“I’m going to snap your neck after I’ve had my way with you,” the hulking mass snarled.
Daphne sprang to her feet and faced off with him. “You’ll have to catch me first.” She leaped over to Billy and yanked the knife from his chest with one solid move. More blood sprayed onto her breeches. Billy’s eyes drained of life until they were completely blank.
She turned back to Boris, the knife clutched in her slick, bloody fist. The weapon may have given the giant pause, but not for long. He lunged at her. She aimed the knife at his heart but it slid into his shoulder instead. Groaning in pain, he tackled her to the ground, nearly breaking her back. She struggled for air. She would suffocate if he stayed on her for any length of time.
“No!” she screamed, but the knife was still lodged in his shoulder, pinned between them. She couldn’t retrieve it. Her wrist was pinned to the floorboards. It felt as if it might snap.
“Aargh.” With an unearthly cry, Boris groaned and collapsed atop her, his bulbous face falling to the side of her neck.
Daphne’s eyes went wide. What had just happened?
The next thing she knew, the giant body atop hers was pushed over and fell away and Rafe was standing there, breathing heavily. His hands on his hips. She glanced over at the hulk’s body. The handle of a knife was standing up in the back of his neck.
“And that was for me!” Rafe shouted at the hulk’s quivering mass, viciously kicking him in the side.
“Rafe,” Daphne cried, tears pooling in her eyes. She was still shaking so hard her teeth clacked.
Rafe fell to his knees beside her, his hands skimming her neck, her chest, her legs. “Daphne, are you all right? Have you been stabbed?”
“No, no,” she sobbed.
“You’re covered in blood.” Rafe enveloped her in his arms, cradling her head against his chest. “Did they hurt you? Did they—?”
“I’m fine. Just … frightened.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Rafe, how did they know? How did they find out? The barmaid told them I was female but … how did they know my name?”
Rafe didn’t let her go. He stroked her head. “I don’t know. They must have done some investigating after they discovered you weren’t a boy. I can only imagine they paid enough money to the right person.”
Daphne shuddered. It truly didn’t matter how they found out. All that mattered was that she was safe. And Rafe was safe. “How did you find me?” she whispered against his chest.
“Those two idiots, Anton and Viktor, offered your life for mine.”
Daphne gasped. She pulled back away from him slightly and cupped her blood-streaked hand over her mouth.
“I agreed of course and they brought me here. In shackles.”
Daphne eyed him up and down. He clearly wasn’t wearing any shackles on his wrists or his ankles. Her brow furrowed. “How did you escape?”
Rafe’s infamous grin lit up his face. “You and I didn’t quite make it to that lesson, but unfortunately for them, escaping shackles is one of my specialties.”
Daphne had to smile at that. “Did you … are they dead?”
“No. Though not because I didn’t want to kill them with my bare hands. The crew took them. They followed me here. They were unable to find where you’d been taken because they’d been watching the door to the tavern, not the alley, but when Viktor brought me out of the inn, they followed us.”
Daphne shuddered at the thought of how close she’d come to rape and death. Thank God Viktor had brought Rafe here.
“What will happen to them?” she asked, while Rafe removed his coat and covered her shaking limbs.
“They’ll both be tried for murder and espionage. And I’ve got the letters that will lead me to the men who hired them in France.”
Daphne pressed a hand to her belly. “That’s wonderful, Rafe. It’s just what you wanted. Now we can go to France and find the other men and—”
Rafe’s face turned to a mask of stone. “We aren’t going anywhere, Daphne.”
“But you’ll need me. I speak Russian. You said yourself that Gabriel often speaks it to keep you from knowing what he’s saying. I can help you.”
Rafe shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. I’ve already put your life in danger twice. I won’t risk it again. I’m taking the True Love and the crew and sailing for France without you.”
Anger bubbled in Daphne’s chest but she knew Rafe’s mind was made up. He refused to admit he needed her. He refused to admit he needed anyone. There was no arguing with him at a time like this. This was it. He was going to leave her. It was over. She should have known it would end like this.
