“Jesus Christ,” he whispered fiercely through clenched teeth.
Her mouth moved up, then down, again and again, and Rafe clenched his fists into the bedsheets. He had no idea how or where she’d learned this since they’d last been together but at the moment he sure as hell didn’t care.
As if she’d read his mind she momentarily pulled her mouth away from his tender flesh and said, “Lucy allowed me to borrow a pamphlet she’d read called Secrets of a Wedding Night. I learned quite a lot.”
Rafe groaned. “It sounds like a wonderful pamphlet.” He placed his hands under her arms and pulled her sharply up to kiss him. “But I can’t take any more of that. Not now.”
“Later then?” she asked with an impish smile on her face.
“Much later,” he breathed into her fragrant hair.
He kissed down her neck and collarbone to her breasts again and plucked at her nipples with his thumb and forefinger, enjoying the gasp of delight it elicited from her.
She lowered her hand and closed it around him. “Two can play at that game,” she said.
“I see,” he murmured. “But I meant what I said. I can’t take it. Not tonight. Not our first time.” He pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. He laid it near her head on the pillow, then he moved his hand back down and stroked between her legs. Daphne parted her thighs and one of his fingers slid deep within her. She moaned.
“Daphne,” he whispered in her ear. “I can’t wait. I must have you. Now.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
That was the only word Rafe needed to hear. He rolled over atop the gorgeous woman beneath him and braced his forearms on either side of her head. He kissed the tip of her delectable nose. “It will hurt but only for a moment.”
Daphne nodded. She was certain Rafe knew exactly what he was doing. Perhaps that was the benefit to loving a rogue. But she couldn’t be angry with him. She was so glad it was him. So glad it was him and not Lord Fitzwell or some bore. She nearly cried.
Rafe nudged her knees apart and Daphne held her breath. Rafe’s thick hotness pushed at her most intimate space and it felt so good she nearly cried out.
He pushed into her, just a bit, then a bit farther. Her tight passageway expanded for him. “Yes,” she breathed again against his neck.
Rafe pulled back once more and then pushed all the way inside of her. Daphne cried out and clutched at his shoulders. The pain was quickly replaced by the wonderful fullness of him. He rocked against her and Daphne wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck, fiercely kissing his heated shoulder.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and Rafe pressed his mouth to hers, hard. He pulled out and pushed again, again. His groans filled the room. They filled Daphne’s heart.
He reached down between the two of them and touched Daphne’s most sensitive spot. He circled her there again and again. She became mindless, completely swept away into a sea of pure lust. No longer certain where she began and Rafe ended.
Spasms of pure pleasure overtook her, just before Rafe pumped into her one last time and groaned her name as he found his own release.
Moments later, Rafe rolled over and took her with him in his arms. Daphne wrapped an arm over his chest. She was breathing heavily. “That was … the only word that comes to mind is ‘indescribable.’”
His shout of laughter cracked off the wooden beams on the ceiling. “Indescribably good, I hope.”
“Absolutely,” she said, rising up on one elbow to plop a kiss on his forehead. “Definitely indescribably good.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“I love you, Rafe,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“Daphne, I—” He clamped his mouth shut and Daphne’s heart tugged. She bit her lip against the sting of tears that touched the backs of her eyes.
“Get some sleep,” he murmured into her hair.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Dawn had not yet touched the sky when Daphne rolled over and blinked at her husband. Yes. He was her husband now. Officially. After what they’d done last night, he was most definitely her husband. And what a gorgeous husband he was. She smiled to herself and then hid her smile in the pillow.
She drifted off to sleep last night telling herself that while he might not have been able to tell her he loved her yet, he had to feel differently about her now. He just had to. She felt differently about him. Before last night she’d only been a little in love with him, but now, now, she was positively head over heels. That’s why she’d told him as much. She stared at his features, softened in sleep. His perfect straight nose, his eyebrows that were a bit darker than his hair, the cleft in his chin. She lifted a finger to trace the outline of his cheekbone. He caught her hand in the air.
“I thought you were asleep,” she whispered, laughing. “Your eyes aren’t even open.”
“I’m a spy,” he whispered back. “My eyes are always open.”
She snuggled closer to his side and wrapped her arms around him. “Make love to me again, Rafe.”
He flipped over and covered her with his tight, muscular body. He kissed her long and deep; Daphne started to get warm and wet in all the right places.
He pulled his mouth away and Daphne knew a moment of regret.
“As much as I want to, my love, I must go see to my mission. We’re shoving off at first light. I need to help you get to the rowboat and get back home safely.”
Daphne’s heart sank. She sat up and pulled the sheet over her breasts. “You … you’re really leaving?”
He searched her face. “You knew I was leaving. I told you I’m going to France.”
Daphne concentrated on breathing. “But that was before…”
“Oh, love.” He pulled her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I told you I couldn’t make any promises. I meant it.”
“I know. But I’d hoped—” She looked away wistfully and traced the outline of the bedspread with her fingertip. “Take me with you, Rafe.”
Rafe had rolled over her and stood. He was already busily fastening his breeches. Daphne still couldn’t help but admire his gorgeous chest.
