He raised his brows in her direction. “Really? You certainly seemed enthused when you had your hand on my thigh.”
Barings rushed forward, but Phineas stopped him. “Don’t be a fool, Barings.”
“I was acting,” Eva spat. “I needed the money, and I did what I needed to get it.”
Rafferty glanced back to see Barings struggling against Phineas. “Let him go. I don’t mean either of them any harm. I came here to talk, nothing more.”
Phineas released Barings, who retreated to stand by Eva. For all his defiance of Rafferty, he was protective of Eva. Even his expression softened when he looked at her. Rafferty imagined he would act similarly if the woman he cared for was threatened.
“I take it that Miss St. Claire means something special to you,” Rafferty said with new insight.
Barings sighed. “I booked transit on this rust bucket solely because I learned my Eva was to be on it.” He picked up her hand and held it tenderly in his own. “She’s carrying my baby.”
“You’re pregnant?” Rafferty looked pointedly at her stomach.
“It’s early,” Eva said, defiantly. “I knew I had a limited period before it became obvious. As your wife, it wouldn’t matter if I was in the family way. I could put the money aside to use for my child when my role was finished.”
He couldn’t argue with her logic. He glanced at Barings. “You’d allow her to pretend to be another’s wife even though you cared for the woman?”
“I didn’t know that she’d accepted your offer until it was too late.” He averted his eyes. “Then when I heard of the money involved I thought, why not?”
Phineas looked to Eva. “You didn’t simply accept our offer. You approached me about our need. How did you know I was searching for someone to play Rafferty’s wife?”
“I was with a . . . benefactor at the Bard and Bull when May Tadworthy told me you were looking for an actress.” She dropped her voice and patted her stomach. “May knew of my dilemma. I didn’t want to take the position because it would mean that I’d have to leave London, but my benefactor . . . he told me to take the role and report back to him.”
“I assume the benefactor was Mr. Barnell.”
“He’s a good man,” Eva protested. “He’s a parliamentarian. He told me that there’s a plan afoot to gain the Americans’ support of home rule and that you would stop it, if you could.”
“A plan afoot for the Americans?” Rafferty felt his forehead furl. “I’m going to find a killer and bring him to justice. I don’t know about some American plan.” Although the comment made him reaffirm his belief that Lord Weston’s death was tied to Fenian efforts. That was the only reason one could possibly believe he’d be thwarting some unknown scheme.
“What do we do now?” Phineas asked Rafferty. “You can’t very well hunt a murderer if your movements are reported right back to the man responsible.”
“Lord Barnell is not a murderer,” Eva protested. “He’s a kind man.”
Rafferty ignored her. “We’ll just have to proceed without a hostess. But that does not resolve the problem of what to do with these two.”
“What to do with us? What do you mean?” Barings asked.
“I can’t allow you to jeopardize my investigation. I’m sending Eva back to England. As you followed her this far, I presume you’ll be inclined to follow her back again.”
“You’re not sending her back to England on this death trap,” Barings insisted. “It’s a miracle we survived last night. I won’t chance her life on a return crossing.”
Rafferty hated to appear influenced by Barings, but the man was correct. Rafferty had already come to a similar conclusion. “When the time comes, I’ll send Eva back on the first large liner leaving for England, provided she stays in seclusion until then.”
“What of Mr. Barings?” Eva asked. “Will he be in seclusion with me?”
“Only if he’s your husband,” Rafferty answered with a twisted smile. “We want to be proper about this.”
“Lady Arianne has had quite an influence on you if you’re concerned about what is proper,” Phineas observed once they left the other two to discuss their future plans.
“That could be,” Rafferty conceded. “Or it could be that I consider marriage to be the best revenge for those two.” He smiled. “At least we no longer have to worry about a spy in our midst.”
ARIANNE COULD BARELY STAND UPRIGHT BY THE TIME she returned with a light repast for Mrs. Summers and Kathleen. Yet there was no place to lie down, as both berths were occupied. Kathleen gave her the key to her cabin with the explanation that Eva would be absent. She couldn’t provide other details. Arianne thought she’d pursue that topic later, when she could think straight. Not now. Not when she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
A knock at the door awakened her from a wonderful dream. Rafferty was in it, holding a fistful of forget-me-nots. She left the berth to answer the door.
