The Irresistible Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  Daphne set her plate of cakes on the nearby writing desk and did a perfect pirouette in front of the looking glass. “Not much. Only that Capitaine Cavendish kissed you last night in the library and then her grace came in and—”

  Daphne gasped. “You were hiding in the library, you little elf?”

  Delilah sighed. “Hiding and wishing to Hades that I was you.”

  Daphne’s mouth dropped open. “Delilah! I cannot believe you said that.”

  Delilah fell to her knees in front of the stool upon which Daphne sat. “Oh, tell me, Cousin Daphne, tell me. What did it feel like? Did your legs turn to jam? Did your heart pitter-patter?” She put the back of her hand to her forehead. “Did you nearly swoon?”

  Daphne struggled to keep the smile off her face. “I did nothing of the sort. You are being quite ridiculous.” But Delilah had been right. About the legs turning to jam, and the heart pitter-pattering, too. And there may have been a moment where she’d considered swooning.

  Delilah’s brow furrowed. “Well, that is très disappointing.”

  “Tell me, you little urchin, what do you want in order to keep silent about this? I cannot allow anyone to find out.”

  Delilah’s catlike smile returned to her face. “Don’t worry, Cousin Daphne. I have no intention of telling anyone. Well, Aunt Willie suspects something but—”

  “You mustn’t tell Aunt Willie!”

  “Aunt Willie is quite clever. She may not make an attractive fichu but she certainly knows more than she lets on.” Delilah hopped to her feet and paced back and forth in front of the windows. “Now, I should think you might give me a bit of your pin money for the next month.”

  “Done.”

  “And allow me to dress up in your prettiest ball gowns at least once a month for the next year.”

  “Done.”

  “And let me come with you on Sunday night.”

  Daphne gasped again. “How do you know about that?”

  “I know lots of things.”

  “You are a wicked little eavesdropper and if I didn’t like you so well, I’d beat you.”

  “I doubt beating would work on me, Cousin Daphne. I’m far too stubborn.”

  “Isn’t that true?”

  Delilah’s face lit up. “So, you’ll let me come with you on Sunday?”

  Daphne slapped the hairbrush to the tabletop. “Absolutely not. You cannot come with me on Sunday. It’s far too dangerous. And you’re not to mention that to anyone, either, do you hear me?”

  Delilah shrugged. “Very well. I’ll make do with the pin money and the ball gowns.”

  “That’s quite big of you. Now, tell me. Did Captain Cavendish say when he intended to leave?” Surely, if he’d stayed for breakfast, he’d be gone by now.

  “No. In fact, I’m certain I heard him tell Julian that he’d be up for a game of piquet with him in the study later.”

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am. Seems Capitaine Cavendish has no intention of leaving here today.”

  Daphne plunked her hands on her hips. “We’ll just see about that.”

  Delilah picked up her plate of teacakes and made her way to the door. “Well, do come down and see him.”

  “I intend to do just that.”

  “And don’t worry, Cousin Daphne,” Delilah said as she danced out of the door. “I won’t tell Auntie that you’re married to him.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Daphne scurried down the stairs and into the front hall like a hare being chased by a hound. Instead of a hound, Delilah was close on her heels. Delilah had returned to the kitchens for more teacakes and then came back to find her cousin. After some additional negotiation on Daphne’s part that involved offering Delilah an even larger portion of her pin money and one of her favorite silken fans, Delilah had agreed to keep her mouth shut about everything she knew.

  “I wonder if they’re still in the breakfast room?” Daphne peered into the corridor that led to that room.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Delilah nudged her shoulder.

  Daphne straightened up and lifted her chin. Her cousin was right. If Rafe was still skulking about, she might as well confront him and get it over with. “Follow me.”

  Delilah’s obvious look of delight was followed by a great deal of hand clapping.

  “Stop that, you’re making a racket.”

  Delilah sighed. “That is one of my specialties, Cousin Daphne.”

