by Shana Galen
But at this moment, she could rely on the need to see her father safely out of England to obliterate everything else. At least for a time. And so she held on to Gaines who bade her sip the brandy-laced tea and spoke to her in his deep, musical voice.
Sometime later, Gaines and the maid—the same one who’d answered her summons earlier—had tucked her into bed. Gaines had assured her he had called for a doctor and would stay with her father. Collette had pressed her head into the pillow. This wasn’t the bed she’d shared with Rafe or where her father lay. She was in a new room—a dark, quiet room. The brandy had made her tired. Life had made her tired. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep until the crushing numbness of it all passed.
“I can’t feel anything,” she’d said, looking up at Gaines.
“That is a blessing, miss.” He’d taken her hand. “Sleep. Soon you will be on the ship, and then sleep will not come so easily.”
But the pain would. She feared the pain she knew lurked at the edges of her awareness. Pain so great she could not see any way around it, and she was not certain she could survive the path through it.
“Sleep.” Gaines released her hand and signaled to the maid to turn the lamp down. Collette realized it was dark. Somehow night had fallen, and she hadn’t even noted it.
Collette reached for Gaines’s hand. “When does the ship sail?”
“Don’t you worry about that. Sleep.”
Collette sat, pushing the covers off her legs. “I need to be on that ship. We cannot miss it, Mr. Gaines.”
“I will take you aboard the ship myself,” Gaines promised. “You have time to rest. The captain won’t sail until night falls tomorrow.”
Collette sank back down onto the pillow. It was too soon and an eternity from now. “You’ll come for me.”
“I’ll escort you to the gangplank myself and have your father brought aboard.”
Collette closed her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but it seemed to be what everyone wanted. Finally, the sounds around her quieted and she heard the door of the room close. Alone, she opened her eyes and stared at the flickering candlelight on the ceiling. Her eyes stung with fatigue and sorrow, but no tears would come. There was only the numbness.
* * *
“What do you mean he’s not here?” Rafe bellowed when Porter returned from paying the hackney driver. Though the Master of the House had taken Rafe’s unceremonious arrival in stride, he looked less than pleased at Rafe’s outburst. Rafe could hardly blame him. He didn’t know what the hell had gotten into him either.
And all of his bellowing had attracted an audience. A footman carrying a tray lingered on the steps, and above him, Phineas and Stratford stood with their arms crossed and eyebrows raised. The two of them were known for their skills in negotiation and strategy, respectively, and were generally imperturbable. At the moment, they looked somewhat…perturbed.
“I am sorry, sir, but Lieutenant Colonel Draven has not been here tonight or for—”
Rafe cut him off the same way he had Draven’s secretary. He wrapped a hand around Porter’s neck.
“What the hell are you doing?” Stratford or Phineas bellowed. “Beaumont, release him.”
Rafe ignored them. “Tell me where he is.”
Porter remained still. “I don’t know, sir.”
“I know.”
Rafe knew that voice. It was Neil. His boots clicked on the wood as he strode into the vestibule. Rafe didn’t look away from Porter, didn’t release him, but somehow Neil’s presence calmed him. Rafe could count on the man who’d been his commanding officer, the man known as the Warrior.
“Stratford, Phineas, Jasper—dismissed.”
Rafe hadn’t even realized Jasper was here. Stratford and Phineas grumbled, but they retreated up the stairs. Jasper didn’t move.
“Jasper, dismissed.”
“That’s Lord Jasper, and you can go to hell, Neil.” Jasper stepped forward, his scarred face coming into Rafe’s sight line. “Let him go, Rafe, before I draw your cork.”
Rafe’s nose itched at the threat. “This has nothing to do with you, Jas.”
“It has nothing to do with Porter either,” Neil said. “You want Draven? I know where he is.”
Rafe released Porter and turned on Neil. Jasper had Rafe by the arms in mere seconds, preventing Rafe from taking a swing at Neil. Rafe fought Jasper’s hold but not with any real effort. These men had been instrumental in taking down Napoleon. They could handle Rafe Beaumont. “Where?”
“He’s with Ewan, at his pugilist club.”
Now Rafe fought Jasper’s hold, and Jasper swore. “Are you bloody dicked in the nob, Beaumont?”
“Let me go, or so help me God, Jasper, I’ll kill you.”
Neil raised one brow. “As much as I would like to see you try and kill Jasper, Porter frowns on cleaning blood from the carpet, even spangled and sequined blood like yours, Rafe.”
“Go to hell!”
“Obviously. But before I do, why don’t I send for Draven?”
“I’ll go get him.”
“I don’t think so.” Neil signaled and Jasper released Rafe. Rafe thought about hitting Neil, but the urge had left him. There was just that insistent drumroll in his head telling him to hurry, hurry, hurry.
“Lord Jasper will fetch him.”
“The hell I will,” Jasper argued.
Neil didn’t say a word. He merely held Jasper’s gaze. And even though Rafe knew Jasper was feared throughout the underworld as a hunter who could find anyone and who, if threatened, killed with his bare hands, it was Neil who made him shudder in that moment.