“Mr. Rafferty,” she exclaimed, taking a quick peek at his hands. They were empty. “I . . . I can’t ask you in. I’m here alone.”
“Yes. Mrs. Summers indicated as much.” His eyes slipped over her face while she noted his knuckles whitened on the doorframe. “I’m here to request your immediate presence to discuss an important development in our diplomat pretense.”
It seemed a lot for her sleep-drenched mind to comprehend. “A development?” She blinked, hoping that action would chase the dream cobwebs from her mind. “Are we not still in the middle of the ocean?”
A self-satisfied sort of smile bloomed on his lips. “I’ll tell you more when you come to my cabin.” He must have seen her eyes widen with protest. “Phineas and Mrs. Summers will be in attendance as well. My cabin should provide the privacy and the additional room that we’ll require.”
“Mrs. Summers?”
His eyes crinkled. He glanced across the passageway as if he suspected the chaperone held a glass to the door. Arianne chuckled, knowing she probably did.
“It seems she’s much improved,” he said loudly.
Arianne said that she’d be there presently, closed the door, then rushed to freshen her face with a moist towel. Her skirt and blouse were hopelessly wrinkled as if she’d slept in them, which indeed she had. As Rafferty suggested the situation was urgent, she decided not to change. At least she could pat some lilac water on the worst wrinkles and thus freshen her appearance. Eva certainly wouldn’t mind if she borrowed . . .
That’s when she saw the letter.
She wouldn’t have read it under usual circumstances, but the name Barnell at the top of the stationery caught her eye. She pulled the rest of the correspondence from the journal in which it was placed.
Dear Miss St. Claire:
May I extend sincere congratulations upon your securing the position of companion to Mr. Michael Rafferty. This shall require all of your extensive acting skills to maintain a façade of a seemingly loving wife while observing the traitor in his efforts to destroy our carefully laid plans. Should you encounter difficulty or need to convey secretive information to me, I’ve arranged for someone friendly to the cause to be placed within the legation. They will contact you to make their presence known. You may find assistance as well in an establishment called Finnegans on Hickory St. Someone will be watching for a woman of your complexion. Be assured that you have my gratitude for this endeavor and will be well compensated for your efforts upon your return.
B.
Eva!
Arianne felt the blood drain from her face. Eva had been a planted spy all along. A fury rose within her. All the time and effort Arianne had expended to train the perfidious wench, even to extend her own wardrobe to her . . . an actress, indeed! If anyone should be considered a traitor, it was Eva, not Rafferty.
Armed with the seditious letter, Arianne stormed down the passageway toward the men’s section of the ship. Rafferty must see this. He should have trusted her instincts . . . or at least, she should have trusted her own instincts. Either way, the l
etter changed everything.
She had reached the men’s corridor, then realized she wasn’t exactly certain which of the doors represented Rafferty’s. In hindsight, she should have waited for Mrs. Summers. At least there would be two of them in this predicament. She moved slowly down the passageway, hoping for some sign. She found it in a subtle trace of patchouli that lingered in the air. Rafferty had come this way recently. The scent intensified as she approached a door. Thus emboldened, she knocked.
Phineas greeted her. “Come in. We’ve been expecting you.”
She entered in awe. Rafferty’s cabin was easily three times the size of hers. A fine carpet covered the floor. Thick drapery hung near the head of a large mattress—one that appeared far more accommodating than the narrower one she had used the past week. The rich scent of patchouli permeated the air, explaining its presence in Rafferty’s clothes. Did he know of its legendary powers of seduction? Somehow she suspected he did.
Rafferty stood before shelves of books, two leather-bound volumes in his hand. His eyes narrowed slightly. “You didn’t wait for your shadow?”
