“I know you will.” She lifted up and brushed a kiss to his forehead.
Rafe sat up and quickly divested himself of his breeches. Once they were gone, he moved back and settled atop her. He kissed her deeply, his mouth shaping hers. With his knee, he pushed her legs wider. Daphne held her breath. Then his hard hotness was between her legs, nudging at her wet warmth, seeking its place.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Daphne’s eyes went wide. The knock on the door shocked her. “No!” she whispered fiercely against his strong neck.
Rafe groaned and rolled to his side.
“What is it?” he growled. “And by God, if it’s anything other than this ship being on fire, I’m going to—”
“Captain,” came Salty’s voice. “The men from the tavern. They’re here. They rowed out and have asked to speak with you immediately.”
Rafe’s second groan was painful. He vaulted from the bed in a lightning flash. “Daphne, I’m sorry but there’s no time for you to dress. You must hide in the closet.” He pulled his shirt over her head to hide her nakedness. “I’d meet them on the deck but if they say anything you can interpret—”
“I understand.” She nodded jerkily.
“Show them in,” Rafe commanded Salty. Rafe grabbed his breeches and yanked them up over his hips. Then he ripped the hammock from the beams and shoved it into the cabinet.
Daphne moved from the bed on legs that felt like water. Somehow she managed to gather her clothing from the corner and rush into the closet with the wad of fabric in her arms. Just before she pulled the door shut behind her, she saw Rafe jump into the mussed bed. Apparently he would pretend he’d been sleeping.
She held her breath. She knew what she must do. Not draw attention to herself. If the Russians opened the door and discovered her hiding and holding boy’s clothing, the entire ruse would be up and she and Rafe might be killed on the spot. Not to mention she must listen to hear if they said anything to each other in Russian. But standing there in the closet, shivering and fearful, was hardly conducive to spying. She held her breath so tightly she thought her ribs might crack.
She heard the door to the cabin open and the footsteps of the two men entering the room. “Good evening, Captain.” It was Anton’s voice. “We do hope we’re not interrupting anything.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Not at all, gentlemen,” Rafe replied, waving the two men into the room. “I’d retired for the evening but I can always make time for two of my best customers.” He pushed himself up against the wall. He glanced around furtively but kept his eyes hooded so the men couldn’t see. Daphne had managed to gather all of her clothing, thank God.
Anton plopped himself into the chair. Rafe leaned back, still trying to calm his breathing. Viktor sauntered over and leaned against the door to the closet, which didn’t help Rafe’s breathing one bit. He could only hope Daphne was completely silent in there.
“We thought we’d come out and see your rig,” Viktor explained.
Rafe didn’t believe it for a moment. They weren’t in the habit of paying friendly calls. They wanted to make certain that the crew was a crew and the ship was a ship. Which meant they were suspicious and that wasn’t good.
“Where’s your boy? What’s his name, Grey is it?” Viktor asked in his heavy accent.
Rafe matched his gaze calmly. “He’s asleep with the rest of the crew, I expect.”
“I would like to see the hold,” Anton added.
“Absolutely,” Rafe answered, knowing full well that they wanted to see the hold to ensure there were actually more goods on the ship. Another sign they were suspicious. They wouldn’t be disappointed. The War Office had packed the hold tightly. Not a detail left to chance in this ruse. “I’ll take you there momentarily,” Rafe said. “But first, what of the letters?”
“We’ve got them,” Viktor said. “If we like what we see in the hold, we’ll bring them to you tomorrow. At the tavern.”
“Very well. Let me get the key.” Rafe tossed back the sheet and stood. He made his way over to the desk. Anton stood and moved out of the way and Rafe rifled inside his desk drawer for a bit too long. They were speaking in Russian and he hoped Daphne could hear.
Finally, he turned to them, the key in his hand. “Ah, here it is. Follow me, gentlemen.”
* * *
Daphne counted one hundred before opening the closet door and tentatively stepping out. She dressed more quickly than she ever had in her life. Her heart still beat like a drum in her chest. She’d been holding her breath in there. Her ear pressed to the wood to hear the two smugglers speak.
