A Perilous Passion

by Elizabeth Keysian

  “You may go,” he told his henchman.

  “Should I leave the lantern, my lord?”

  “No, take it with you, man. But cover it before you go outside. I don’t want to attract attention.”

  The smuggler slunk off, closing the door of the icehouse with a snap. She listened intently, but there was no sound of a key turning in the lock, no click of a padlock.

  She felt a trickle of hope. She could still escape. All she needed to do was overpower Lord Culverdale, get herself through the doorway, and scream like a banshee before the guard outside could overpower her.

  Right.

  Culverdale stepped carefully onto the icy floor. She could just make out his features in the gloom—the glitter of sharp, intelligent eyes, the line of his thin lips, and the languid composure of his face. A composure that had fooled so many into thinking he was a harmless fop.

  He bristled with menace. Perhaps her last hour had come. He had both hands free and was no doubt armed, while she had nothing but words to defend herself.

  “I won’t keep you long, my dear,” he said, and she dared to hope he meant to release her, not to kill her. “I’ve urgent business elsewhere, but for the moment, they can manage without me. I aim to net a bigger prize than French brandy, Flemish lace, or Sevres porcelain. And you, my dear, shall be my bait.”

  Her heart quailed.

  Rafe.

  She was sure he meant to use her to lure Rafe here, and into a trap.

  She lifted her head. “I don’t know what you can possibly mean.”

  He came closer and pressed his long, hard fingers under her chin. “Yes, you do,” he said, smiling. “It’s too late to play games.”

  She licked her lips, which were threatening to crack in the icy air. “He won’t come,” she said defiantly. “He means to bring you down, and he won’t let any distraction get in the way. Especially a woman. You might as well let me go and stop wasting your time.”

  “Oh, he’ll come. You can be certain of it. And I’m looking forward to his arrival enormously. Have you ever seen a man tortured? No? Then you shall absolutely watch.”

  Bitter bile rose into her throat. This man had been to the royal court. He’d meted out justice in the village. He held the welfare of dozens of dependents in his hands. She’d even danced with him, for heaven’s sake!

  How could he live such an outrageous lie?

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked. She truly wanted to know. “You have everything you could possibly want—rank, privilege, wealth. Why throw in your lot with our country’s enemies? With a regime that has slaughtered countless innocents, including most of your fellow noblemen?”

  His smile contained no hint of humor. “I welcome challenge,” he replied, “and I welcome change. The old order is dying, anyone can see that. What use have we for kings in their dotage, for fat princes who care only for their own pleasure? None, whatsoever. The new order in France is refreshing. It must happen here, as well.”

  “I don’t necessarily disagree. But what of the bloodshed?” she countered. “You’re prepared to risk lives, even of innocent children?”

  “Everything comes at a price.” He fetched a silk handkerchief from his pocket and made great play of stifling a yawn. “I tire of this discussion. Perhaps it’s time to gag you, so I can finish you off in peace. I have to occupy the time somehow until Beckport comes.”

  She turned her head away as he seized her bound hands and flung her to the floor. But she’d barely time to register the fresh agony when, with a rush of air, a dark shape hurtled past and knocked Culverdale off his feet.

  He gave a grunt of pain, and when she looked up, two men were grappling violently on the slimy surface of the ice. She tugged at her bonds, desperate to escape them, but it was useless. All she could do was watch as the men rolled over and over, clawing, striking and grabbing at one another.

  She saw the glint of a knife in Culverdale’s hand. He struck at his assailant, but the man just swore and sent the weapon flying.

  Her heart stilled at the curse. She knew that voice. Rafe!

  But why was he wearing such ill-fitting clothes? Clothes that made him look a little like…Justin?

  There was no time to puzzle it out. She must get herself free, or at least get close enough to distract or immobilize Culverdale.

  But Rafe needed no help. He bore down on his foe with grim determination, trapping the older man’s flailing legs, countering every blow with iron strength, and finally pushing Culverdale’s head backward with the flat of his hand until the man’s neck creaked.

