by Shana Galen
“Yes, we do. You seem a man who knows this town.”
Gaines smiled, showing a flash of white teeth. “That I do. You won’t find another man in Wapping who knows more about this village than me. But we shouldn’t stand about in the open here. Would you like a cup of coffee?” He looked at Collette. “Or tea?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“We don’t have any blunt to pay for it,” Rafe muttered. “You may have saved our lives, but you didn’t ask those thieves to return my money.”
Gaines shrugged. “Even I cannot work miracles. Perhaps we can work it out in trade.” He gestured to Rafe to follow him, and as Collette fell into step beside him, Rafe had little choice. Gaines led them along the main street, past several taverns, to a small shop with a picture of coffee and tobacco on the sign. He pushed the door open and the scent of ground coffee invited Rafe in. There were a half-dozen tables in the front of the building and a shopping area behind, selling coffee and tobacco in bulk.
Gaines led Rafe and Collette to a round table, pulled out Collette’s chair for her, then signaled to a waiter. There were two, one white and one black. The short white man came forward. “Yes, sir?”
“Crutchley, my friends would like coffee and—” He glanced at Collette.
“Coffee would be lovely.”
“Three cups, then. Are you hungry?”
“No,” Rafe said.
“Yes,” Collette answered at the same time.
“Then bring us bread and soup,” Gaines added.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
“Do you own this shop?” Collette asked.
“I do. This and others. I apologize we have no private room for you to dine in.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, sir. We are grateful for your assistance earlier.”
“What kind of trade?” Rafe asked. He wanted to like Gaines. The man seemed genuine enough, but among other things, it irked Rafe how quickly Collette had rushed to follow him.
“Excuse me?” Gaines asked.
“You said we’d trade for the price of the coffee and now you’ve added a meal. I have nothing to trade.”
Gaines’s gaze fell to Rafe’s waistcoat and his watch fob.
“Oh, no. This watch is worth far more than the price of coffee and soup.”
“Is it worth your life? I did save it.”
“I did not need saving.” Rafe glared at him, then pulled out his watch and set it on the table. “I knew I didn’t want to come to Wapping.”
“Why are you here?” Gaines asked. “The lady mentioned you are searching for a ship.”
“I am not a lady,” she said. “You may call me Collette.” Though giving her Christian name to a man she had just met was far too informal a gesture, Rafe thought it wise to refrain from giving her surname, real or counterfeit.
“Rafe Beaumont.” Rafe gave a quick bow out of habit.
Gaines stuck out his hand. “Thomas Gaines.” Rafe shook hands. Gaines had removed his gloves when they’d sat down, and his bare hands were rough and callused. The coffee arrived, and for a moment, everyone enjoyed the warmth of the drink.
“Miss Collette, you are searching for a ship?” Gaines asked. “I don’t mean to boast, but I know every ship that comes in or out. I do a fair enough trade in coffee and tobacco, but I have a few other investments.”
“It would be a French ship,” Collette said.
“Ah. I did not think you had a British accent.”
“I am French,” she admitted. “And what is your accent, sir?”
He smiled. “American.”
Her eyes widened. “Were you a—”
She broke off and glanced at Rafe, her cheeks flushing. But Rafe was curious as well. Many noble families employed men and women of African descent as servants, but it was rare for one to own his own shop. Not to mention, this man had obviously earned the respect of even the criminally minded.
“A slave? Yes. I escaped from a plantation in Virginia about ten years ago and hid on a ship bound for England. I came ashore at Wapping. I’ve been here ever since.”
“You’ve done well for yourself,” Rafe said.
“Well enough. I know tobacco from my time in Virginia. I sell the best in the country.” He leaned forward. “But you don’t want tobacco. You want a French ship.”
Collette nodded. “It may not have arrived yet. We don’t know the name or the captain or anything about it except it carries an important passenger.”
“There are several French ships docked here at present. Do you know its cargo?”
Rafe leaned forward, his head close to Gaines’s. “This is a ship that would wish to avoid the notice of customs. The cargo may be entirely legitimate, but they will want to send men ashore without too much notice.”
Gaines sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A ship did arrive last night. I don’t know much about it, but the men I employ at the quays tell me it bears the name The Amaranthe. Thank you, Crutchley,” Gaines said when the waiter returned with the bread and soup.
“That might very well be it,” Rafe said. The soup smelled delicious, and he found himself dipping his spoon in the thick liquid despite his annoyance at having to give his watch for it.
“When you finish eating, I will take you to see it,” Gaines said. “We will bring a few of my men to deter those who might wish us ill.”
* * *
Collette descended the stone steps yet again, although Thomas Gaines had led them to a set of steps a good distance from where they had first gone down. He had two men with him, large men who looked more like pirates than clerks, as Gaines had claimed they were, and a spyglass. This stretch of water was shallow and muddy, and Gaines explained that most ships did not anchor here because the currents were unfavorable and unpredictable. But a lone ship did sit at anchor, bobbing with the current.
“Do you see how the captain of the ship has positioned it?” Gaines asked. “The current will jostle anyone on board, but facing that way means he can make a quick getaway if needed. That is an old trick of pirates and smugglers.” He lifted the spyglass and studied the ship, then handed it to Rafe.
