The Irresistible Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  She was going to help him avenge her brother’s death. But she would do so on her terms, by God. Not Rafe’s.

  “What’s the condition?” Rafe asked, squeezing his gloves so hard his hands turned red. Oh, he wasn’t pleased with her today. Not at all. Good. She wasn’t pleased with him. But Daphne turned away so she wouldn’t have to look at his mussed hair. It was too alluring by half.

  “I refuse to allow the party tomorrow to be affected by this. I want you to leave. Come back Sunday night and I’ll go with you then.”

  She shouldn’t have glanced at him for his answer. His sparkling eyes, the cleft in his chin, they were too much.

  “Not a chance,” he replied, his grin positively wicked.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the rug. “I’m sorry. I think you have me confused with someone who doesn’t have the upper hand.”

  He gave her a look that clearly indicated he was sure she’d taken leave of her senses. “Who says you have the upper hand?”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “You’re attempting to convince me to agree to help you, are you not?”

  “I’m offering you the opportunity to keep up this charade of a courtship with your suitor. But there’s no way in hell I’m leaving this house. I’m staying right here. I won’t cause trouble.”

  “Charade of a—” Ugh. There was no arguing with the confounded man. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”

  His grin widened. “Why won’t I cause any trouble?”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “Why do you insist upon staying? Why would you even want to?”

  “I can’t leave, Grey. I couldn’t do that. That wouldn’t be fair to you. You need me too much.”

  “I need you too…? You’ve completely lost your mind.”

  “Not yet. Not completely.” He sauntered over to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy.

  She pushed her nose in the air. “Still drinking, I see?”

  He didn’t even bother to glance over his shoulder. “Still being far too judgmental about it, I see.”

  “You didn’t answer me. Why do you want to stay?”

  The bottle clinked against the glass. “You are my wife, aren’t you?”

  Blast him. His words sent a little thrill through her, despite her best efforts to quell it. “Legally only.”

  “Maybe so, but I need to make certain this Fitzwillow fellow acts like a gentleman toward my wife.”

  Daphne growled under her breath. “It’s Fitzwell. And don’t call me your wife.”

  “Fitzwhatever. And you are my wife.”

  Daphne continued her foot tapping. No one could make her more angry more quickly than Rafe Cavendish. She felt a scream rise in her throat. No doubt that would bring the entire house running and she definitely didn’t need that. Instead, she took a deep breath and counted three. “I don’t for one moment believe you want to stay to keep an eye on Lord Fitzwell.”

  His grin made her knees weak. “That transparent, am I?”

  She wished.

  “Very well, the truth is I want to keep an eye on you.” Rafe brought the glass to his lips and for a brief moment, Daphne was jealous of the glass.

  “Me?” She pointed at her own chest, blinking her eyes wide.

  He inclined his head toward her. “That’s right.”

  She plunked a hand to her hip. “Do you honestly think I intend to do anything outrageous during this party?”

  He took another quick sip. “Not at all. I merely think you might leave before Sunday night. Slip off when I’m not looking.”

  She flung her hand in the air. “That’s preposterous. Why, I would never do a thing like that.”

  Rafe splashed another bit of brandy into his glass. “Ludicrous, is it? You’re telling me you haven’t done it before? Like, say, last time we went on a mission?”

  She turned her back on him and marched toward the door. “Fiddle. I wasn’t hiding from you then. You were with me, for heaven’s sake.”

  “I’m merely making the point that you’ve been known to slip away and do exactly as you like. I can’t take any chances with this mission.”

  She turned back toward him, glaring at him. “I would never abandon this cause. It’s for Donald,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Another sip of brandy. “Then you shouldn’t mind if I stay.”

  Daphne rubbed her fingers against her forehead. There was no winning with him. The man was completely impossible to reason with. She shouldn’t have bothered. “Fine. But I swear, if you do anything to ruin this engagement party…”

  He grinned at her and swallowed the last of his drink. “You mean like informing the potential bridegroom that you’re married?”