  The traitor’s body went limp, but Rafe took no chances. He drove his fist so hard into the man’s face the whole body jerked. Culverdale’s head struck the ice.

  Then all was still, except for the slow leak of dark blood from the traitor’s nose.

  Rafe rolled the inert form away from Charlotte. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said.

  A swift step brought him to his knees beside her. He drew her to him, and she collapsed into the strength and safety of his embrace. “Oh, Rafe, thank God.”

  “My darling,” he rasped. “Did that whoreson hurt you?”

  She could force no more sound past the knot of emotion lodged in her throat, so she just shook her head against the sturdy column of his neck. His chest heaved as he held her closer still, and the moment spun out like a thread unraveling, until her fear and shock slowly ebbed away.

  He rocked her in his arms, and soon she felt as if the world was empty but for the two of them, melded together like the strongest steel, one being, unbreakable.

  When she finally found her voice, she asked, “Is it over?”

  He kissed her hair. “Unfortunately, my love, it isn’t. I still have more battles to fight.”

  Which meant he was going to leave her and risk his life again.

  How was she going to bear it?

  Chapter Forty-Two

  An eternity passed before Rafe could bring himself to release his hold on Charlotte. He didn’t want the moment to end, but he needed to free her quickly and get her out of here. Who knew what other torments this night was liable to bring?

  He eased back and kissed her gently. Her cheeks were wet—but from her tears, or his, he couldn’t say.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice. Moving behind her, he tugged at the cords that bound her hands, afraid to use Culverdale’s knife lest he cut her.

  As he pulled at the knot he continued talking, in hopes of calming her. What she’d just been through was something no young woman should have to face, especially not his future wife.

  For a brief moment, his fingers ceased their task.

  She had agreed to marry him, hadn’t she?

  “It’s coming,” he said, giving a final pull at the loop of cord. “There. Rest your hands on my shoulders while I release your feet. By God, you’re as cold as one of my Praxiteles statues. I’m so grateful I got here in time. Splendid—that’s you free.”

  He stood and lifted her into his arms, and she struggled to drape her numb hands around his neck. When the blood came back it would be painful, and he’d need to chafe them for her. But not in this dreadful place.

  He carried her through the door and pushed it shut before setting her on her feet. She wobbled, and he cursed the man who’d tied her up so cruelly.

  “Sit,” he ordered, pointing to a fallen tree trunk. “Rub the blood back into your hands and feet while I deal with this piece of human cess.”

  Kneeling by the limp form of the free trader he’d laid out upon arrival, he stripped off the man’s belt and kerchief and trussed him up so he couldn’t speak or move.

  A small bunch of keys was attached to the man’s belt. “Good,” Rafe said, standing up and approaching the door. “One of these must be the icehouse.” He found the right key and locked the door. “This should keep his lordship out of trouble.”

  “Are you sure he can’t escape?” Cha
rlotte asked as he pocketed the keys.

  “Not unless the fiend can climb concave walls, or happens to have a pick-lock about his person.”

  “He had a knife.”

  “He doesn’t now,” Rafe reassured her, patting his pocket. Correction. Jessop’s pocket. Soon he must head back to the coast, to find out how the ambush was going, though he wished with all his heart he didn’t have to leave her. The sight of Charlotte helpless in Culverdale’s hands had made him murderous. Only the fact that a living traitor was more use than a dead one had stayed his hand.

  Charlotte looked horribly shaken.

  Rafe said gently, “Don’t worry. His plan is collapsing even as we speak, making him less dangerous by the minute. Jessop’s at the beach in charge of the operation. I’ll make sure you get home safely, but then I must return to the fray. Here, take this. You’re shivering like mad.”

  He shrugged out of Jessop’s uncomfortably tight jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

  “Why are you wearing Justin’s jacket?” she asked, clearly puzzled. “And, if I’m not mistaken, his breeches and waistcoat?”