Rafe peered through the tool, then handed it to Collette. She frowned as the masts and the bow came more sharply into view. “I don’t see anyone on deck.”
“Try and approach and they’ll appear quick enough,” Gaines promised. “Could that be your ship?”
“It could be,” Rafe admitted. Collette agreed. The Amaranthe was unmistakably French in design. And it was small enough to have made the crossing from France to England relatively quickly.
“Did anyone come on shore from this vessel in the night?” she asked.
Gaines shook his head. “I cannot say for certain, but it put down anchor in the wee hours of the morning. If anyone departed, they would have had to do so in daylight.” He lifted the spyglass again. “All of the boats are still on board. That doesn’t mean one might not have departed and returned, but I think it unlikely.”
“You think they will wait for cover of darkness,” Rafe said.
“Wouldn’t you?”
Rafe nodded.
“Then if my father is on board, he will come ashore tonight,” she said, the twin sensations of nausea and giddiness making her stomach bubble.
“Thank you,” Rafe said, holding out a hand to shake Gaines’s. “I don’t know that we would have found this without you.”
Gaines’s smile was knowing. It seemed he had his own thoughts on that subject. “I will bring you back later,” he said.
Collette raised her brows. She hadn’t intended to leave, now that she had the ship in view. If her father was on that ship, she would not leave him.
“That’s not necessary,” Rafe answered.
“And still you do not trust me. You can’t think to sit here the rest of the day. The wind
on the water is cold.”
“I don’t mind,” Collette said.
Gaines looked at Rafe. “As you said, your watch is worth more than a cup of coffee and bowl of soup. I have an inn where you might rest until nightfall.”
Rafe glanced at her, then back at Gaines. “That’s convenient.”
“I’m a businessman.”
“How many businesses do you own?”
“Enough. You wonder why I would offer you shelter and an escort back. You think I hope to gain something.”
Collette didn’t answer, but it was as though he had read her mind.
“I’m merely curious. As I said, I know everything about this town, but I don’t know this ship. This is a sad circumstance for a man with as much curiosity as me.”
Rafe looked at Collette. His eyes held a question, and she knew the decision was hers to make. She liked Thomas Gaines. She trusted him—as much as she trusted any man she had only known for a couple of hours. But could she trust him with her father’s life? And if anything went wrong, wouldn’t it be wise to have a powerful man like Gaines on their side?
She nodded. Rafe raised his brows, seeming to ask if she was certain. She nodded again.
“I have a coachman,” Rafe began, looking back at Gaines.
“He’s welcome, of course,” Gaines said. “The inn has a stable and a common room. Shall I reserve you one room or two?”
“One,” Rafe said at the same time Collette said, “Two.”
Gaines’s teeth flashed. “Two rooms with a connecting door, I think.” He put his arm around Rafe’s shoulder and steered him back toward the main village. “Now, tell me what you do in Town.”
Collette was glad to be spared the effort of conversation. She could think of nothing but her father. How had he fared on his crossing? She had not seen him in months. Had his captors treated him well? How would they react when they realized she had come to them and that she did not have the codes she’d promised? She had to hope that in the confusion of coming ashore in the dark, she and Rafe could spirit her father away before his captors even knew what had happened.
And then…
She did not want to think about what would happen next. If she had her way, she would take her father and continue running. Her plan had always been to take her father to America. It seemed to her somewhere far, far away. Somewhere the French and the British could never reach them.
But as Gaines’s innkeeper showed them to their rooms, she couldn’t help but look at Rafe. She would miss him. She had fallen in love with him, and not a little in love, as she had with Marcel all those years ago. What she felt for Rafe was stronger and deeper. He wasn’t the man she had thought the first time she had seen him. Yes, he was handsome—too handsome for his own good—and charming and rakish, but he was also loyal, steadfast, and courageous. No one had ever done as much for her as Rafe Beaumont. No one but her father.
She closed the door to her room and leaned against it, holding the small wooden box the innkeeper had handed her close to her chest. Rafe might care for her, but he would never love her, not like she loved him. His revelations in the carriage had told her more than he probably wanted her to know. He’d been abandoned by a woman, the most important woman in his world, as a child. Was it any wonder that he had turned into the kind of man who, rather than wait for yet another woman to abandon him, left her first? Why not? In his experience, there was always another woman and one was pretty much the same as another.
She wanted to believe she was different. Rafe had said she was different, but how many other women had heard those words from his lips? How many times had he meant them?
She wanted to believe he’d meant those words when he spoke them to her. And perhaps this afternoon, while she bided the long hours until darkness fell, she wanted one last memory with Rafe Beaumont. It would be something sweet she could hold on to during the long years ahead, years that were as shrouded in darkness as the coming night. She would have her father, and he would be enough if she could also have one more memory of Rafe.