Her head was no longer fuzzy. She crawled back into the bed, shaking a bit at the memory of what had almost happened here not an hour earlier. She didn’t allow herself to think about it, though. Instead, she concentrated on remembering what the two men had said to each other. Because she had heard. Every word.
Rafe returned over a quarter of an hour later, and by then, Daphne’s heartbeat had returned to normal and she had restored a semblance of calm to her face. She was lying in the bunk, staring at the ceiling and repeating the Russians’ words over and over again so she wouldn’t forget them.
Rafe opened the door and eyed her cautiously.
“Are they gone?” she asked, pushing up on her elbows to look at him.
“Yes, I watched their rowboat go.” He closed the door behind him.
“Thank heavens.” She gave a shaky laugh. “That was … close.”
Rafe raked a hand through his hair and gave an equally shaky laugh. “An understatement, to be sure.”
“I heard what they said.”
Rafe cocked his head to the side. “And?”
“They’re suspicious, but they do intend to bring you the letters. At least they said they do.”
“Traitors have no loyalties, to anyone. Even their supposed cohorts,” Rafe said.
“That’s good for us, though.”
“You’re right,” Rafe replied. “They were impressed with the hold. They told me they’d see me tomorrow night at the tavern again. We must meet them. They’re bringing the letters. This is it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Daphne awoke with a splitting headache and a bundle of nerves in her belly. She hadn’t slept well. What had happened with Rafe last night kept replaying itself over and over in her mind. The bedsheets still smelled like him. Maddening, that. She snuggled into them and breathed deeply.
His speech had sounded heartfelt and sincere when they’d been drinking, but that was the problem with drinking, wasn’t it? It confused things. Gave you a fuzzy head. Hadn’t he said as much himself?
The truly frightening part was she’d nearly given herself to him last night. She had no doubt if they hadn’t been interrupted, she would no longer be a maiden. Rafe had apparently been so overcome that he was willing to defy Julian’s edict and put himself in danger just to have her. But a night of passion wouldn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be trusted and they weren’t suitable for one another. Yet another reason not to drink.
Daphne spent the day practicing with her knife, and by the time they loaded into the rowboat to go ashore, she had firmed her resolve in two quarters. She wasn’t about to let alcohol touch her lips again when she was anywhere near Rafe Cavendish, and she was not—was not—going to kiss him again. Ever.
The ride to shore was mostly silent. In fact they’d barely spoken to each other all day. It was more of an awkward silence than anything else. They both seemed hyperaware of the enormity of the mistake they’d come so close to making last night.
They were in the rowboat alone but the rest of the crew had already come to shore. The men of the True Love were on alert tonight. They would blend into the crowd in and around the tavern to keep an eye on things.
Daphne breathed deep. The docks stank but she couldn’t help but feel a certain exhilaration. This was the type of moment she’d never have sipping tea in drawing rooms, painting with watercolors,
playing whist with the other ladies of the ton. She pulled the oar with all her might, matching Rafe’s strokes.
As soon as the rowboat hit the dock, Daphne made to leap from the vessel, but Rafe’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Be careful,” he whispered.
Daphne nodded. She took her favorite knife out of her back pocket and slipped it into her boot.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Rafe glanced around the tavern. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something seemed off tonight. Wrong. Daphne had assured him that all Anton and Viktor had said in their native tongue while they’d been on the True Love was that they had their suspicions. They’d further indicated that everything seemed legitimate before they left. The War Office team had done their research as far as the ship went. The two Russians might have believed that an unannounced visit to the ship would have revealed something, but other than nearly revealing him and Daphne in a state of undress, there was nothing suspicious about the contents of the sloop.
Daphne. Rafe didn’t have time to think about the mistake they’d nearly made last night.
The Russians were nowhere to be seen. Rafe made his way across the large space to the same table where he’d sat the last time they were here. Daphne followed on his heels. The same barmaid approached and Rafe ordered two mugs of ale as usual.