“No . . . I know I should have, but I found this in Miss St. Claire’s possessions.” She held out Barnell’s letter, straightening into her best aristocratic posture. “I don’t think she will make a suitable wife.”
He smiled. Smiled! The sort of smile that tingled her bones even from the opposite side of the room. “I tend to agree.”
He glanced toward Phineas. “See if you can expedite Lady Arianne’s chaperone.” He winked at Arianne. “Tell her I’m plundering her charge’s virtue. That should hurry her along. But leave the door open. We still have Lady Arianne’s reputation to consider.”
If he hadn’t been focused on Phineas, he might have noticed her wince. There was no harm, she supposed, in allowing him to believe she had an unsullied reputation, but as she was condemning another woman for her deceit, her conscience made itself known.
“I’ve been selecting books for your perusal,” Rafferty said to her. “Would you care to take a look?”
Was he mad? She had just uncovered a chicanery of prodigious proportions and he was selecting books? “Don’t you wish to read this letter?” She waved it like a flag. “It suggests that Miss St. Claire has been in Barnell’s employ all this time.”
He examined the books in his hand while he meandered toward her. “Yes, I know,” he said. “Phineas and I discovered that connection earlier this morning.” A smile blossomed, even as he studied the titles. “It’s no wonder the Home Office has its eye on you.” His heated gaze took her breath away. “I know I would.”
“Of course,” she parroted, too flustered to really know what she was saying. She was agitated, not only because he was ignoring her discovery but because butterflies took up residence in her rib cage whenever he came near, and that . . . complication . . . she just shouldn’t allow. Her breasts tightened at the sight of his hands holding the books and at the memory of how those very hands had held her body earlier. He slipped behind her, adding to her discomfort, but then moved to her side.
“I thought you might enjoy this book of Celtic folklore and all the stories of seductive mermaids and treacherous selkies.” His intimate tones slipped in her ear, melting her insides to mush. “Or you might find the works of Jane Austen interesting. It is said that she loved an Irishman but rejected him due to his lack of property. She never married.”
“That is unfortunate,” she said, her senses reeling. “I know that I would consider—” Footsteps in the hallway interrupted her reply. Rafferty took a step away.
Mrs. Summers pushed the door wide. “Arianne, you should have called for me before you traipsed alone to this man’s quarters. A den of iniquity, if I ever saw one.”
Rafferty laughed. “These were my uncle’s quarters when he plied the seas with Captain Briggs. He was not so much a man of iniquity as he was of comfort.”
“My apologies, Mrs. Summers,” Arianne said. “I found a letter in Eva’s cabin that I felt needed to be seen by Mr. Rafferty immediately. Mr. Rafferty has been the perfect gentleman in your absence.” She wasn’t quite certain if that was true given the state of her racing pulse, but Mrs. Summers appeared to be comforted.
Rafferty took the letter from her hand and scanned it, his brow furled. “It appears we have more to concern ourselves beyond Eva’s loyalties. Weston has spies in his employ as well.”
“Spies . . . Eva? What is he talking about?” Mrs. Summers asked Arianne.
“I’m afraid the actress we hired to play the part of Rafferty’s hostess is unsuitable due to her misguided loyalties,” Phineas answered. “We no longer have a hostess for the legation.”
Arianne passed the letter to Mrs. Summers while Rafferty poured an amber liquid into two crystal glasses. Over the patchouli notes, she distinctly could smell the fragrance of “the angel’s share.” He handed one of the glasses to Phineas.
“Didn’t you say that Lord Henderson himself picked Mr. Rafferty to act as the British minister?” Mrs. Summers asked. “Why then is he referred to as a traitor in this letter?”
Arianne noted a muscle tighten in Rafferty’s jaw. It wasn’t fair that someone who strongly believed in truth and justice should be so branded by a falsehood. The accusation clearly hurt more than he allowed most people to see.
“Rafferty is not a traitor,” she said. “The lie was used to turn Eva against him. Obviously, she can’t be placed into such an influential position as the hostess to the British minister.”
“Which just supports my original contention that a hostess is not needed.” Rafferty poured wine into two glasses that he offered to Mrs. Summers and herself. “There’s no time and no means to find a new candidate.”