  Another scream rose in her throat. She bit the inside of her cheek and ground her slipper against the floor. “Yes.”

  Rafe shrugged. “As long as he behaves himself, he has nothing to worry about it.”

  “It’s not Lord Fitzwell’s behavior I’m concerned about. It’s yours.”

  “Ah, yes, the rich and titled are always so well behaved, aren’t they?”

  “I never said he was rich.”

  Rafe eyed her carefully, but she quickly changed the subject. “Stay if you must, I refuse to argue with you.” She turned on her heel and made her way to the door. A small smile that Rafe couldn’t see touched her lips. “By the way, Julian’s in his study. He wants a word with you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rafe poured himself another finger of brandy and downed that, too. He needed to fortify himself before speaking to the Earl of Swifdon. The odds were good that Daphne’s brother would take a swing at him and experience had taught Rafe well that punches were much less painful when one had a bit of liquor in one’s belly. Most things hurt less when one had a bit of liquor in one’s belly.

  He downed the drink, blew out his breath, and straightened both his shoulders and his cravat. Then he marched out of the drawing room, down the corridor, around the corner, and stood in front of the imposing double wooden doors to Swifdon’s study.

  Jesus. The last time Rafe had been here, it had been to consult with the former earl, Donald, about their trip to France. That mission had been important to Rafe. All of his missions were. Rafe had grown up on the wrong side of town, to the wrong father, with the wrong … everything. But he’d used his cunning and skills with people to make a life for himself in the army, to make a name for himself in the War Office. And now, here he was, in a place he never belonged, in the corridors of the rich and titled in Mayfair. God, life was unpredictable. That last mission had been important, yes, but it was nothing compared to this mission. This mission wasn’t for the War Office or the Crown though on the surface it might be. This mission was for him. This mission involved settling an old score.

  Rafe shook his head and knocked once.

  “Come in,” came Swifdon’s sure voice.

  Rafe took a deep breath. In his experience, angry older brothers of angry, young, beautiful ladies were not easy to deal with. Best get this over with. He pushed open the door and strode inside.

  A good spy was always aware of his surroundings. Escape routes, possible hiding spots, and exit strategies. Rafe scanned the room in an instant. Four walls, two doors, and a plethora of windows that lined the wall facing the street. A sofa, three chairs, a large desk, a potted palm, and rows of dark bookshelves.

  “Swifdon,” Rafe intoned, coming to stand in front of the earl’s desk, his booted feet braced apart, his hands clasped behind his back. He nodded to the earl once.

  “I see you made it here safely,” Swifdon said.

  Rafe inclined his head. “I did.”

  “No wounds from my sister?”

  “Only to my confidence, my lord.”

  Swifdon laughed at that. “Allow me to cut to the chase, Cavendish.”

  “By all means.”

  “Why did you think it would be a good idea to marry Daphne? You must know that grounds
for an annulment are extremely rare.”

  “I do, my lord. Insanity is one.” Rafe cleared his throat. “And impotence. I beg you to claim I’m insane, because I doubt anyone would believe I’m impotent.”

  Julian shook his head. “Daphne told me that the prince has agreed to see to it himself. I’m not sure he has that authority, to be honest. Regardless, I have no idea what the hell you were thinking by marrying her and I frankly have no idea what the hell Donald was thinking to allow it, but I know my sister can be convincing and she somehow induced you to allow her to be part of an operation last spring.”

  “That’s the gist of it.”

  “I must admit it was news to me that Daphne is fluent in Russian.”

  “I was equally surprised when she informed me of that in Donald’s presence,” Rafe answered.

  “I can’t say I’m particularly surprised, though,” Swifdon added. “She’s always been uncommonly intelligent and dedicated toward helping her country. If my father thought Russian would be useful for Donald, I can only imagine how she begged Donald to allow her to study it.”

  “Lady Daphne is quite convincing, my lord. I’ve experienced it firsthand.”

