this way to be with her, and she’d rebuffed his overtures and palmed him off onto somebody else. Once everything was settled, she’d find a way to make amends.
As a friend.
She matched her pace to Rafe’s as he strode along beside her on the road back to Fortuneswell, but he said nothing, only stared stonily ahead. In the moonlight, his face looked pale and cold as marble.
“Rafe?”
“Mr. Seabourne. And please keep your voice down.”
“I just wanted to say I cannot begin to express my gratitude—”
“It’s best we don’t talk. Anyone could be listening.”
There was a note of steel in his voice, so she reluctantly fell silent, and concentrated on the path, avoiding snagging branches and deep potholes.
Though it was some hours yet till dawn, a few gulls were awake already, mewing and croaking, preparing themselves for the sunrise. A slight breeze blew in from the coast, bringing with it the salty tang of the sea. It was exciting, even magical, being outside while everyone else was asleep.
Particularly since she was alone with Rafe.
She glanced at him again and realized he was furious. Her heart contracted painfully.
Tightening her fingers on his sleeve, she whispered, “I’m truly sorry for all this. I couldn’t think what else to do.”
“I said don’t speak,” was the hissed reply. “I thought I heard a twig crack just now.”
He was being most uncooperative. How was she to apologize, if she wasn’t allowed to talk?
Frustrated, she muttered, “There must be any number of animals out there. Why does everything have to be spies and danger?”
He glanced down at her. “Must I gag you, Charlotte, and throw you over my shoulder to get you home in silence?”
Infuriating man! If he kept up this level of boorishness, she might forget about apologizing, altogether.
Or…
Perhaps it could be done without words.
Sliding her hand down to his, she stepped smartly off the path, pulling him beneath the branches of a maple tree. Small winged seedpods danced about their heads as she pressed a finger against his lips.
His body radiated rejection, but she clung to him, rose up on tiptoe, and brushed her lips across his.
She waited, her mouth hovering mere inches from his lips, their breaths mingling. A second became ten, then a minute, then stretched into eternity…and still he made no answering move.
He didn’t want her.
She’d just shamed herself completely.
His heartless denial of what was between them crushed her. She’d ruined everything by her reaction when he wanted to read Justin’s letter, and by endangering his mission when she’d brought Justin to him tonight.
But what if that wasn’t the reason for his coldness?
What if Rafe still liked her and was hurt when she’d flaunted her former sweetheart in his face.
Oh dear
. This needed thinking about.
When she got home. For now, Rafe’s refusal to respond to her kiss was too painful to bear.
But when she tried to withdraw, he grasped her elbows in a vise-like grip.
“You’re not to do that again. Ever. Understand?”
“Not kiss you?” she asked, her breath catching with hurt of her own.
“That, too. But what I meant was, never seek me out again. It’s far too dangerous. For us both.”
“I’m sorry.” She struggled to escape his grip, but he wouldn’t let her. She’d clearly not gain her freedom until he said his piece. She ground her teeth in frustration.
“This is no game,” he growled. “Lives are truly at risk, and you’ve hazarded more than your own tonight.”
“We needed your help.”
“You could have sent Tom Harris with a message as I’d instructed. Or do you enjoy sneaking about after dark like a seasoned felon? Perhaps you’re accustomed to it?”
What did he mean by that?
“We made not a sound,” she assured him. “Justin has eluded capture all the way down from Scotland, so he knows what he’s doing. He could have protected me, if there’d been any trouble.”
Rafe gave a derisive snort. “A callow youth who doesn’t even carry a sword?”
“A weapon would have attracted too much attention. Farm laborers don’t carry swords.”
He gave her a little shake. “Why won’t you listen to me? I have your own interests at heart, believe me.”
“Do you, indeed? Tell me, how do you know what my best interests are? I should have thought I was the better judge.”
Expecting a sharp put-down, she was surprised at the vulnerability in his voice when he asked, “Charlotte, is there something you really ought to tell me?”
“About Justin? No.”
“Not about Justin. About you. About who you really are.”
She felt as if she’d been struck by a thunderbolt.
Rafe couldn’t possibly know about her past.
Could he?
She and Mama had been so careful.
Her mind worked frantically. Should she brazen it out?
Or should she trust him, and risk everything?
But her secret wasn’t just hers to spill. It was Mama’s, as well, and—indirectly—Aunt Flora’s. If she trusted him and revealed their past, and Rafe reacted badly, they might all be ruined.
“Are you going to tell me?” he demanded harshly. “Or must I spell it out for you?”
“Go on, then,” she prevaricated, desperately trying to keep the tremor from her voice.
His fingers clenched and unclenched on her shoulders. “I have it on good authority that your surname’s not Allston. You were born Charlotte Cutler, daughter of Abraham Cutler. Do you deny this?”
Deny thy father, and deny thy name…
She said nothing, but her heart sank like lead into her stomach. He knew who she was, and the power to break her world apart was in his hands. She felt hollow—all emotions, all feelings suspended.
“Your father was the mastermind behind an extensive network of smugglers. He made his money through storing and dispersing contraband goods.”
God help her. How had Rafe found out?
She forced herself to speak. “Yes, but in the end, Papa vowed to reform. He promised us he’d make up for his wrongs.”
She expected to be thrust away after this confession, but Rafe still held on to her. What was he planning to do with her? She dared not think about it.
“What brought about his miraculous change of heart?” Rafe asked. She heard only censure in his voice. She’d hoped for understanding.