“You owe me a drink,” Jasper said, pointing a finger at Neil as he strode out the door. “Two drinks.”
Neil ignored Jasper and put his arm around Rafe’s shoulder. It might have looked like a friendly gesture, but Rafe knew better than to shrug it off or fight the way Neil directed Rafe up the stairs of the Draven Club and into the reading room. “Now tell me what this is about, and hurry up before I lose my patience and smash that pretty face of yours through the window.”
By the time Rafe had given Neil the short version of the story, Jasper had returned with Ewan and Draven in tow.
Draven took one look at his men and pointed to the door. “So much for state secrets. Out.”
“There’s no point. I know everything.”
Draven’s nostrils flared.
Neil rose. “On second thought, there was something I hoped to discuss with Mostyn here.”
Jasper turned to follow Neil. “I’ll come along.”
The door closed, and they were alone in the reading room. The small wood-paneled room was lined with shelves of books. Small groupings of armchairs were clustered throughout, each with side tables nearby holding lamps. Neil had led Rafe to the chairs nearest the hearth, which crackled. Draven stood before him, hands clasped behind his back, the light from the fire making his red hair appear even redder. “Report,” he ordered.
“Fortier is no longer a threat.”
A muscle in Draven’s jaw clenched. “You saw his cold, lifeless body?”
“He’s not a threat,” Rafe repeated.
Draven didn’t move. “You don’t say he’s dead.”
Rafe withdrew the missive he’d taken from Collette. He prayed it said what Collette had hoped. If not, he would be the one in prison.
“What is that?”
Rafe held the letter out. “It’s a coded letter. If I’m correct, it proves Fortier only killed in order to keep his family safe. He had no choice.”
Draven snatched the paper from his hands and held it close to the lamp. He looked up at Rafe. “Can you read this?”
“No. But I thought you might know the code or know where to find it.”
“I know it. It’s an old one. Give me a moment.” Muttering to hi
mself he turned the paper this way and that, his lips moving silently as though he were counting. Then he said, “Get me a paper and pen.”
Both were stored in a table near the bookshelves. Rafe fetched them and watched as Draven listed letters and numbers and then went through methodically crossing them out and scratching out a message. Finally, he looked up.
“What does it say?” Rafe asked.
Draven took a clean sheet of paper. “I’ll copy the part that relates to Fortier.” He wrote and then handed the sheet to Rafe. It read:
As to the assassin Fortier, he works under duress. Bonaparte has repeatedly threatened the life of his daughter.
“May I have this?” Rafe asked. Not waiting for a response, he slid it in his coat.
Draven leaned back. “I assume you learned something else about Fortier.”
“He was not dead as we thought. He was held by French royalists, men who wanted to secure the Bourbons on the French throne. Men who had reason to despise Fortier for the crimes he committed against their class. In exchange for keeping him alive, they forced his daughter to spy for them.”
“And where is the woman?”
“I’ll come to that.”
The scowl on Draven’s face indicated he did not care for that response.
“You’ll want to take Lady Ravensgate into custody,” Rafe said, staring at the fire in the hearth rather than Draven. “She is working for the French. There’s a bookseller on Bond Street, a W. Morgan, who is also working for them. There may be others.”
“May be?”
Rafe waved a hand. “With the men you have at your disposal, I’m certain you can gain that information. That’s not my specialty.”
“Where’s the woman?” Draven asked again.
“We devised a plan to lure the royalists to England and to persuade them to bring Fortier with them.”
“I see. I do not remember being apprised of this plan.”
“I thought it best to keep the plan secret.”
“You thought? Beaumont, I never asked you to think.”
“I’ll refrain in the future, sir. Miss Fortier and I intercepted the royalists and Fortier in Wapping. There we…took custody of Fortier.”
“And the royalists?”
“Dead or on the way back to France, I imagine.”
“Was that more of your thinking, Beaumont? You thought it wouldn’t be helpful to take those men into custody?”
“I thought it would be best to keep Fortier and his daughter alive. But soon after we had him in custody, the two of them escaped.”
Draven leaned forward. “And do you think for even one moment I believe that? You’re protecting them!”
Rafe didn’t answer. He stared into the flames. The sound of the logs hissing and popping in the fire and the clock on the mantel ticking seemed to grow louder until finally Draven sat in the chair beside Rafe. Rafe glanced at him.
Draven had his head back, and he stared up at the ceiling. “I would speak to you as a friend, Rafe.”
Rafe started. He hadn’t realized Draven knew his Christian name.
“As your commanding officer, I will stand again in a moment and tell you to take Miss Fortier and her father into custody and bring her to London. At which point I have no doubt you will tell me to go to hell.” He held up a finger. “That would be a mistake. Another mistake would be to insist that the Fortiers escaped. Then you and I look incompetent, not that you will give a rotten fig because any idiot can see you’re in love with the woman.” He raised a hand. “Do not argue. Grantham told me you had your hands around Porter’s throat. I could kill you for that, and if you didn’t do it out of some excess of feeling for a woman, then I will.”
“This isn’t a very friendly conversation.”
