The Irresistible Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  “Yes. He refused to let me go without that condition being met. I begged him to allow me to do this for my country. He agreed as long as Rafe and I promised to get an annulment when we returned. He even spoke to the Prince Regent about it. The prince agreed to grant a special dispensation and…”

  “And?” Julian asked.

  Daphne glanced away, her face heating. “And Donald made Rafe promise not to—”

  “Not to?” Julian prodded.

  Daphne stared down at her slippers. She couldn’t face her brother while these words came out of her mouth. “Donald made Rafe promise not to … consummate the marriage.”

  Julian gritted his teeth again. “Astute of him. And did Cavendish—” Julian tugged at his cravat and cleared his throat. “Keep his promise?”

  Daphne could only nod. Yes, the blasted man had kept his promise, but not from any lack of trying to seduce him on her part.

  “Good, or I’d be on my way to find him in the drawing room and beat him to a pulp right now,” Julian replied.

  “So bloodthirsty,” Cass murmured from behind the teacup that she’d picked up again. She tsked at her husband.

  Julian pressed a finger to his brow as if he had a headache and focused his attention back on Daphne. “I don’t see the problem then. If you’ve both kept your end of the bargain, an annulment shouldn’t be difficult. There are very few legal grounds for one, but if the Prince Regent is involved—”

  “It shouldn’t be difficult,” Daphne replied, wringing her hands again.

  “Is that why you’ve come for my help? I’ll ask some discreet friends in Parliament about it. Remind the prince. We can get it done quickly, quietly without anyone knowing.”

  “It should be that simple,” Daphne said, “except…”

  Julian’s forehead wrinkled into a frown. “Except what?”

  Daphne sighed. “Except Captain Cavendish just told me that he refuses to grant me the annulment.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Daphne rounded the corner toward the drawing room just as Rafe was coming out the door. She nearly collided with his broad chest. The man smelled like pine needles and soap and—oh, something else good that she didn’t want to think about. She swallowed and shook her head. “I, er, Captain Cavendish, I mean—”

  “There you are. I’d nearly given you up for dead.” His grin was unrepentant.

  She took a step back and stared straight into his cravat. No good could come from staring into that handsome face. And that dimple … “I’ve just come from Julian’s study.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “And?”

  Delilah’s little face peered around the far corner. “Do you mind?” Daphne pointed toward the drawing room where they would have more privacy. She waved Delilah away and frowned at the girl.

  “Not at all.” Rafe pushed open the door again with one hand and gestured to her to precede him into the room.

  Daphne straightened her shoulders and marched inside, trying her best to ignore his scent. This time she detected a bit of soap and leather and— Ooh, this was not helping. Not at all.

  She made her way around the table in the center of the room, using it as a shield from his nearness.

  Rafe eyed her with his arms crossed over his chest again. “I must say the way you ran out of here earlier, I wasn’t certain you were coming back.”

  Daphne glanced down at her hands, staring at the naked ring finger. “I didn’t run.”

  “Didn’t you?” She didn’t even need to look to know his brow was quirked.

  She cleared her throat. No use quibbling with him. And very well, the truth was, she had run. A little. “You quite caught me by surprise.”

  “I’m sure I did, but you didn’t allow me to finish what I was saying.”

  Daphne tossed her hands in the air. “Finish what? Finish telling me you refuse to grant me an annulment? I’d heard quite enough. You’ve clearly lost your mind.”

  “And you ran off to tell your brother on me before hearing the rest of it.” He scrubbed a hand against the back of his head. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. You seem to enjoy looking to your family to fix everything. I daresay there hasn’t been a problem in your entire life that the Swift name hasn’t solved for you.”

  Daphne’s eyes narrowed to slits. His words rankled. Perhaps because they contained a bit of the truth. She had run off to enlist Julian’s help and she couldn’t deny it now. Instead, she scrunched up her nose and drew in a deep breath. “Very well. I’m back. Tell me. What do you want?”

  “Want?” Again with the eyebrow quirk.