  Daphne shook her head and motioned for her cousin to stay behind her. The two made their way down the corridor and into the breakfast room. All of the men present stood as soon as they walked into the room. Daphne scanned their faces. Rafe was there. She glared at him.

  “Good morning, Lady Daphne,” Lord Fitzwell said with a bow. He was wearing a well-cut emerald-green coat and brown breeches and Hessians. Quite dapper.

  She beamed at him. “Good morning, my lord.”

  He sat back down and returned his attention to his paper. Daphne turned to her mother, pointedly ignoring Rafe for the moment. He continued to stand.

  “Good morning, darling,” her mother said.

  “Good morning, Aunt,” Delilah shot back.

  “Delilah, I’ve already seen you this morning. Where did you put that plate of teacakes you left with? I do hope they aren’t under your bed like last time. We’ll get another mouse.”

  Jane Upton looked up from her book, obviously interested in the fate of the teacakes.

  “Oh no, Aunt,” Delilah said. “This time I left them in Cousin Daphne’s room. There would never be a mouse in Cousin Daphne’s room.”

  “Lady Daphne wouldn’t stand for it,” Rafe said.

  “What was that?” Daphne snapped her head to the side to look at him.

  “Nothing.” Rafe gave her a tight smile.

  Daphne frowned at him. Why did he always have to look so handsome? He was wearing a dark gray topcoat, silver waistcoat, and tight black breeches with top boots. The man knew how to fill out a pair of breeches, she thought wistfully as she caught a glimpse of his backside when he turned. She glanced over to where Lord Fitzwell sat, his face nearly buried in the newspaper. What did Lord Fitzwell’s backside look like? She’d never noted it.

  “Come sit,” Mother offered, pulling out a chair near Lord Fitzwell. Mother addressed her remarks to the rest of the room. “I was thinking everyone could take a rest after breakfast and then we’ll meet in the drawing room for charades before lunch.”

  “Oh, goody. Charades,” Sir Roderick Montague drawled from behind his newspaper across the table. He folded down one corner and rolled his eyes at Daphne. She gave him a warning glance.

  “I quite enjoy charades,” Lord Fitzwell offered, setting down his paper. “Don’t you, Lady Daphne?”

  But Daphne was staring at Rafe, who still had that godforsaken grin on his face. Daphne cleared her throat and answered Lord Fitzwell. “I’d very much like to discuss charades with you, my lord. But first I wondered if I might have a word with you, Captain.” She leveled her gaze on Rafe.

  Rafe’s brow arched, but he flourished a hand in front of him as if allowing her to lead the way. “By all means.”

  A few of the diners looked up to see them leave the room together. Delilah made as if to follow them. “Not you, Delilah,” Daphne said, pointing her cousin back toward the seating.

  Delilah wrinkled her nose in a pout but flounced back over to the table where she grabbed another teacake from a new platter that had just been brought from the kitchens.

  Keeping her head high, Daphne marched out of the breakfast room, down the short corridor, and into the drawing room. Rafe followed her.

  As soon as the door was closed behind them she turned to him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Please tell me you intend to leave immediately after breakfast.”

  “I do not,” he said simply.

  Daphne’s face heated. She forced herself to count three. “What do you mean?”

  He casually slid a
hand into his pocket. “I mean I have no intention of leaving after breakfast or anytime today actually.”

  Counting three wasn’t sufficient. She wanted to scream at him like a fishwife. She forced the words through her clenched teeth. “What about our agreement?”

  “You mean the agreement in which you promised to give me a memorable kiss?”

  More face heating. “Yes.”

  “I daresay that momentous occasion, although admittedly well on its way to being memorable, was unfortunately interrupted.”

  Daphne clenched her fists. “That was hardly my fault,” she snapped, though she was somewhat mollified that he agreed it was memorable.

  “I didn’t say it was your fault. It’s simply a fact.”

  “Are you mad? You’re going to use that as an excuse as to why you refuse to leave?”

  “It’s not an excuse. I did leave. Last night. I’m back. I’ve also decided that the agreement was foolish. I need to keep an eye on you.”