Rafe shook his head. His eyes were quickly dimming. He was turning back into the spy with a mission, no longer the loving man she’d been with last night. “I can’t,” he said. “Your brother won’t allow it. I won’t allow it. You’re not safe with me.” He moved back over to where she sat up in the bed and rubbed his hands over her shoulders. Daphne tried to ignore the little thrill that shot through her belly at his touch.
“Listen to me, Daphne. You’re meant to be with a lord, a nobleman, a somebody. We both know that.”
Searching his face this time, she desperately fought her tears. “You’re a somebody, Rafe. You’ve always been a somebody to me.”
Rafe let go of her, turned, and banged his fist against the wall. “No, Daphne. You’re wrong. I’m not somebody. I’m not for you. You said it yourself, I’m not rich. I’m not titled.”
She turned away so he couldn’t see her dash the tears from her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t cry any more. “I never cared about that. I only ever wanted you.” She climbed from the bed and began to frantically tug on her discarded clothing. When she finished, she turned back to face him, proud of herself for fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes and turn her into a complete ninny in his presence. How many times did this man have to reject her before she believed he didn’t want her?
“I’m sorry, Daphne,” he said softly. “I’ll have one of the crew members escort you home and hurry back before we shove off.”
“No!” she shouted, refusing to look at him. “I got here by myself. I can make it home alone as well. I’m not a child.” She wrenched open the door, but his voice stopped her.
“Daphne.” His voice was serious. “If I should die, and you find yourself with child…”
She swallowed. A baby? Rafe’s baby? No, she wouldn’t even allow herself to begin to hope. She held up a ha
nd beside her head to stop him but she didn’t turn to look at him. “Don’t worry, Rafe. I can take care of myself and a baby should it come to that. Good-bye.” She strode out the door and it slammed behind her.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
They weighed anchor at dawn but the wind was not favorable and their journey to the mouth of the Thames was slower than it should have been. Rafe spent the first half of the day reading his orders time and again. Capture or kill the men responsible for the death of the Earl of Swifdon, Donald Swift. He already knew the orders by heart but reading them repeatedly helped to keep his mind off Daphne.
Daphne. Damn it. He stood and paced in front of the writing desk in his cabin. Daphne. He wanted to think it had been a mistake to take her to bed last night, but no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that, he knew it was a lie. She’d come to him, wanted him, and he’d wanted her. They were married. If she were with child, she would be protected by his name. It might not be the best outcome and her reputation might suffer a bit for the lack of a wedding, but Julian would handle it and things would be all right for her. Rafe hoped there was no baby but only for her sake. Daphne was gorgeous, and intelligent, and courageous. Any man would be happy to take her to wife. She’d find her blue blood, one who wouldn’t be too concerned about or perhaps even notice her lack of virginity. No. Her one night with him wouldn’t ruin her. But it might well have ruined him. He loved her, damn it. He knew he did. He’d wanted to tell her last night when he was deep inside of her. But he couldn’t destroy her life. And that’s what he’d be doing if he made her hope there could be a future between them. No good would have come of it. It wouldn’t have changed anything. He still had to risk his life for this mission and she had to go back to Mayfair and live the life she was born to. His declaration of love would have made her wish for things they couldn’t have. It would have made her want to stay with him. Or made him not want to leave. It was better this way, having her hate him. She’d have a reason to find a suitable husband and forget about him.
Rafe rubbed his hand over his eyes. She’d said he was a somebody. Her somebody. But all he’d heard were the words from his father’s mouth uttered repeatedly during his childhood. They’d echoed in Rafe’s head. “You’re a nobody. A nothing. You’ll never make your fortune in this world.” His father might not have been right¸ but he was close. Rafe wasn’t a somebody the likes of which Lady Daphne Swift could stay with. She was naïve. She thought love was enough to make a successful marriage. But she was wrong. They lived in a society where an earl’s daughter married to an army captain was something to be mocked, ridiculed. He refused to allow her to stand so much as a moment of censure by the people who made up her world.
He cursed and turned his attention back to his orders. He must concentrate. He was so close to what he’d wanted for so long.
* * *
Two hours later, a knock at the door jolted Rafe from his study of the maps for their route. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Captain.” Salty’s voice traveled through the wood.
“Come in.”
The door opened and Salty strode inside, a forbidding look on his face.
“What is it, Salty? It can’t be that bad. We’ve finally made it to the Channel.”
Salty rubbed his jaw. “There’s something I need to tell you. And you’re not going to like it.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes on his crewmate. “I don’t like the sound of your tone.”
“It’s Lady Daphne, er, Grey. He’s stowed away.”
* * *
Daphne knew the moment Rafe had discovered she was on the ship. A loud crack indicated that he’d slammed open his door, and the pounding of his boots on the steps leading up to the deck twisted her stomach into knots. This had seemed like a good idea when she’d been climbing down the ladder to the rowboat before dawn. She’d been sitting in the small boat, about to head back to shore, when pure anger had gripped her. She was tired of being told what to do by men. First her father, then Donald, then Julian, then Lord Fitzwell, and now Rafe. She was through with taking orders from them. And by God, she wasn’t about to let the man she loved sail off and get killed by the same bastards who had killed her brother. She was going to help him whether he would admit that he loved her or not. Whether he would admit that he needed her help or not. And she could help him in France. She knew it. That stubborn ass knew it, too. If only he’d admit it. He loved her, too. She knew that as well. She’d known it before last night, by his touch, his kisses. If she’d had any doubt, he’d banished it when he made love to her last night.