Rafe held out a hand. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Back in Julian’s town house in Mayfair, Daphne sat on her bed turning the tiny replica of the True Love over and over in her hands. She traced the little mast with her fingertip, remembering how many knives she’d thrown near that towering piece of wood. She sighed. She’d been home for three days and it was raining, again.
She’d already told Delilah all the details she could in exchange for the girl’s silence. She’d even included the harrowing bit. She hadn’t told her all of the details, of course. She’d left out the part about Rafe nearly making love to her. It had been a feat, coming up with a believable story to tell Mother about why she had a large bruise across her cheek, but somehow she’d managed to convince her that she’d tripped down the stairs at Lucy Hunt’s country house and Lucy—that dear—had made a show of profusely apologizing for the clumsiness of her servants who had obviously polished the wood on the stairs with far too much aplomb.
Julian, however, had taken a bit of convincing. The moment he’d seen the bluish-black bruise, he’d been prepared to storm from the house to kill someone. It had taken both Daphne and Cass a considerable amount of time to convince him to sit down and breathe. Of course, Daphne hadn’t told him the truth of exactly how she’d got the bruise. No need to worry her brother further. The damage was already done. But she knew Julian suspected it had been more than an accident, as she’d informed him. Thankfully, once he realized she had no intention of telling him, he’d stopped asking questions. Apparently, a reputation for stubbornness was good for something.
Daphne stared out of the window into the dripping rain. The afternoon was so dull. Delilah had gone to take a nap. Mother had offered to play cards with her but Daphne had politely refused.
She wanted to practice throwing her knife. She found herself repeatedly touching her ankle to see if the knife was in her boot. She wasn’t wearing a boot and she certainly wasn’t carrying a knife. Not to mention her mother might have an apoplectic fit if she saw her daughter out in the gardens hurling knives at trees.
Daphne glanced down at her embroidered white day gown. Such a far cry from the shirt, breeches, and stockings she’d been wearing while pretending to be a cabin boy. She plucked at the top of her head where a useless ribbon sat holding up her bun. She missed her cap. She rubbed her silk stocking against her bedspread. Silk was certainly more luxurious than the wool stockings she’d worn as Grey. So why did she miss those, too?
Here she was. Back in her proper house, in her proper clothes, with her proper life. And it was all just too … boring. Why had she never noticed how exceedingly dull it was to live in a town house before? She meandered over to her writing desk and picked up her copy of The Adventures of Miss Calliope Cauldwell. She smiled to herself. Perhaps someday she would write a similar tale. If only Rafe had allowed her to go to France with him, the stubborn rogue.
A soft knock on the bedchamber door pulled Daphne from her thoughts. “Who is it?”
“It’s Cass, dear,” came her sister-in-law’s sweet voice.
“And Lucy,” added the duchess’s bright one.
Daphne laid the book back down, swiveled, rushed over to the door, and opened it. “Come in. Come in.” She ushered the two ladies into the room. They made their way over to the windows and sat in
the two chairs that rested there.
“We came to check on you, dear,” Cass explained, once she was settled. “How are you?”
Daphne resumed her seat on the bed and clutched the tiny ship in her fist. She sighed. “I’m … fine.”
Lucy scrunched up her nose. “You don’t sound fine.”
Daphne put the back of her hand to her head as if checking for fever. “I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I do,” Lucy replied with a knowing smile and a twinkle in her two-different-colored eyes.
“You do? What is it?” Daphne sat forward on the bed and blinked expectantly at Lucy.
Lucy splayed her hands wide. “You’re in love, dear. You’re exhibiting the classic symptoms. Restlessness, fatigue, boredom. And I’d wager you’ve not spent so much as a moment without Captain Cavendish in your thoughts since you’ve got home, have you?”
Daphne’s cheeks heated. She moved her hand down to press on one of them. How had Lucy known? She glanced at the replica. Suddenly, she had the desire to hide it. “Well, I—”
“And that little ship in your hand speaks volumes,” Lucy added with another nod.
