“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Daphne barely recognized her own voice. She’d spoken in English and lowered her voice to sound like Grey again. She stood and made her way over the pine needles and fallen leaves toward the three men. The only pistol she had was trained on them, her hand shaking so badly she was thankful for the darkness.
The three men froze. They slowly turned to face her. The torch had fallen to the forest floor and caught a bit of brush on fire. The fire spread slowly but it was enough to illuminate the men’s actions. She had the benefit of the cover of night, however, since she remained in the shadows in front of them. But how long would it be before they realized she was just one person? They most likely still had pistols, too.
“Put up your hands,” she demanded in English.
“Oo ez et?” the ringleader asked in English. He squinted into the darkness.
“Hands up, first,” she replied in as gruff a voice as she could muster.
All three of them complied and Daphne nearly sighed with relief.
She stepped forward a bit more but ensured that she remained hidden in shadows. The ringleader squinted at her still.
A whizzing noise sounded above her head as something flew over it. Daphne’s eyes rounded. Her heartbeat shook in her chest. One of them had just thrown a knife at her. Its blade wiggled in the tree not three inches above her head. Her breathing sped.
“What are you doing?” one of the men asked, in Russian, speaking to whoever had thrown the knife.
“Apparently, he’s short,” another answered back in the same language. “That was our only knife.”
Daphne closed her eyes and internally breathed a sigh of relief. That knife had come entirely too close.
“How many of you are there?” the ringleader asked, in French this time.
“Four,” she answered with as much confidence as she could muster. “And we have pistols.”
“I don’t believe you,” came his reply.
She moved forward far enough to allow the pistol to enter the ring of firelight so that they could see it. She prayed they would believe that the others were just in the shadows.
“He’s lying,” one of them said in French.
“I’m not lying,” she answered back in the same language. “And I’m a crack shot.”
“He is lying,” one of them repeated, this time in Russian.
“I may be lying,” Daphne answered in Russian, raising her chin, “but which one of you wants to take that chance?”
CHAPTER FIFTY
An owl hooted in the velvety black night sky. The stars were out but the little light they provided barely filtered through the dense foliage of the forest. The scent of evergreen and leaves lingered in Daphne’s nose. She could barely hear over the sound of her own heartbeat. It throbbed in her ears, momentarily blocking out all other noise.
And then she heard them. Heavy footsteps thundering through the underbrush behind her. Thank heavens. She nearly sagged with relief. The sound surely heralded the return of her friends.
But how many and who?
What if only one of them had lived? What if Rafe was dead? What if the Frenchmen decided to call her bluff and run? Her breathing was fast and shallow. Her arm ached but she kept the heavy pistol trained on her enemies.
“Grey?” Rafe’s voice rang out.
She nearly sobbed with relief. Rafe was alive.
“I’m here,” she called.
Rafe’s footsteps changed direction and he came running. By the time he arrived she realized Grim and Salty were both with him. Thank heavens.
“Are you hurt?” she called.
“Salty’s been shot but he’s all right.”
Daphne took a deep breath. Her prayers had been answered. Thank God they were all alive. “I have something to show you.”
The footsteps halted as all three of her friends ran into the clearing. Their faces were black with soot. They stopped short when they saw Daphne and the Frenchmen. The Frenchmen stood by the small fire, their hands in the air. Salty and Grim immediately pointed their own pistols at them.
Daphne could see Rafe’s smile flash in the moonlight. “You caught them. All of them. You did it, Grey.”
“Yes,” she said with her own smile, tossing her head. “I did.”
Rafe leveled his pistol on the men. His nostrils flared and his eyes took on a hard, icy sheen. “By order of the King of England, you are all under arrest for the Earl of Swifdon’s murder.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Salty and Grim assumed the task of escorting the prisoners back to the ship. They would take the Frenchmen, three of the horses, and march all night. Daphne insisted on seeing to Salty’s wound before they left. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep. She’d already wetted their handkerchiefs so that all three of the men could wipe the soot from their faces.
While Rafe and Grim tied the prisoners’ hands behind their backs, presumably in such a manner that they couldn’t escape, Daphne commandeered the brandy that Grim had stashed in a canteen. She went over to where Salty sat under a tree and splashed the alcohol over Salty’s wound.
Salty winced. “A damn shame, wasting brandy like that.”
“I need to make certain it’s clean,” she answered, covering it gently with her handkerchief.
She patted his other shoulder. “When we get back to England, we’ll have a doctor look at it but I expect it will be right as rain.”
“Thank you, Lady Daphne,” Salty replied quietly. “For everything.”
After their two friends marched off with the horses and prisoners in tow, Rafe turned to Daphne. “We’re going to the inn.”
“What inn?”
Rafe helped Daphne mount the remaining horse. “The one in town.”
“I didn’t know there was one in town.”
He swung up behind her and Daphne felt his hard, warm chest behind her back. She couldn’t help her shudder.
“There is.” Rafe maneuvered the horse to the left and they took off at a gallop. The rest of the journey was made in silence while Daphne desperately tried to guess at Rafe’s mood. He’d seemed pleased by her capturing the Frenchmen but was he angry now, tired, merely glad it was over?