“It’s good ta see ya again, guv,” the barmaid said, laughing, causing Daphne to pull her cap down and cross her arms tightly over her chest. The barmaid soon left to get their drinks and Daphne took her same place at the next table. She didn’t lean back on the chair legs tonight. She seemed tense, alert. Just like Rafe was.
“There,” Rafe breathed, as soon as the two men entered the tavern.
Daphne glanced up and her eyes flared. She quickly looked off into the crowd as if she hadn’t even noticed.
Anton and Viktor came ambling toward them. They sat backward in their seats again.
“Good to see you again so soon,” Viktor said with a laugh. He spat tobacco juice on the dirt floor. Rafe could only imagine Daphne’s internal reaction to that nastiness. But she was doing a fair job of keeping her face blank. She was on the far side of the men, so Rafe could see her. She was glancing around the bar, nonchalant, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, seemingly quaffing her ale. But Rafe knew better.
“You said the goods checked out.” Rafe wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. No good could come of this meeting being protracted. But most of all he wanted what he’d come for. The letters, the whereabouts of the men whom he would stop at nothing to find.
“They did,” Viktor said. He turned to stare at Daphne. Daphne pretended she didn’t even notice. Well done.
“And do you have the agreed-upon payment?” Rafe asked.
“Da,” Anton said.
Rafe arched a brow. “Where is it?”
“We left them in a bundle, in a cart, in the alley. We didn’t want to bring attention to ourselves hauling them in here. Too many eyes watching, you know?” Viktor said, still eyeing Daphne on occasion. He spat another wad of tobacco juice in a wide arc onto the ground.
Rafe narrowed his eyes on Viktor. In a cart in the alley? What was his game? “You wish me to accompany you to the alley?” Rafe asked. He made a move to stand but Anton stopped him with a hand in the air. “No.”
“No?” Rafe’s eyes narrowed further.
“We’ll go get them. We wanted to make sure we weren’t being watched first.”
Rafe clenched his fist. They were up to something. “Being watched? That’s preposterous. Go get them.”
The barmaid walked past just then, holding a large tray full of ale tankards high in the air. She tripped near Grey’s table, sending the tankards toppling and their contents spilling all over Daphne.
Daphne jumped up and pulled her shirt from her chest, clearly desperate to keep the fabric from becoming transparent.
“Oh me God. I’m so sorry, guv,” the barmaid cried. “I’ve ruined yer clothes. Let me take ye in the back and fetch ye a new shirt. One of the boys will have one.”
Daphne’s gaze snapped to Rafe’s. He touched the corner of his left eye. The signal for no.
“I’ll be all right,” Daphne said in her best Grey accent. “No need ta worry. It’s not the first mug o’ ale I’ve ’ad dumped on me and won’t be the last, I’m certain.”
Pride swelled in Rafe’s chest. Daphne was playing her part perfectly. Though he could tell she was rattled.
The Russians laughed. “I think the maid likes your little friend,” Anton said to Rafe, poking Viktor in the chest with his elbow.
Daphne tried to sit back down but the barmaid wouldn’t let her. The woman kept trying to usher Daphne to the back. “Just come with me. I’ll have ye fixed up in a trice. If ye don’t want a new shirt at least let me get ye a towel.”
Rafe touched his eye again. This was hardly the time to allow a tavern barmaid’s flirtation to compromise their plans.
“Come on. Just a towel, guv. It’s the least I can do after me mistake,” the barmaid insisted.
Anton and Viktor both guffawed.
“Go on, boy. You’re not afraid of a woman, are you?” Anton said.
“Or perhaps it’s your master who keeps you here? Afraid to leave him, are you?” Viktor smirked at Rafe. “I think you’re bit too close with the lad, English.”
Rafe cursed under his breath. He had no choice but to let Daphne go. If he pressed it too far, they would no doubt turn suspicious and then the entire mission would be in danger of being aborted. They’d worked too hard and come too far. Rafe rubbed his right eye this time, the signal for yes. He could only hope Daphne returned quickly. Daphne’s eyes met Rafe’s and he saw the fear and hesitation in their gray depths. But he also saw her determination. She lifted her chin and gave him a barely perceptible nod. He knew from her face what her mouth could not say. She could handle this.