Daphne’s jaw dropped. “How did you see—”
Cass tapped her fingertips along the arms of the chair. “I must agree with Lucy, dear. I was madly in love for years with someone I couldn’t have. I know the signs when I see them.”
Daphne shook her head so vigorously her bun came loose. “I’m not madly in love with him. I’m not.”
Lucy’s smile was scandalous. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you, perhaps, just a little in love with him?”
Daphne set the replica on her bedside table. She stood and paced to the windows, standing in between the two chairs. “Very well,” she conceded. “Perhaps. Just a little.” Daphne whirled to face them and pressed her palms to both cheeks. “This is awful, isn’t it?”
Cass and Lucy exchanged satisfied looks.
“Not awful at all, dear. It’s wonderful.” Cass reached up to squeeze Daphne’s hand.
Daphne plopped down on the window seat and gave Cass her hand. “But it’s not that easy. What about the blond doxy?”
Lucy cleared her throat. “Yes, about that. I hope you don’t mind but Cass recounted that particular tale to me, and I have to say, I don’t think it makes much sense.”
Daphne’s head snapped to face the duchess. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why in the world would Captain Cavendish have been downstairs looking for you if he had a blond waiting for him in his bed? And why didn’t he lock the door between the two rooms to keep you from finding her?”
Daphne’s heart hammered in her throat. “But she was in his bed and—”
“And what?”
“You didn’t actually see them touching, did you?” Lucy asked.
“No.” Daphne’s voice trailed off.
Cass winced and returned her hand to her own lap. “I have to say when I first heard it, it sounded quite condemning, but upon further reflection, I agree with Lucy. I can’t say I’d believe that Captain Cavendish would take a woman to his bed with you in the room right next door, Daphne. It’s beyond the pale even for a rogue.”
Daphne shook her head. She didn’t know what made any sense anymore but there was more than one reason she and Rafe couldn’t be together. She said the only thing she could think of at the moment. “But Rafe’s refused to allow me to go to France with him.”
“Daphne, be reasonable,” Cass replied. “That trip is far too dangerous for you. Captain Cavendish couldn’t have asked Julian for such a favor. Even if he wanted to.”
“Why not?” Daphne asked. But she already knew the answer and knew she was acting like a pouting child for asking.
“If it makes you feel any better, I can assure you Julian wouldn’t have said yes,” Cass added.
Daphne braced her palms on either side of her thighs on the cushion. She stared down at her slippers, dejected. “Has Rafe left yet? Do you know?”
Lucy’s eyes twinkled. “Derek says he leaves for France in two days.”
“Yes, and he’s commissioned Jane to write a letter for him. But I can’t say any more than that. I’m sworn to secrecy,” Cass added.
Daphne pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Why do I have this awful feeling that I’m never going to see him again?” She moved her hands down to her belly. “I feel sick.”
Cass leaned over, put her hand on Daphne’s forehead, and patted it softly. “You’re in love, dear. We all feel as if we’re going to be sick when we’re in love.”
“Oh, Cass, what am I to do?” Daphne asked, taking a deep breath.
“You can never go wrong if you’re honest and follow your heart,” Cass said, with a knowing smile. “Isn’t that what you always told me, Lucy?”
Lucy pushed a bouncy black curl away from her forehead. “Yes, it is, but in this particular instance I believe more drastic action needs to be taken.”
Daphne blinked and looked at Lucy. “Like what?”
“In this case, follow your heart means bring your gentleman up to scratch.” Lucy punctuated the last word with a firm stamp on the floor.
A thrill shot through Daphne’s chest. Did Lucy truly mean what she thought she meant? “Bring my gentleman up to scratch?”
Lucy gave her a resolute nod. “This is no time to be a shrinking violet. If you want Captain Cavendish, you’re going to have to fight for him. You’re the one who’s told him you intend to marry a man from your list. He has no reason to believe you even want to see him again. Did you tell him you do?”