  Swifdon raised a brow. “And Daphne … convinced you to allow her to take Donald’s place on the first mission?”

  “That’s the nice way of putting it.” Rafe tugged at his cravat. It was hot in the earl’s study. Exceedingly so.

  “Extorted is more like it,” Swifdon said with a smile.

  Rafe cleared his throat. “She, uh, did mention that she’d tell Donald that we—”

  Swifdon raised a hand to stop him. “I feel a bit sorry for you, Cavendish. When Daphne wants something, she gets it.”

  “Yes, my lord. I’ve learned as much.”

  “And now she wants an annulment.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you refuse to give it to her.”

  “Not at all. I need her help again and getting the annulment afterward makes more sense.”

  Swifdon narrowed his eyes on Rafe and pushed back in his large leather chair. “And ensures that she will agree to help you?”

  “That, too,” Rafe admitted.

  “Does Daphne want to help you?” Swifdon asked.

  “She says as much.”

  “That sounds like Daphne.” Swifdon nodded. “Is she still angry with you?”

  “She wouldn’t hear me out earlier when I tried to explain why I wouldn’t grant the annulment right away. And she’s worried that I may ruin her potential engagement to Fitzwell.”

  Swifdon shook his head. “Fitzwell seems like a decent enough chap and Daphne appears to have made up her mind about him.”

  Rafe inclined his head toward the earl. “I hate to point it out, but given the circumstances, such a marriage would hardly be legal.”

  Swifdon grinned at him. “Ha. You’re right, Cavendish. And I obviously cannot allow her to become engaged knowing she is legally bound to you, but if I know Daphne, she’ll marry Fitzwell one way or another. Regardless, I’m willing to allow her to accompany you and see to the annulment immediately after.”

  Rafe shifted on his feet. “But?”

  “But what?”

  Rafe coughed lightly into his hand. “With all due respect, my lord, what are the conditions? I know your family well enough to know there are always conditions.”

  Swifdon laughed aloud at that. “And so there are.”

  Rafe smiled. “I thought so.”

  Swifdon leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face. “The first condition is that not a hair on her head is harmed.”

  Rafe bowed slightly. “Rest assured. I will protect her with my own life.”

  “I know you will, Cavendish. If I didn’t believe that, I’d never allow her to go with you.”

  Rafe kept his eyes trained on his boots. “I am amazed at your faith in me, my lord. After what happened with—”

  “Donald’s death was not your fault, Cavendish. No one believes it was but you.”

  “I intend to avenge him, Swifdon.”

  The earl’s gray eyes took on a hard sheen. “You’re just the man for the job. And if you must know the truth, I’m doing this for Donald, and for Daphne. Donald saw fit to allow Daphne to go with you last time, I cannot but imagine he would agree to it a second time, especially when this time is for his own sake.” The side of his mouth tucked up in a half-smile. “Besides, since the marriage has already taken place, we may as well get more use out of it.”

  “I’m glad you find this amusing, my lord. I had entered this room not knowing if you would welcome me or call me out.”

  Swifdon leaned forward, and braced his arms on the desk. “I’m not unfamiliar with this case. I spoke with a friend at the War Office. You have a good chance at tracking down the men the Russians work for if you can trade for the letters.”

  “Yes. They believe me to be a ship’s captain. And Daphne is my, er, cabin boy. I believe they’ll trust me again. Daphne will be completely safe.”

  “I have no doubts.”

  “My lord?” Rafe shifted again.

  “Yes?”

  “What is the second condition?”

  Swifdon folded his hands together. “I hope it goes without saying, but the second condition is that you keep your hands to yourself. Regardless of the law, as far as I’m concerned, your annulment is contingent on your marriage remaining unconsummated. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I’ll kill you myself.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rafe watched from afar as the guests arrived one by one. He’d been taking brandy and cigars in the study with Swifdon but a seat in a corner of the drawing room provided a better view of the proceedings.