She lowered the box and freed the latch. Inside was a key to her room, as she’d expected, but also two steaming towels. She sighed in pleasure at the thought of using them to wipe away the dust of the journey to Wapping from London. Collette stripped off her cloak and went to the washbasin. She poured cold water into it and splashed her face and arms. Then, when gooseflesh had broken out along her skin, she took one of the warm towels and slid it over her face, neck, and arms. The sensation was heavenly, but it made the rest of her feel grimy. She removed her dress and used the other towel over the rest of her body. She even removed her boots and washed each toe. Then, in only her chemise, she stood before the fire and allowed it to dry her damp skin.
It didn’t surprise her when she heard the tap on the door adjoining their rooms. She had known he would come to her, but she had thought he would wait longer. She had thought she might change her mind.
She hadn’t.
Instead of calling out, she went to the door herself and opened it. Rafe stood in shirtsleeves and trousers, his hair slightly damp at the ends. He’d obviously put his own towels and the water in the washbasin to use. His gaze rested determinedly on her face, though she knew he had taken in the fact that she wore only her chemise. With the curtains of the window in her room drawn and the midday sun streaming in to make rectangular patterns on the carpet, she could imagine her thin chemise did not conceal much.
But his eyes were on hers, his gaze respectful and polite. He would not force himself on her. He didn’t expect anything. She could close the door right now, and he would not pound on it or ask anything of her.
“How is your room? Is everything to your liking?”
“Yes. Your watch has provided fine accommodation.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Would you like me to send for tea and sandwiches? Are you hungry?”
She shook her head, then stepped back and out of the doorway. “I’m not hungry. Not for sandwiches.”
Now his gaze drifted lower. She felt the heat of it on her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, and the V between her legs. She grew damp there as his perusal went on, as he examined what she offered. Slowly, his gaze returned to her face, and she saw what she had hoped she might: hunger. For a moment, she had feared he no longer wanted her. But the look he gave her made it clear he wanted her very much. “What are you hungry for?” His voice was low and rough, and though he must have known the answer, held a note of genuine interest.
“You,” she said simply and held a hand out to him. He was in her chamber in an instant, the door to his own slammed shut. He didn’t take her hand but swept her off her feet and into his arms. Collette laughed as he carried her to the bed.
“I have been praying you would say that.” He kissed her, then set her on the bed, coming down on top of her. “I have been pleading with God, promising all manner of reform and good deeds if I could just kiss you once more.”
“You will have to do more than kiss me,” she answered with a flirtatious smile.
“Christ, you’ll have me building churches to honor my promises.”
“Take off your shirt,” she said, bunching the hem and lifting it to reveal the flat skin of his belly. She wanted to see all of him today, she wanted him naked in the sunlight, that perfect body of his all hers until dusk crept over them.
He pulled it over his head with none of the seductive finesse she had expected. She’d thought he might undress slowly, as he had that first night. But he did not seem inclined to take his time, and she was in a mood to savor. She pushed him back and off her. He stood at the side of the bed, his expression curious. She rose to her knees and slid her hands over his broad, muscled shoulders. The light was behind him, the window on the wall parallel to the bed, and the sunlight made his skin look golden. She stepped off the bed and circled him, one hand drifting to his waist and holding him
in place as she traced his shoulders and back with her lips. That hand dipped lower to feel the bulge of his erection through his trousers, and he let out a small groan.
Her hand drifted away to meet the other on his back. She traced his form down to his slim waist and hips, then over his firm buttocks. The quick sound of his indrawn breath made her smile. “Remove your trousers,” she murmured.
She thought he might object. Most men would have bristled at a woman who gave orders, but he obliged her without a word. He’d taken his boots off in his room, so it was an easy matter to strip himself of his last vestments. The trousers dropped, followed by his smallclothes, and he stepped out of the clothing, his back still to her.
Collette had to swallow to relieve the dryness in her throat. Sculpted calves and powerful thighs made a trail to his rounded backside. Two dents marked his lower back, and she started by putting her hands there. He stiffened as she moved down, squeezing that ripe flesh of his buttocks, then sliding her hand between his legs to cup him and then stroke his hard member. He put a hand on the bedpost to brace himself. Tension and strain seemed to hum through him. From the way his fingers had turned white against the dark wood of the bedpost, he must have been desperate to take her, but he allowed her to do as she would. She knelt behind him, pushing his legs wider as she gripped him more securely, then as she moved her hand up and down she pressed her lips to that taut flesh of his behind.
“Christ,” he said, his voice a growl. “I’ll embarrass myself in a moment if you keep this up.”
“You mustn’t come,” she said, her lips moving against his plump flesh. She’d never used such a word before, but she’d heard men use it. Knew what it meant. “You have to wait for me.”
“Then this is just torture,” he gritted out as her hand worked him.
“I call it foreplay.”
“Semantics,” he muttered. “Let me undress you.”
She would have refused but for the way he’d said it. Let me… Desperation hung in his tone, and she thought he might just want her as much if not more than she did him.
“Very well,” she said and moved to face him. If he’d been glorious from behind, he was even more so straight on. His member jutted proudly, looking as hard and unyielding as the firm flesh of his chest. His legs were planted on the floor as though he were a pirate balancing on a tossing ship. The muscles of his legs were defined and straining as he held himself in check. “Undress me,” she said.