  “Keep an eye on me?” She fought the urge to stamp her foot. “In a house where my mother, brother, and sister-in-law reside? Truly?”

  “They all seem to like this Fitzhorton chap. I don’t trust him.”

  “And you’re the person to judge him? Not my family?” Daphne pressed a hand to her forehead. A headache was quickly forming behind her eyes. She was going mad. She could feel it. It was not possible that she was standing here having this absolutely infuriating conversation with this man. It defied logic.

  “I’ve been trained, Daphne. I’ve seen quite a lot of human nature. Your brother is astute, no question, but he’s been trained for war, not for assessing the details in human behavior. Spying is a very different line of work.”

  “Your arrogance astounds me. I cannot fathom how you think you’re the best person to judge someone with whom I should keep company.”

  “I feel an obligation to your family.” He paused. “And to you.”

  Daphne’s heart wrenched. That’s all she was to him. An obligation.

  “So you refuse to leave?” she forced herself to ask.

  “That’s right.”

  She clenched her teeth and stomped past him. “Fine. But stay out of my way.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Rafe took a brandy glass from Swifdon, who had just finished handing another to Claringdon. The three men stood in Swifdon’s study. Rafe had asked them to have a drink with him. Swifdon and Claringdon were both privy to the secrets of the War Office, having been high-ranking military officers as well as current members of Parliament.

  “My thanks. I needed this.” Rafe lifted the glass and tossed half its contents into the back of his throat.

  “I thought you might. You look a bit worse for wear. A house party is not exactly your preferred venue, is it, Cavendish?” Swifdon took a seat behind his large cherrywood desk and gestured to the other two men to sit in the dark leather chairs that rested in front of it.

  “You’re right,” Rafe replied.

  “I wondered why you stayed for the weekend,” Claringdon added. “You’re not that fond of free liquor.”

  “Lady Daphne would disagree with you,” Rafe replied. He glanced up to see Swifdon and Claringdon exchange a look.

  “My sister’s opinion matters to you so much?” Swifdon wanted to know.

  Rafe shook his head. “Isn’t it obvious she doesn’t want me here?”

  “That’s an understatement.” Swifdon laughed. “You told me she was angry with you, but until seeing her in the breakfast room this morning, I didn’t realize how serious you were.”

  “You feel it’s necessary to stay, though?” Claringdon asked.

  Rafe took another sip. “I don’t want Lady Daphne to change her mind about the mission, but there’s something else.”

  The two other men exchanged another quick glance. “Yes?” Swifdon prompted.

  “I don’t particularly care for this Fitzwell chap.”

  “Can’t say I know him well, myself,” Claringdon said.

  Swifdon pushed back in his chair and let out a long sigh. “Daphne’s usually daring and free-spirited but in this case she made a list. A long list of eligible gentlemen. She rated them and ranked them. Apparently, Fitzwell had the highest score.”

  Rafe nearly spat his drink. “She scored them?” She actually gave them scores?” Rafe gaped. “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s not particularly romantic but you must admit, it’s efficient,” Swifdon said with another laugh.

  “Seems a sight better than how I went about finding a wife,” Claringdon added.

  Rafe sat up straight and set his glass on the desk in front of him. “Good God. If Fitzwell earned the highest marks, I shudder to think what I received.”

  Julian cleared his throat. “I can’t say I saw the list myself but I don’t think you were on it, Cavendish.”

  Rafe rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

  “What’s the matter, Cavendish? Don’t think you’d stack up against Lord Fitz?” Claringdon laughed.

  “If the point system is based on titles, then obviously not.” Rafe swiped his drink off the desk and finished it in one swift gulp. “You cannot think he’s the best suited for your sister.”

  Swifdon shrugged. “I don’t, particularly. But I’ve learned the hard way that trying to talk Daphne out of something once her mind is made up is a losing proposition. Cass seems to think he’s suitable. And so does Mother.”

  Rafe stood and crossed over to the sideboard to pour himself another drink. “Suitable and right are two different things.”