  “A bit of subterfuge, to keep up the morale of the men. They don’t like their commanding officers disappearing off in the middle of a battle. Jessop is currently masquerading as me, with Goves to back him up. He’s managing well enough, I’m sure. We went over the plan a dozen times.”

  “What plan? How on earth can Justin pretend to be you?”

  “I’ll explain later. Do you think you could sit on a horse? I’ll lead it for you.”

  “If you think it’s not going to send you into a sneezing fit.”

  “I’m glad you feel able to mock my Achilles heel,” he said drily. “It shows you’re feeling better.” He smiled gently down at her. “The world would be a much darker place without you in it, Miss Charlotte Allston. I don’t know what I’d have done if that villain had harmed you. You mean everything to me, my love, and after tonight I intend to keep you close.”

  Her expression turned troubled. “You still have your mission.”

  “Aye, but it’s almost done. Afterward, I’ll resign. If all goes well, I will have brought His Majesty a fine catch. Not only will it include free traders, a traitorous aristocrat, and a French frigate, but also some valuable contraband and vital military intelligence. I believe I’ve done enough with that and deserve a rest.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “I want to hold you, but my hands feel as if they’re stuck full of pins and needles.”

  How he wanted to be held! And have her kiss him, and say she loved him and would gladly marry him. But he dared not linger.

  “Come, let me warm you for a moment,” he said briskly, settling her with her back to a giant lime tree so he could chafe her hands and feet. She’d lost her shoes, but there was no time to hunt for them.

  When she swayed and rested a hand on his shoulder to support herself, he felt the lightning shock of attraction and cursed every god he could think of for not permitting him more time with her after her horrendous ordeal.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice bubbling with tears. “You were right. I’ve distracted you from your mission ever since we first met, and now I’ve taken you away at the most crucial moment of all. I’ve been so foolish—I tried to eavesdrop on Culverdale tonight. He’d left the party to—”

  Rafe was on his feet in an instant. “Hush now,” he said, sweeping his fingers across her cheek. “There’s nothing to forgive. Culverdale and his cronies are the wrongdoers, not you. If he knew who I was, and that you and I are connected, he might have taken you whatever the circumstances. I assumed his impromptu supper party was to keep everyone occupied while he traded secrets with our enemies, but he may have planned to take you hostage all along.”

  Taking her hand, he leaned in and kissed away her tears. “I am to blame for putting you in danger. I should never have allowed things to go this far between us.”

  Her eyes became moist again, and he cursed himself for a slack-jawed idiot. “No, I wouldn’t give you up for the world, sweet lady! We are meant to be together. But Fate likes her dramas. We’re just pawns on her chessboard and must consign ourselves to her whims.”

  He rubbed a thumb across her full lower lip. He ached with the need to kiss her senseless, to bury his face against her neck and forget all the troubles of the world. And his duties.

  “I don’t regret a single moment of knowing you,” he said. “And I have so much more to tell you. But it’s getting late. We mustn’t tarry here.”

  He scooped her up and strode across the crunching leaves to his horse. It had been ridden hard tonight, and its work was not yet done. He hoisted Charlotte up onto its back and led her toward the manor house.

  Music still issued from the open windows of Finchcombe House as they approached. He wondered if Lady Culverdale had any knowledge of her husband’s duplicity. Probably not. So many aristocratic husbands and wives led entirely separate lives.

  Rafe swore that would not be the case with Charlotte and himself.

  “Must I go in?” she asked. “I look a fright. How are we to explain?”

  “I’m not just going to abandon you out here. I’ll make sure you’re in trustworthy hands before I return to the fray. See how brightly the lights burn downstairs? There must be plenty of guests still present. You’ll be well protected.”

  Unless Culverdale had armed every footman, every boot boy, and every kitchen maid…and even then, there wouldn’t be enough of them to overcome his guests, once they found out what their host had been up to. But Rafe doubted Culverdale would plan to attack his own guests. A traitor preferred to be devious rather than open in his treason. The man was a despicable coward.