Within half an hour, they arrived at a little lopsided, whitewashed inn that stood in the center of the small town. It had two ruddy windows that revealed a large fireplace and several laughing patrons.
Rafe dismounted and reached up and put his hands around Daphne’s waist. Again, she tried to ignore how good it felt.
“We’ll sleep here tonight,” he said. “And meet Salty and Grim back at the ship tomorrow.”
“I don’t need to stay at an inn. I can march, too. I’m quite capable—”
“I know what you’re capable of,” he interrupted. “Do you begrudge me a wedding night with my wife?”
Daphne couldn’t help her smile that went ear to ear. She clamped shut her mouth and happily trotted beside him into the inn, where Rafe requested one room from the innkeeper. A thrill shot through her.
She smiled up at him almost shyly. “One room?”
“We’re married, Daphne. It’s official now.”
She squeezed his hand and enjoyed the butterflies that flitted through her middle. “I know.”
They ate dinner in the inn’s main room but the meal was a blur to Daphne. All she could think about was what was going to happen after the meal. If Rafe wanted a wedding night, and admitted they were officially married, it meant that he loved her. It had to. Didn’t it?
When he finished eating, Rafe tossed his napkin to the tabletop, then he stood next to her and offered his arm. Daphne took it with a small smile and allowed her husband to escort her upstairs to their room.
The door to their room shut behind them and Rafe locked it. He tossed his pack onto a nearby chair, then he stepped forward and nearly collapsed on the bed. “I can’t believe it’s over. I can’t believe we finally got them.” He sat up and let his head drop into his hands.
Daphne pulled off her cap and tossed it next to the pack. She scrubbed her hands through her hair. She quietly made her way over to sit on the bed next to him and placed a hand on his back. “It must have been difficult for you to see them again. To relive it.”
Rafe blew out a breath. “I didn’t have much time to relive it. I was thinking about Donald. What he went through. I…”
Daphne nodded. She motioned to a table where the innkeeper had already placed a bottle of wine. “Would you like a drink?”
Rafe turned to her, his eyes round. He took her hands. “I don’t need a drink. All I need is you.” He slid off the bed and knelt on the floor. He turned to face her and pulled her hands to his lips and kissed them. “My father used to tell me that I was good for nothing. That I’d never amount to anything.”
Daphne vehemently shook her head. “No. Rafe.”
“I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove myself, be good enough, stand on my own, never ask for help,” Rafe continued. “It’s not until I met you that I realized that’s not always the best choice. You made me see that.” He squeezed her hands. “Daphne, I can never make up for the loss of your brother but I want to spend the rest of my life trying. Nothing about our courtship or our marriage has been customary. I never formally asked you to marry me. I want to fix that now.” He moved up to one knee. “I’m not a nobleman, and I’m not rich, but I love you with every bit of myself. You were right about me. I needed you today. And I’ll need you tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. I need you every day of my life because I can’t live without you. Will you marry me, Lady Daphne Swift? Again?”
Tears stinging the backs of her eyes, Daphne fell to her knees next to him, rose up, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Of course I’ll marry you again, Captain Rafferty Cavendish. Of course I will.”
He stood and picked her up and twirled her round and round. Then he kissed her deeply. “Will you come to bed with me?”
She glanced at the bed next to his leg. “We’re nearly there.”
He looked almost boyish, vulnerable, and Daphne loved him for it. “You know what I mean.”
She smiled at him. “I don’t even have to strip this time to convince you?”
“Not a chance.”
“And you no longer think of me as a sister?” she taunted.
He shook his head. “Oh, love. I never thought of you as a sister. I only told you that because I decided it was better for my career and my longevity than having your brothers beat me to a pulp. There wouldn’t have been enough left of me for the French if Donald had found out that I’d defied him.”
Her mouth fell open. “You never thought of me as a sister? But you wouldn’t even kiss me and you let me think—”
Rafe stopped her words by pulling her into his arms and kissing her again. “Seeing you in those breeches every day has been unholy torture.”
A catlike grin curled across her lips. She wrinkled her nose slyly. “It was?”
He blinked at her from beneath his dark lashes. “Trust me. Unholy. Torture.”
She pulled at her dusty cravat. “Want to see me undress again?”
He arched a brow. “By all means, but first, I’ve ordered a bath.”
As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. Rafe made his way over and opened it. Two servants marched in bearing a clawfoot tub. Soon after, bucket after bucket of hot water arrived, carried by serving maids. The maids glanced between Daphne and Rafe and gave Daphne tentative smiles. Daphne grinned back at them without shame.
After all of the servants left, the steaming bath remained in the center of the room. Rafe nodded toward Daphne. “You first,” he insisted with a wicked grin. “Besides, after I get in, the water is sure to turn black. I have soot in places I don’t even want to contemplate.”
The servants had left a stick of soap and some linens on a stool next to the tub. Daphne hadn’t taken a proper bath in days. She was only too eager to slide into the steamy water. She ripped off her shirt and shimmied out of her breeches while Rafe groaned. Her boots and stockings were already long gone. She’d removed them while the servants were setting up the bath.