He’d called it his mission, but it was her mission, too. Her brother had been murdered, her true love had been tortured. It was her mission, too, and she would stay by Rafe’s side and complete it. That was all there was to it.
She’d maneuvered the rowboat around to the far side of the sloop and climbed up using a bit of rope that Salty had left hanging off. Bless Salty. It was all she needed.
Once she’d made it up to the deck, the space had been thankfully empty. She sneaked past the mast, down to the kitchens, and hid herself in the cupboard. She’d meant to stay there as long as she could. The longer she remained hidden, the better chance she had to keep them from trying to turn around and take her back home, but an unfortunately timed sneeze had given her away and Cook had opened the cupboard and discovered her. At first she’d considered begging him not to tell Rafe, but she quickly discarded that notion. The ship’s captain would have to be told about a stowaway. Cook had informed Salty and Salty had marched off to do his duty.
She was sitting in the kitchen with Cook, her belly a roiling mass of nerves, when Rafe came marching in.
“What in the hell are you thinking?” he shouted.
She winced. “Good to see you, too.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I’m serious, Daphne. This isn’t a joke.”
“I don’t find it particularly humorous, either,” she said.
Cook and Salty exchanged wide-eyed looks and quickly excused themselves.
“Answer me. What were you thinking?” Rafe insisted as soon as the two men had left.
Daphne calmly folded her hands together in front of her and rested them on the wooden table. She’d already decided how she would handle this. She would simply explain her rationale. “I can help you. In France. You need me.”
“No. I don’t. I need you to be safe. You’ve put yourself in far more danger than you realize.”
Daphne swallowed. She remembered the moment Boris and Billy had come into her cell. The moment she’d been convinced she would be raped and killed. The terror she’d experienced when Billy had ripped open her breeches. The sickening feeling of the knife sinking into his chest and the tangy smell of his blood. The potential for that and worse lay in France. She was frightened, to be sure. But she was also a Swift and Swifts made their courage bigger than their fear. “I want to help you.”
“Damn it, Daphne. I can’t take you back now. You’re risking the entire mission.”
Her anger quickly resurfaced. She was capable, blast it. She might be a female but she could help. She stood and plunked both hands on her hips. “You once told me what you thought my problem was,” she announced. “You said I was far too judgmental and far too coddled. You said my family softened every blow. Well, you might have been right about that. But who’s being judgmental now? Assuming I can’t love you because my blood is too blue. You’re just as judgmental about my class as I ever was about your drinking. And as for being coddled, I think I’ve earned my place on this ship, sleeping in that cabin for days on end, pretending to be a member of the crew, interpreting Russian for you, being kidnapped, and knifing a man who attacked me.”
Rafe put up a hand to stop her but Daphne wouldn’t allow him to. “No, I’m not finished. You told me what my problem was but do you know what your problem is? You think you’re the only person capable of doing anything. You reluctantly agreed to bring me with you to the ship because you
’re forced to admit you don’t speak Russian. If you thought you could learn it in the span of a fortnight, I’ve no doubt you never would have arrived at my engagement party. But I’m not stupid. I know I’m not the only person in London who speaks Russian. You could have picked someone else. You wanted me!”
He tried to stop her again but she wouldn’t have it. “You’re far too used to relying only upon yourself and you refuse to admit that perhaps, just perhaps, from time to time, upon occasion, you may actually require a bit of help from another person!” Her chest heaved and her eyes flashed. She lifted her chin. “I am trained, Rafe. By the best. You trained me. I’m not putting the mission in danger and I’m not putting you in danger. I may be putting myself in danger, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. You needn’t worry about me. I told you. I can handle myself. And I intend to.”
Rafe paced away from her and scrubbed his hands through his hair. He turned his head to the side and shook it. She recognized the fear there. Fear for her safety. His voice was solemn. “I cannot keep you safe.”
“You don’t have to.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
They docked at Calais later that night after the wind picked up. They were pretending to be tradespeople who were merely in port to sell their goods. Rafe had spent the remainder of the journey poring through the letters in the bundle they had retrieved from Anton and Viktor. The men he wanted were in a small town just south of Calais. It was perhaps half a day’s journey. Rafe would travel quickly with only Salty and Grim.
Rafe stood in the captain’s cabin and tossed a few things in one small bag to take with him on the journey. A bit of food, some other provisions, one of the letters, two pistols and two knives. One of the knives was the one Daphne had used to kill that vermin near the docks. Rafe’s throat tightened at the memory of Daphne fighting that giant. She’d kept her wits about her. She’d managed to stick him before he’d tackled her. She’d faced a man at least three times her size with determination and courage. Daphne was right. She could take care of herself. And she’d been magnificent telling him so.
The Irresistible Rogue Page 23