  She nodded, her heart beating like a rabbit’s foot in her chest. Julian had informed her that unless the groom was willing, the annulment could not possibly be done quickly or quietly. If she didn’t get Rafe to agree to this, her entire weekend, her entire engagement, let alone her entire future, the one she’d planned with Lord Fitzwell, would be ruined. She feigned nonchalance by folding her arms over her chest and pushing out her cheek with her tongue. “Yes. In exchange for the annulment. What do you want?”

  “That’s more like it.” Rafe inclined his head toward her. He slowly crossed his arms over his chest. “I want you to come with me, back to the docks, on Sunday night.”

  Daphne’s stomach dropped into her slippers. “Whaaat?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Back to the docks? Why?”

  “The spy ring. The Russians. They’ve returned. I have it on the best authority that they’ll be there. And they’re bringing something I need.”

  Daphne pressed her hand to her throat. She’d gone to the docks with Rafe last year and had spent nearly a fortnight there with him, posing as his cabin boy. She’d worn stockings and breeches and a loose shirt and cap and—oh, God—she’d thought that was all long over. It had been an age ago, and she’d been stupid and naïve and that had all been before … Donald was killed.

  “Even if I wanted to, Julian would never allow it.”

  Rafe arched both brows this time. “As if Julian’s wishes have ever stopped you before.”

  Daphne nearly growled. Rafe had a point. He always had a point. “I’m—I can’t.”

  He casually crossed his booted feet at the ankles and regarded her down the length of his perfectly shaped nose. “Why can’t you?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m a respectable young lady. I’m about to become engaged to Lord Fitzwell. I cannot go gallivanting off in boy’s breeches and a cap.”

  Rafe snorted. “Not so long ago, boy’s breeches and a cap didn’t bother you much. Lost your passion for adventure, have you? Besides, you can hardly become engaged when you’re married to me. Even Julian’s title can’t fix that little problem.”

  Daphne turned her head away, refusing to answer. He was right about the engagement but those weren’t the words that had stung so badly, more than Daphne expected them to. A vision of Calliope Cauldwell spun through her brain. Calliope Cauldwell had spent time on a pirate ship of all places. She’d been forced to walk the plank. Had been rescued by a privateer. She’d worn boy’s breeches. Though a tricorn had been her headwear, not a cap. And Calliope Cauldwell didn’t even speak Russian. But still …

  Fiddle. Why was Daphne thinking about Calliope Cauldwell? She was made-up. Purely imaginary. A heroine in a silly novel. This proposal of Rafe’s was far from imaginary. It was real and it was dangerous. Donald was dead, wasn’t he? Killed by the Frenchmen whom the Russians worked for. This was far from a game and she refused to be bullied into it. Hadn’t she spent the last year trying to forget about it? To forget about Rafe? To come to terms with the fact that she needed to stop longing for adventures and to save her country and focus on settling down to marriage and a family? “I cannot go with you. That’s all there is to it.”

  Rafe walked around her in a slow circle while Daphne tried to ignore his nearness and calm her pounding heart. “I’m sorry, love, but you’re forcing me to play my trump.”

  “Don’t cal
l me love.” She tugged at the pearls around her throat and lifted her chin again. But she couldn’t help her curiosity. “What exactly do you think is your trump?”

  “Seeking out Lord Fitzwell, of course. He intends to propose to you, does he not? I doubt that will happen if he discovers you’re dragging him into bigamy.” Rafe sauntered back over to the other side of the table, putting a safe distance between them again.

  Daphne’s head snapped to the side to glare at him. Her temper had sparked. Anger welled in her chest. There was no stopping it now. She advanced, coming around the table toward him. “I am not dragging him into bigamy. I have every intention of seeing our marriage ended before I marry Lord Fitzwell, of course, and if you think I’m going to gallivant off with you down to the docks … I’m getting married and settling down. How dare you threaten me? How dare—”

  Rafe backed up and splayed both hands in the air. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Wait, you little spitfire.”

  She didn’t stop. She continued to advance on him, her eyes boring holes into his chest. “Why should I wait?”