Completely nude and enjoying the way her husband’s eyes devoured her by candlelight, she slipped into the hot water with a long sigh.
Rafe sat on the bed and watched her. “You’re gorgeous, Mrs. Cavendish.”
She somehow managed to put her hair into a bun atop her head, a few tendrils falling down around her shoulders. She turned her head and gave her husband a wide smile. “I like the sound of that: Mrs. Cavendish.”
Rafe put his hands to his cravat and began untying it. “Yes, well, you may be a widow, sooner than later, if Julian isn’t in an understanding mood when we return.”
“He will be,” she said with a nod, pulling the soap from the stool and lathering her arms and neck.
“How can you be so sure?” Rafe’s cravat came off in a quick tug and he unbuttoned his shirt. Daphne unabashedly watched him undress as she continued to lather herself, moving to her knees and legs.
“I’ll just tell him it’s what I want.” She blushed beautifully. “Er, I mean, I’ll explain to him that we’re already married and we’re grown adults, and … well, Julian is reasonable.”
Rafe shook his head. “I can only hope he’ll be reasonable about this.”
She quirked a finger at him. “Come and help me with my bath, husband.”
“With pleasure.” Rafe stood and made his way over to sit on the stool next to her. He picked up the linens and laid them over his knee.
Daphne eyed his muscular chest and shoulders. She’d never get tired of looking at him. He gently took the soap from her hand and dipped it into the water next to her hip. “This is quite a sight,” he murmured, staring down into the water.
“What is?” Daphne glanced down at herself to see her nipples barely skimming the water’s surface. “Oh.”
“The perfection of your body,” he replied, not taking his gaze from her.
Daphne blushed. She sat forward while Rafe rubbed the soap between his hands and lathered her shoulders. Then she leaned back against the tub and closed her eyes as he turned his attention to her front. She moaned when he brushed against her nipples.
“I owe you an apology,” he said softly.
She blinked one eye open. “An apology? You?”
“Yes, me. I told you that you wouldn’t be of help if you came with us. You saved the mission.”
Daphne closed her eye again and settled back against the tub. “Salty says sometimes you need people more than you admit.”
“Salty’s right,” Rafe admitted.
He soaped her belly while Daphne clenched her muscles there and shamelessly wished his hand would dip lower.
“I need you,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing her mouth gently.
“I need you, too.”
Rafe dropped the soap in the water and stood. He unbuttoned the fall of his breeches and shucked off both boots and stockings. He leaned down to kiss Daphne again.
“You’re magnificent,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into the water atop her.
Despite the small space, Rafe spent the next half hour both soaping and kissing his wife while she did the same to him. By the time the water began to cool, they were both entirely clean but Rafe had a raging cockstand.
He pulled Daphne from the tub and dried her hair and body with the linens. She did the same for him. When she reached his erection, she stopped. “Well, I—” Her blush was beautiful against her soft, creamy skin.
He traced her cheek with his thumb. “Come to bed with me. I need you. Now.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He scooped her into his arms, carried her over to the bed, and laid her gently on top of the coverlet and then came down atop her and covered her with his nakedness. He kissed her deeply. Daphne’s hands tangled in his hair and she arched against him. He smelled so good, like soap and male desire.
> He grinned at her. “I want to kiss you everywhere.”
“Please do.” She giggled.
Rafe kissed her forehead, her cheek, her ear. Then he nuzzled at her neck. Daphne shuddered when he sucked at her collarbone. “You are gorgeous,” he whispered in her ear. “Beyond perfect.”
“No, you are gorgeous,” she replied, tilting back her head to give him greater access to her throat.
His tongue traced down between her breasts and then he moved lower, catching a nipple between his teeth and tugging. Daphne’s hands tangled in his hair. “Rafe,” she breathed.
He nibbled at her, nipped her, bit her. She squirmed beneath him, wanting his hand between her legs. His mouth moved to her other breast and teased that nipple, too. Daphne arched her back.
She pushed her hands over his broad shoulders, reveling in their warmth and strength. Then she wrapped her hands through his hair and pulled his head up to hers. His mouth met hers in a fierce kiss. She moaned deep in her throat. His mouth moved to her chin, her neck again.
His hand found her breast. He teased her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She arched her back again and moaned. “Oh, Rafe.”
Then his hand moved lower and Daphne ceased to think. He found her core and he slid one hot finger inside of her. She nearly came off the bed. He drew his finger out and quickly found the little nub of pleasure between her legs. He circled the spot again and again. Daphne’s head shifted fitfully from side to side. That amazing feeling built inside of her. The same one he’d made her feel on the ship the first time they’d made love. Intense, maddening, unique, new. And it was all because of Rafe’s finger. It owned her. She clutched her arms around his neck.
“Let go, Daphne. Let go,” he whispered in her ear. “I will catch you.”
Daphne was mindless. Her hips moved of their own accord in time with the rhythm of Rafe’s finger, and when her world exploded, she clung to his shoulders and whimpered.
Moments later, after the zings of pleasure had ceased rippling through her body, Daphne rolled over and pushed Rafe down to the mattress.
The Irresistible Rogue Page 25