“No, Rafferty,” Arianne insisted. “You will do a grave injustice to England if you follow that course.” No one else had her experience to understand that a hostess was a vital, underestimated position in a small legation. She had to make them understand.
“I don’t think we have much choice,” Rafferty said. “I brought you both here to say”—he offered his glass up as a toast—“thank you on behalf of the Home Office for all that you’ve done. While appreciated, your combined services as teachers of diplomatic etiquette are no longer required.”
“A bachelor minister will not be tolerated,” Arianne said, ignoring the toast. “Lord Henderson acknowledged as much.”
“Who made the mistake of hiring that woman?” Mrs. Summers asked.
“It’s my fault,” Phineas said. “Rafferty was in such a hurry to investigate the murder. I should have questioned Miss St. Claire more thoroughly.”
“You’re not completely to blame,” Arianne said meekly. “I knew something was wrong, yet I didn’t say anything. She wasn’t as interested in the responsibilities of her position as she was her appearance. I admit I thought perhaps she was hired for other reasons.”
“You thought she was interested in Mr. Rafferty,” Mrs. Summers stated.
“You did?” Rafferty’s eyebrows reached for his hairline.
“She was always so . . . enthusiastic when you walked in the room,” Arianne admitted. She didn’t add her jealous suspicions that Eva was sharing Rafferty’s bed. In hindsight, she felt foolish for her suppositions.
“She did pretend to be pleased with the role, but I thought her admiration was over-practiced,” Rafferty said. Then he smiled. “Actually, she was sincere in her attentions, but toward another passenger, not me.”
“Who?” Arianne asked. She’d been so convinced Eva only had eyes for Rafferty, she hadn’t noticed her interest in anyone else.
“She and Mr. Barings have approached Captain Briggs about a marriage at sea,” Phineas advised.
“Cupid’s Mistress strikes again,” Mrs. Summers said with a tight smile. “Perhaps Lady Arianne could work her charms on a suitable stranger in Washington.” Arianne just sighed.
“Mrs. Summers,” Rafferty said, “I don’t suppose you’d consider joining the Raff
erty clan as my widowed aunt?”
“My dear boy, while I’m honored that you would consider me for such a position, I fear I must decline. A woman of my age and health would not be suitable for the hostess of a legation. Such a position requires youth and stamina. Two virtues that unfortunately I retain only as fond memories.”
Even an aunt wouldn’t negate the fact that Rafferty was a bachelor. That was the real fly in the ointment. Arianne shifted uncomfortably. If Rafferty didn’t assume the role of British minister, the murder of Lord Weston would go unsolved while Rafferty chased Toomey. A competent, reliable wife had to be found and found quickly.
As she glanced around the silent faces at the table, a heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach. The obvious solution would mean irrefutable public damage to her already privately damaged reputation, but to do otherwise meant a lifelong burden of guilt that she could have assisted in resolving the murder of a dear friend . . . and failed. It was a candle-snuffing moment.
RAFFERTY WATCHED ARIANNE. SHE BLAMED HERSELF for their current dilemma. He could see it in her unfocused stare and lightly trembling lower lip. The woman did not accept failure easily; it was a trait he admired. She’d been so confident that she could reshape both himself and Eva into respectable diplomatic representatives that to see it fail must be devastating. He wanted to hold her, support her, reassure her that she wasn’t responsible for this debacle. But that was not possible given the other occupants in the room.
He sipped his whiskey. Of course, that was precisely the reason for the other occupants in the room. His desire to feel her in his arms again still smoldered in regions not discussed in polite circles—her circles.
“If the need for a hostess is that important, I can telegraph Lord Henderson and request that he send a more appropriate replacement,” he said.
Arianne’s gaze snapped to his. “But that will take weeks. Did you not say time was the enemy in investigating a murder? And what of the implied carefully laid plans to involve the Americans? Are you going to ignore that as well, all for your personal vendetta against Toomey?”
Redeeming the Rogue Page 17