  Rafe’s eyes turned to blue ice. “What if I told you I intend to use the Russians to hunt down the men who killed your brother?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “And I need your help,” Rafe finished.

  He watched as Daphne’s wide gray eyes grew even wider. Her pink mouth formed an O as well. Her chest was heaving with her effort to breathe and— No, no. Better not to think about things like Daphne Swift’s heaving chest. Though the way she was tugging on that necklace kept drawing attention to her décolletage and that was hardly helping matters. Nevertheless, Rafe had told himself a hundred times on his way here this morning … he must treat Daphne like a sister. Sister. Sister. Sister.

  Very well. A sister he was married to. Temporarily. But that was for a very good reason and—

  “How?” Daphne’s single word jolted him from his thoughts.

  Yes. Very good. Concentrate upon the mission. That’s exactly why he’d come. “They’re bringing information I need. Letters. And I must be there to intercept them.”

  “And what do I have to do with it?” She was eyeing him carefully but he could tell she was intrigued. Of course she was intrigued. She might pretend to be more interested in engagement parties and marriages, but Daphne Swift was the kind of female who wouldn’t pass up a challenge. He’d learned that about her last spring during their mission. And this would be the greatest challenge of them all. It was like dangling a bit of salmon in front of a cat. That’s why he’d come.

  “For one reason, you must be there for consistency’s sake. The last time they saw me, you were with me, as my cabin boy. They only know me as the captain of the True Love.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t tell them your ‘cabin boy’ is gone? Fell overboard perhaps?”

  “Of course I can, but these are the type of people who will be suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. Any change. I need to keep as many things the same as I possibly can.”

  She pressed her small pink lips together. Lips that he’d had indecent dreams about. “And the other reason?”

  “I thought it would be obvious, but I need you. To interpret their language, of course.”

  Daphne cupped a hand behind her ear. “Say that part again, Captain. What was it? I find I quite enjoy hearing that you need me.”

  He grinned and stepped closer to her, allowing her to see the true plea in his eyes. “It’s true, Grey. I need you.”

  She tapped an obviously impatient foot against the floor. “My name’s not Grey.”

  “Not now it isn’t.”

  She wrinkled her nose in her adorable fashion. “You need me?” she echoed.

  Rafe had doffed his gloves and slapped them against his thigh. “Blast it, Daphne. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. It’s extremely dangerous. Trust me. I wouldn’t put you at risk again if it wasn’t the only choice. I know I’ll have to convince Julian also, but leave that to me.”

  Daphne considered him down the length of her button nose. “Fine. Grant me my annulment, and I’ll consider it.”

  The smile he flashed her was meant to inform her that there was no chance of that happening. Of course he gave her credit for trying. Some. She had pluck. He’d give her that. But then again, she’d always had pluck. For a Society lady.

  “I’m afraid that won’t work,” he replied.

  Her face began to turn red. “What? Why not?”

  He knew she was considering stamping her foot but he guessed she didn’t want to appear childish. Good choice.

  “We must remain married for the same reason we married in the first place,” he answered. “If we’re caught, you’d be ruined.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” she shot back.

  “Will you? Truly? Do you want to take that risk? Not to mention if we’re captured and we’re married, standing trial we will be unable to testify against each other.”

  “You know as well as I that if we’re captured…” Her voice trailed off but she’d been about to say “we’ll be hanged.” He knew it. They both knew it. And that was much more dangerous than any risk to her reputation.

  “We’ll be on English soil the entire time. Going to France is not a risk I’m willing to take with you.”

  “Why, because I’m like a sister to you?” She nearly spat the words at him. He’d known those words had rankled when he’d said them to her last year. But it was the only thing he could think to say to make her believe, to make her understand. They could not be together. Ever. It wasn’t possible. And if he’d thought for one blasted moment that charming, smiling, adventurous, off-limits Lady Daphne Swift would have gone and fallen for him, actually believed their pretend marriage was more than pretend, he never would have agreed to take her with him on the first mission. Even if she did try to extort him by threatening to tell her brother that he’d compromised her, the little minx.