Daphne blinked. Panic rose like a rogue wave in her chest. “No. I didn’t tell him. He was so adamant about not taking me to France with him. I thought it was clear that things were over between us.”
Lucy folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “But if you didn’t tell him you wanted to see him again, why would he have any reason to think anything else?”
Daphne’s stomach lurched. Her words from the other night came back to haunt her. He’d asked her what sort of men were on her list. “Titled, rich, handsome, loyal,” she’d replied.
“So, it’s safe to say I’m not on your list” had been his response.
She could kick herself now. Lucy was completely right. Why would Rafe think Daphne wanted anything more to do with him? All she’d ever asked of him was the annulment.
She turned frantically to Cass and searched her sister-in-law’s face. “Cass, what do you think?”
Cass bit her lip and glanced away. “Of course I’d never tell you to do anything that would be unladylike or put you in danger.”
“Please tell me, Cass,” Daphne begged. “Truly. What do you think I should do?”
Cass met Daphne’s gaze then. “I happen to remember a girl who tried to climb out of a window once and I do wonder where that girl is now.”
Another thrill shot through Daphne’s chest. Lucy was right and so was Cass. Despite the blond and the difference in Daphne’s and Rafe’s social standing and everything, Daphne couldn’t let Rafe leave without at least trying to tell him that she loved him. She had to go to him.
She allowed a wide grin to spread across her face. “Where is he now?”
Lucy jumped up and clapped her hands. “That’s the spirit! Be bold!”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Cavendish, I thought I might find you here.”
Rafe looked up from his glass of brandy. He was sitting in a tavern, not by the docks, but still far enough outside of Mayfair that he hadn’t expected to see Garrett Upton, the future Earl of Upbridge, striding toward him. Upton was dressed to the nines as usual. Black trousers, emerald-green waistcoat, expensively tailored black overcoat, and shining black top boots.
Rafe glanced down at his own rumpled attire. The same white shirt he’d been wearing for days, dark brown breeches, and scuffed boots. He’d never be as fine as the blue bloods. He glanced at the grim scene. A few barmaids, a few rou
gh patrons. Dirty floor, chipped wooden chairs, mismatching glasses. His usual haunt, but certainly not a place for a swank like Upton. It was exactly where Rafe belonged, however. He fit right in here as if he were born to the place.
He squinted up at the future earl. “How did you know I was here, Upton?”
Upton pulled the chair over from the table next to him and straddled it. “Lucky guess, really. Claringdon told me you sometimes come here when you’re not at Brooks’s with him.”
Rafe smiled a humorless smile. “Claringdon knows me too well.” Rafe liked Claringdon. Claringdon was a duke now, it was true. But he hadn’t been born to it. No, Claringdon had earned his title in the war. Claringdon was the type of man who made sense to Rafe. Though, he had to admit, he liked Upton as well. As the nephew of an earl, Upton had been born to the ton, but he was the only son of a second son, not meant for a title. It had been mere fate that had taken the life of his male cousin, Lucy Hunt’s brother, in childhood. Upton stood to inherit an earldom one day but no, he hadn’t been born for it. Upton had been a soldier, actually. He’d been shot in Spain. He’d nearly died. Rafe could respect a man like Upton. Hell, he did.
A barmaid brought a glass of brandy for Upton. He took it from her and tossed her a coin. Then he turned his attention back to Rafe. “I hear you’re about to go back to France.”
Rafe nodded. “I am.”
Upton inclined his head and took a drink. “Not much work for a spy during times of peace. Is this your last mission?”
Rafe contemplated the amber liquid in his glass. “You know why I’m going.”
Upton turned the glass around and around in his hand. “To find the men who killed Donald Swift?”
Rafe took a sip. “That’s right.”
Upton narrowed his eyes on Rafe. “You told me once I should take my own advice.”
Rafe furrowed his brow. “I said that? When?”
Upton continued to turn the glass in his hand. “Last spring. When I told you how guilty I was over Harold Langford’s death. You said you knew how I felt.”
The Irresistible Rogue Page 21