  “Careful, Cavendish, methinks you’re sounding a bit jealous. You may be the current bridegroom but I’m under the impression that both you and Daphne are in agreement in wanting this annulment as soon as possible.” Claringdon took a swallow of his drink.

  “After the mission,” Rafe clarified, pulling the top off the decanter of brandy.

  “Of course,” Claringdon replied, eyeing him curiously.

  Rafe needed to change the subject. He turned his attention toward Swifdon. “As for the mission. I intend to come for Daphne tomorrow night after dinner. She should be prepared and in costume.”

  “You mean dressed like a cabin boy?” Swifdon replied.

  Rafe splashed brandy into his glass. “Yes.”

  “I still can’t believe Donald ever agreed to that.” Julian set his glass on the desk.

  “Your brother changed a lot after your father died,” Rafe said. “He was quite a bit more carefree and daring than I’d known him to be previously.”

  Swifdon nodded, turned in his chair, and glanced out the window. “God knows Mother would have my hide if she knew I was agreeing to allow Daphne to go back out there.”

  Claringdon cleared his throat. “At the risk of offending either or both of you, why are you allowing it?”

  The hint of a smile tugged at Swifdon’s lips. “It’s as I said, once Daphne’s made up her mind about something, there’s no stopping her. If I said no, she’d slip out the window while I wasn’t looking. I’d rather have her go with my blessing.”

  Claringdon nodded. “I see.”

  “At the risk of offending you, Cavendish, I must say that I’m surprised Wellington is allowing you to take on this particular mission. You’re not exactly impartial to this one,” Swifdon said.

  “I’ve already infiltrated their ranks. They know me. The men who held me captive in France had never seen me or known me as the ship’s captain. There is no one better to do this particular mission.”

  “What is your plan?” Claringdon asked.

  “The Russians know me as a part-time smuggler. Someone who trades goods for secrets on behalf of the Crown. They think I’m an informant to the War Office,” Rafe explained.

  “So you’ll trade goods for the letters?”

  “Yes. The letters should give us the French spies’ latest whereabouts. As soon as I get them, I intend to sail for France immediately and find those bastards.”

>   “I wish you nothing but luck, Cavendish,” Claringdon said.

  Rafe smiled wryly. “I don’t need luck. I just need those letters.”

  “In the meantime, be careful,” Claringdon replied. “For yourself and for Lady Daphne.”

  Swifdon nodded toward Rafe but spoke to Claringdon. “I trust Cavendish with my own life and my sister’s.”

  “I will not let you down, my lord,” Rafe replied. A lump had formed in his throat. Swifdon still had faith in him, after all that had happened.

  “See that you don’t,” Swifdon said. “As for Daphne. She’s going to go on this mission and then she’s going to marry this Lord Fitzwell chap whether I like it or not.”

  Rafe downed the rest of his drink and growled.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The drawing room was full. Apparently no one wanted to miss charades. Well, no one except Aunt Willie, who was taking a nap. Everyone else was present. Lucy and Derek, Cass and Julian, Jane and Garrett, Sir Roderick, Delilah, Lord Berkeley, Lord Fitzwell, and … Rafe.

  Daphne made her way into the room and greeted Lord Berkeley. Berkeley was a friend of Garrett Upton’s who lived in the north. On the occasion he came to town he was always a good sport at any party. Daphne liked him immensely.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Berkeley,” she said, smiling at him widely.

  Lord Berkeley stood and bowed. “Lady Daphne, a pleasure.”

  “I was so glad you were able to join us for the party this weekend,” Daphne said.

  “Only just. I’m off to Northumbria on Monday.”

  “Not staying for the Season, my lord?”

  Lord Berkeley shuddered. “The Season is not my favored type of amusement, I’m afraid. Despite my best efforts to attend events and be charming, I find that wife hunting has never been my most successful pursuit.”

  Daphne smiled at him. “I’m certain any young woman would be honored by your suit, my lord.” She scanned her memory. She must know someone who would be suited for Lord Berkeley. The man was a catch. If he didn’t live so far from London, he’d have scored higher on Daphne’s list.