“That is because you are an idiot, Rafe Beaumont. If I wanted someone to fall in love with the daughter of France’s most notorious assassin, I would have sent another man. I thought I could at least trust you, of all men, to remain impervious to female wiles.”
Rafe’s fist balled. Draven looked down at it. “Try it and you’ll find yourself flat on your back. Your anger might land you a punch or two, but my experience will win in the end.” He waited until Rafe’s hand relaxed slightly. “Answer me this: Does she love you too?”
Rafe swallowed. “Yes.”
“And are you willing to let her go to the Indies or Morocco or wherever the hell she is off to?” He waved. “Do not tell me where. I do not want to know, not even as your friend.”
“Yes.”
“Then take some advice from an old man who has stood where you are standing.”
Rafe glanced at him. Draven was about fifteen years older than he, but he wasn’t old. Rafe had no doubt the lieutenant colonel could easily best him in a fight.
“I let a woman go. It was years ago, but I haven’t ever forgotten her. And there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t regretted my decision. Did I love her? Hell if I know. But I will spend the rest of my miserable life wondering what might have been.”
Rafe stared hard at Draven. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
“Yes.”
“Leave London? Leave my life, my family”—he gestured to the club—“my friends?”
“If you love her, yes. And perhaps if you wait a few years you could return. If, when I tell you to go and take the Fortiers into custody, you answer not ‘go to hell’ but ‘yes, sir,’ then I can only assume that if you disappear, you are still in pursuit of father and daughter. And if you return in a few years, when all of this has faded from memory, and tell me Miss Fortier and her father are no more, I will have no choice but to believe you did all you could to bring them to justice.”
“And if they still live?”
Draven gestured to the coded letter. “He may be no threat, but he is never to step foot on British soil again. If I even think he is near to British soil, I will hunt him down and kill him myself.”
“And Miss Fortier?”
“If she is married, then she is no longer Miss Fortier, is she?”
Rafe swallowed. Hard. Married. The word struck equal measures of hope and fear into his heart. She might refuse to marry him. And even if she did marry him, she might leave him.
But if he married her, he would have her by his side. She would be his, and he hers. He would wake to her beside him each morning and go to sleep with her in his arms each night. Even if she left him one day, he would have had that.
It was a risk. The pain of losing her now or the pain of losing her later. He looked at Draven and saw the man was regarding him with a bemused expression. “I almost feel sorry for you. Fidelity terrifies you, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not me I doubt.”
Draven nodded. “It’s always a risk when you put your heart in someone else’s hands. And men such as you and I, Rafe, don’t surrender easily.” He sat forward in the chair. “And now our little chat is at an end. You either go or you stay, but if you stay, you sure as hell better be prepared to answer to the prime minister himself for your incompetence.” He rose. “Beaumont, I order you to return to Wapping and take the Fortiers into custody.”
Rafe rose. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly.
* * *
Collette was awake to see the sun rise. She didn’t know why she should be surprised to see it. It wasn’t as though the whole world had changed—only her world. She could hear people laughing and talking on the street below. Hawkers were selling their wares and farmers driving carts to market. Life went on as it always had, and she was foolish to think that everything might be a little darker or a little sadder without Rafe in her world.
She still couldn’t believe he’d left her. Was it wrong to hope that perhaps that night with Rafe had left her with child? Was it sinful to hope she carried some small part of him with her?
; She lay on the bed, fully dressed, and stared at the window. How everything had changed in only a matter of hours. Two sunrises ago, she had a father and a lover. Now, she would leave that lover behind for an unknown place. She prayed her father was strong enough to survive the journey.
She’d never been so far from home. But she didn’t have a home any longer. She didn’t have anything save the few items she’d brought with her. She didn’t know what she would do in the United States. Perhaps she could find work on a farm or as a teacher. She was not a bad seamstress, and she was not too proud to work as a servant. Really, it didn’t matter what she did, as long as she was able to keep her father and herself fed. Perhaps one day she would feel something besides the numbness, besides the pain. Until that day, if it ever came, she would trudge through life, doing what she needed to survive.
A tap on the door caught her attention, and she sat. Her heart pounded, foolish hope flooding through her. It would not be Rafe. Why couldn’t her heart accept what her brain already had?
“Miss Fortier?” It was Gaines. His voice held a note of concern. “Are you in there?”
How long had he been knocking?
“Yes!” She rose and walked to the door. She rose and walked to the door, her legs heavy as though trudging through mud. She opened the door, and Gaines gestured to a maid. It was the same maid who had helped her last night.
“Jenny brought you tea and toast. Would you like to dine in your father’s room? He is sitting up and taking a little broth.”
Collette stared at him. His words seemed too good to be true. She followed him to her father’s room and could not suppress a smile when she saw him. She sat in the chair beside him, taking the food the maid offered. She couldn’t recall when she’d last eaten, but the food held no appeal. “Thank you.”
“That will be all, Jenny.” Gaines gave her a nod and the maid bobbed and disappeared down the hallway. Gaines looked back at Collette and her father. “Don’t let me stop you from eating. I’ve already broken my fast.”