  There had been something about the way that she’d threatened him so casually, as if it were part of her normal, pampered daily routine. “Take me with you to the docks. I’ll pose as your wife.”

  “Never.”

  “Never? Not even if I threaten to tell Donald that you … compromised me?” Her smile had been so alluring. And in the end, Rafe had agreed. Not because he couldn’t explain the situation to Donald Swift convincingly. Hell, he’d been convincing people of whatever he wanted to convince them of since he was a lad of thirteen. No. He’d done it because Daphne herself had persuaded him. He’d been intrigued by her bravery, her desire to help the war effort.

  “What’s the matter, Captain?” she’d taunted. “Afraid that a lady might show you up? I may wear skirts, but I deserve to do my part for my country the same as any man, regardless of what’s between my legs.”

  Those had been the words that had sealed her fate. Damned if she hadn’t been right. Daphne Swift came from a family of patriots. Both of her brothers had done what they could for their country and if the little Society miss wanted to prove her own worth, who was Rafe to keep her from it? He’d known that feeling after all. Wanting to prove your worth. His father had told him often enough that he’d never amount to anything.

  “Very well,” he’d told her. “But you won’t be wearing skirts on this particular mission.”

  Her eyes had gone wide then, too.

  “What do you mean?” Her words had been a rushed whisper.

  “You cannot pose as my wife. It would be suspicious and you are far too beautiful. I’d never take you to the docks and put you at risk of rape or worse.”

  “If I’m not to be a lady, then what—”

  “I’m in need of a cabin boy. And you are just the right size, if not shape.”

  He’d tried not to allow his gaze to linger on her breasts. He was already going to hell for half a score of reasons as it was, agreeing to this. “But we can take care of that,” he quickly added.

  Daphne had pressed a hand to her breasts. “We
can take care—”

  “We’ll work out the details later,” he’d said, waving a hand in the air and flipping his tricorn over and placing it back on his head. “I must get back.”

  But last time had been quite a bit different. Last time, he’d needed an interpreter, yes, but he’d have been able to talk Donald into going if he’d truly wanted the earl’s help instead of his sister’s. Now, however, he had no choice. This time he was desperate. Daphne was already established as his cabin boy and she spoke Russian. Donald was dead. It was hardly a difficult decision.

  “Yes,” Rafe answered simply, dragging his thoughts back to the question she’d just asked him. She hated it when he compared her to a sister. And the fact was, he thought of her as anything but. But he didn’t much care for the thought of having Julian Swift knock every single one of his teeth down his throat.

  “I’m not your sister and you’d better have a more convincing argument than that or I still refuse to help you.”

  Rafe let out his breath, slapped his gloves against his thigh again, and considered his options. She’d really got her back up this time. “As soon as the mission is over, I’ll grant you your annulment. I’ll go to the Home Office myself and see to it immediately.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “How long will the mission take?”

  “A sennight, give or take a day.”

  “One week?”

  “That’s right. That’s all.” He took a deep breath and played his real trump. He glanced at her and blinked. “I thought you’d want to help, Daphne. Don’t you want to catch the bastards who killed Donald?”

  The glimmer in her eye told him he’d won. If there was one thing Rafe knew, it was people. Their motivations and their weaknesses. It’s what made him a good spy. Daphne would never be able to resist that challenge.

  “I’ll do it,” she said. “On one condition.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Daphne eyed the handsome rogue who stood before her. Rafe scrubbed his hand through his blond hair, mussing it so the short ends stood up straight. He was so certain of himself. So confident, strolling in here with ultimatums and bargains. Two could play at that game, and Daphne was no longer the unsure little ninny she’d been last year. He’d appealed to her sense of justice. He knew she couldn’t refuse that. And she couldn’t. If she thought for one moment she could help catch the evil men responsible for Donald’s death and Rafe’s torture, she wouldn’t say no to the opportunity, but she certainly wasn’t about to allow Rafe Cavendish to be in charge and order her about.