  “Who came with you?” he asked Charlotte.

  “Reverend Daniell, his wife, and Thea, Hester and her family, and Mama and Aunt Flora.”

  They reached the lawn, and he threw his steed’s reins over a bush and helped her down. He looked up to see a female figure come rushing toward them, turban bobbing and shawl flying.

  Charlotte’s mama. Was he going to have to endure another tirade? It might be wise to just excuse himself and gallop off into the engulfing darkness.

  “There you are, child! We’ve been so worried! Good gracious, what has happened to you?”

  Rafe decided to let Charlotte tell her own story. When she’d finished, Mrs. Allston was more stoical than expected. But the lady didn’t pull any punches. Embracing her bedraggled daughter, she exclaimed, “I feared something like this would happen if you got involved with that man. But at least he’s proved his mettle by saving your life. And as for you, Charlotte, if I weren’t so pleased to have you restored to us, I’d be very angry with you for disappearing like that, making us all frantic with worry.”

  “Sorry, Mama.”

  “What were you thinking, wandering off on your own in a strange house? Imagining you were spying for your country? That’s a task for gentlemen, not young ladies. You have your father’s adventurous spirit, all right. Not a good thing.”

  Damn. Why did she have to say that?

  Charlotte colored and looked away.

  Which reminded Rafe he hadn’t had time to tell her his news. The specter of her notorious father was soon to be laid to rest. All he had to do was keep his skin whole for the next few hours, and everything would be resolved.

  Thank God, after tonight Charlotte would have no alternative but to marry him. No matter what her mama, or indeed, the entire ton thought of it.

  Which suited him perfectly.

  “Mrs. Allston, your daughter’s had a shock, and I have a nest of vipers to clean up. I must return to my post, and she needs to be taken home. It’s best you return with your full party. There’s safety in numbers.”

  “I’ll ask Reverend Daniell forthwith. But Flora has already left.”

  “She isn’t with you?” Charlotte asked, alarmed.

  “She is not.”

  A sliver of foreboding stole
up Rafe’s spine. “Where is she?” he quickly asked.

  “When Charlotte vanished, we hunted everywhere. When she wasn’t found, Flora went back to the cottage to see if Charlotte might be found on the road, or back at home. We agreed if there was no sign of Charlotte at the cottage, she’d get Thomas the Carrier to take her to Dovehouse Farm to inform you.”

  Damnation. That was all he needed—another woman potentially in danger.

  “I’m concerned, ma’am,” he said. “All my men are by the coast, not at Dovehouse. If Flora goes there alone, Lord knows who she might meet.”

  “Thomas Harris will protect her. He’s a sturdy fellow.”

  “Nonetheless, hurry home and stop her going to Dovehouse at all costs.”

  He mounted his horse and seized the reins. “Forgive me. I must return to my men. I’ll send someone to the cottage as soon as I can, to ensure you’re all protected. Adieu!”

  The agony of having to leave Charlotte so soon was almost unbearable. But they weren’t out of the woods yet. And the fact that her aunt might now be in peril was an added complication he didn’t care for.

  But he had no choice. He spurred his horse and turned its head toward the coast.

  And silently prayed he’d made the right decision in relinquishing Charlotte into her mother’s keeping.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Charlotte gazed at the dark bowl of the sky glittering with stars, and offered up a prayer of gratitude she was no longer imprisoned in that awful icehouse. The familiar rocking of the carriage and the clatter of horses’ hooves soothed her as Reverend Daniell guided his hired team home with an expert whip. She leaned against her mother, needing the comfort of her calming support.

  Thea and Mrs. Daniell sat opposite, and the rest of their group followed behind in the other vehicle. Everyone but the drivers and Charlotte sagged in their seats.

  There was no way on earth she could sleep. At the very edge of hearing came the crack of musket and rifle fire. Rafe would be in the thick of the battle, running through the smoke and the confusion, directing his men, exposing himself to danger.