“Mama found out.”
“Are you telling me she didn’t already know?”
“How should she? He never conducted his business from home, and Mama was above going into common alehouses.”
“Did you know?”
Her eyes welled up. The memories were still raw. She prayed the darkness would hide her tears.
“It was a terrible shock,” she said. “A few years before his death, I accidentally discovered what he was doing. He was absolutely furious and forbade me from ever mentioning it again. But when he took ill, he told me how he was going to help put his former associates behind bars in return for a full pardon. He said he was doing it for me and Mama.”
“Did Jessop know?”
“Of course not!”
“Wasn’t that a bit deceitful? You were planning to marry the boy.”
That blow hit home. “I thought about it all the time. I just never found the right moment. Our stolen moments together were too brief, too precious. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I was going to tell him in the coach going up to Gretna Green, while he still had time to change his mind.”
“Of course I believe that,” Rafe said, his tone sarcastic.
He was too cruel. Pain sliced through her body like a sword. “I thought this was supposed to be an interrogation, not character assassination. I was going to tell him.”
“As you never even made it that far, I take it he still doesn’t know?”
“No. And I’ll thank you not to say anything.”
He narrowed his eyes. “When you see him again, you must enlighten him.”
Rafe was never going to understand her situation. Or stop lecturing her. She needed to escape him—now.
The rest of her confession tumbled out in a flurry. “The night of his murder, Mama and I had to escape in the middle of the night, taking only what we could carry. I had to leave my pets behind, my friends, even my name. The pardon didn’t come in time, so we had no protection from either the law or my father’s betrayed associates. But I expect you already know that.”
He let out a breath and pulled her closer, lowering his head until his forehead rested against hers. “Thank you for finally telling me the truth,” he said. “But what am I to do with you? You’re quite simply the most deceitful, willful, infuriating person I’ve ever met.”
His fingers gentled on her shoulders, his mouth so close his breath feathered across her chin.
Damn him! “And you are the most arrogant, selfish, odious man it’s ever been my misfortune to meet. I despair of ever making you understand—”
The flick of his tongue across the seam of her lips cut her off mid-sentence.
“Understand what?” he murmured, nudging her face up to his.
What was he doing? Did he intend to kiss her? The prospect of being thrown into a cell retreated.
“Understand what it feels like to be wrenched away from everything you know,” she said, “and be forced to live a lie, in fear of being arrested, or killed.”
“You’re wrong. I do understand. I just needed to hear it from your own lips. You must realize what a difficult position this puts me in. I don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t know if I can trust…this.”
His lips pressed against hers, and her body quivered as his tongue sought entry to her mouth. It didn’t occur to her to resist—he was giving her what she wanted. What she longed for.
But he held command of the situation. Her body was in total thrall to his, and while her mind cried out that he didn’t deserve her, or her trust, the rest of her body was sending a completely different message.
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to kiss you,” she said when he paused for a breath.
“Don’t quibble. In fact, don’t talk at all.”
He kissed her again, robbing her of all words, of all thought. His anger, or perhaps his jealousy over Justin, had given an edge to his appetite. As he plundered her mouth with increasing hunger, she sensed he was poised on a knife edge of control. It would take very little to send him over and make him forget himself.
Which meant she had some power, too.
So, she dived wholeheartedly into the sinful temptation of his kiss. He always unlocked something inside her, something wild and wonderful, a creature of passion, and wanton, glorious freedom. It had never, ever felt lik
e this with Justin—he’d never aroused, or slaked, her desire like this.
Rafe was the only man who could. She and he were two parts of the same being, meeting and responding at the very deepest level. He completed her—or would do, if she let him.
With a groan, he tore himself away and held her at arm’s length. When she reached for him again, he let out an oath and stepped free.
“No. We can’t do this. We mustn’t do this. Not here, not now, not ever. There’s too much at stake, for both of us. If you care for me at all, run home, go straight to your door and don’t stop. I’ll keep watch until you’re inside. Don’t look back; forget I’m here. In fact, forget I exist altogether. Believe me, it’s for the best.”
Her heart plummeted.
He was rejecting her.
Again.
Pride urged her to tell him it didn’t matter, that she didn’t care. But she did care, and it hurt like nothing she’d ever felt before. Tears stung her eyes, and her teeth clamped together so hard she tasted blood.
The air was heavy with things unsaid as they walked back to the cottage. She felt Rafe’s presence behind her, forced herself to quash the need to take his hand, to embrace him, and taste just once more the heady wine of his lips.
By the time they reached the cottage, she was exhausted from her internal battle, and, though her feet felt like lead, she hurried away down the path.
Thinking of Orpheus and Eurydice, she didn’t look back for a last glimpse of him. She knew he’d be watching her from the shadows, and she couldn’t bear to let him see the despair in her face or the burning tears, which now coursed down her cheeks.
He must never know the damage he’d done to her heart and her soul.
Chapter Thirty
Having slept in late, it was well past noon the following day by the time Rafe settled down to work again. He sat hunched over his desk, writing a dispatch, while Jessop lurked, pale and disapproving, in a corner.
The young man was still seething after the peal Rafe had rung over him—first for deserting from the army, and then for embroiling Charlotte in his unrighteous activities. Didn’t he know she was too soft-hearted to refuse help to someone in trouble? Didn’t he know that she had a courageous soul and would risk life and limb for a cause she believed in?
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