“Go on, Grey,” he prompted, before turning his attention back to the Russians. “While he’s gone, I’ll wait for you to get the letters.”
Anton and Viktor nodded and stood, heading for the door. “We’ll be right back, Captain.”
“No,” Rafe said, pulling back his coat to reveal one of his pistols. “One of you will be right back. The other is staying with me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Daphne allowed the barmaid to escort her to the back of the tavern. The woman fussed over her like a momma bird with her baby. She clasped her arm through Daphne’s. The stench of sweat and ale wafted off her like perfume. A steady stream of apologies tumbled from her rouged lips as she ushered Daphne into a tiny room at the back of the establishment.
“I don’t know wot came over me,” she said in her overly loud voice. “I ain’t never been so clumsy. Jimmy’s sure ta take those tankards out o’ me pay.”
Daphne was barely listening. She was worried about leaving Rafe alone to wait for the letters. Something was going on. She’d seen the look in Rafe’s eyes. He was suspicious. And so was she. Leaving the letters in the alley hadn’t been part of the original plan. She racked her brain. Had either of the Russians said anything on the True Love last night that she hadn’t remembered? Anything that could be interpreted as them having cottoned on? No. There was nothing. Or damn it. Had she missed it because her head had been fuzzy?
The barmaid quickly produced a towel of questionable cleanliness and tossed it to Daphne, who used it to blot the remaining ale from her cap and forehead and dry her shirt as best she could. She needed to get out of there as quickly as possible and back to the table.
“Obliged,” she said, tipping her cap and moving around the barmaid.
“Wot’s yer hurry, guv?” the barmaid said, plunking her hands on her hips.
Oh, not this again. Before Daphne could answer, a knock sounded on the door at the far end of the small room. The barmaid turned to open it.
A huge man stepped into the room. He handed the barmaid a wad of bills and she pointed at Daphne. “Th
ere she is, mate.” She smiled, revealing cracked uneven teeth.
She? Before Daphne had a chance to run, the huge man lunged toward her. She turned to flee and was crushed under his enormous weight. She coughed, the breath knocked from her lungs. The giant swung her over his shoulder as if she were a dishcloth. Then the barmaid shoved a filthy rag into her mouth. Her arms pinned, Daphne struggled to breathe, as he moved toward the door he’d come through.
“Ain’t nothing personal, guv, ya hear,” the barmaid said. “I told these blokes ye was a lady and apparently that bit o’ information was worth some money to ’em. I gots young ones ta feed, ye know, and I ain’t never seen a boy as pretty as ye were pretending ta be.” She laughed again and the sound screeched in Daphne’s ears.
The door slammed behind them and Daphne and the giant were in the alley. It was dark and dank. The moon was hidden behind clouds tonight and its light was sparse. The alley smelled of urine and something Daphne desperately hoped she’d never define. The giant pulled her off his shoulder and she fell to the filthy ground in a heap. She only had a moment to look around. By the light of a swinging lantern, she made out a rickety cart sitting on the opposite side around the bend in the alleyway. Then the scene went dark as a scratchy burlap sack was yanked over her head. She tugged the rag from her throat but her scream was muffled by the giant’s hand over her mouth.
“Don’t scream or I’ll stick my knife straight in your heart,” her captor warned. He had a Russian accent, too. The man made quick work of tying her hands and feet while Daphne struggled in vain to get away from him. She desperately tried to remember what Rafe had told her about her wrists. He’d never completed that particular lesson. “Don’t fight me. I can just as easily kill you as take you with me,” the giant warned. Daphne went slack.
Once he finished tying her, the brawny man lifted her in a bear hug. Her ribs ached as if they would crack. Her feet dangled off the ground. She tried to kick but he shook her hard, making her teeth crack and her jaw hit her breastbone. She steeled herself for another fight but instead the man moved with her. Her entire body shook as he tossed her into something made of wood. It had to be the cart she’d seen. She rolled onto a bed of sticky, smelly hay as the cart took off down the alleyway.
The Irresistible Rogue Page 19