  One by one Pengree ushered in the guests. This small group would be staying overnight and attending the ball the next evening. Derek Hunt, Duke of Claringdon, and his wife, Lucy. Garrett Upton, the future Earl of Upbridge, and his new wife, Jane. Upton’s mother, Mary. Viscount Berkeley, Sir Roderick Montague, Adam and Collin Hunt, the duke’s brothers, and finally, Lord Edmund Fitzwell.

  Rafe disliked the man on sight. He narrowed his gaze on him. Rafe supposed he was handsome enough, if one liked men with short-cropped blond hair and light blue eyes and a bit of an arrogant attitude that was off-putting to say the least.

  Minutes after the baron had strolled into the room as if he owned the entire town house, Rafe stood and made his way over to meet the man. Daphne scurried in between the two and looked as if she might jump from her skin with fright when she introduced them.

  “Lord Fitzwell, Captain Rafferty Cavendish.” Her gaze darted back and forth between both of them as if she expected Rafe to blurt out their secret in front of the room at large.

  Rafe was accustomed to quickly sizing up a situation, watching for small clues. People always gave away cues. For instance, Daphne was twisting her ring finger so vigorously Rafe wondered if it might come off. It smacked of guilt. He smiled to himself. Conversely, Lord Fitzwell had swallowed, his Adam’s apple working, which belied his seeming ease in the rest of the company.

  Lord Fitzwell bowed. No doubt the tightness of his obviously expensive custom-made buckskin breeches made raising his back a bit difficult. But Rafe stuck out a hand the man was forced to take. The baron’s clasp was firm. But his hand was smooth. Clearly the lord had never worked a day in his life. No doubt the most danger he’d ever encountered was seating himself in his carriage.

  “Captain Cavendish,” Fitzwell drawled, flashing a white-toothed grin at Daphne that made Rafe want to punch him in the gut. “How exactly are you acquainted with the Swift family?” The implication was clear. What was a mere army captain doing rubbing elbows with the haute ton?

  Rafe arched a brow at Daphne.

  Daphne’s nostrils flared and she jerked her head in a shake. Rafe had been so preoccupied by Lord Fitzwell, he hadn’t taken a good look at Daphne since she’d entered the room. Why was she wearing a marmish fichu? It gave the e
ffect that she was being swallowed by a lace monstrosity.

  Rafe forced his attention away from Daphne’s insane fichu and back to the baron. “I’m a longtime friend of the Swifts,” Rafe answered, squeezing his hand too hard. He let go but didn’t fail to notice that Fitzwell flexed and rubbed his palm. Rafe grinned at him.

  “Claringdon and I both served with Cavendish in the army, you know, Fitzwell,” Swifdon offered. But Rafe couldn’t help but think, of course he didn’t know. Men like Fitzwell didn’t know anything about the harsh realities of war. They preferred to read about it over snuff and lace cuffs in their gentlemen’s clubs. They would never deign to get their soft hands mussed with blood and dirt on the battlefields.

  “Well done.” Fitzwell gave Rafe a throwaway smile before returning his attention to Daphne, or more precisely, her brother. “It’s good to see you again Lord Swifdon.” He glanced over Swifdon’s shoulder. “I’d not realized the Duke of Claringdon would be here.”

  Swifdon turned to include the duke in the conversation while Rafe eyed the baron carefully. He blinked rapidly. Fitzwell was a liar and not a particularly adept one. Everyone knew Swifdon and Claringdon were thick as thieves, their wives close friends. Of course Claringdon would be at a party hosted by Swifdon. Claringdon turned toward them. Fitzwell leaned closer to the duke and opened his mouth to speak.

  “Have … have you met his grace?” Daphne rushed to ask. She looked flustered. Her pale skin was turning a bit pink underneath her fichu. Rafe had never seen Daphne flustered. It was disarming to be sure. He watched her from behind his brandy glass with ill-concealed amusement.