Eleven

“Hell’s teeth! Christ! Bloody damn hell!” Rafe said to the empty flat after he’d seen Collette safely into a hackney. He hadn’t wanted her to go alone, but he’d paid the jarvey extra and threatened to come for the man and beat him to a bloody pulp if any harm came to the lady or she did not make it home without so much as losing a hair on her head. He understood why she didn’t want to see him. He understood that she hated him and would probably hate him for the rest of her life.

But she would have to put up with him a little longer because he wasn’t about to leave her to her own devices. At some point, this mission had become less about rooting out a spy as a service to the Foreign Office and more about saving Collette. He might not like her father, but Rafe was damn well prepared to do exactly as he’d said and bring the man to England. Draven wouldn’t like it, but Draven be damned. This was about more than who knew what, when, and where. This was about an innocent woman used as a pawn by two governments who couldn’t care less whether she lived or died.

Rafe cared. And Rafe would not abandon her.

No matter how much she hated him.

He heard a quiet tapping on the door and whirled. His first thought was Collette had come back. She’d forgiven him and come to tell him. His second thought was that he was a complete nodcock. She hadn’t forgiven him, and she would never forgive him. Which meant something must have happened and she needed help. Rafe threw the door open, practically ripping it from the hinges.

Jasper stood on the other side, the black mask he wore over the upper part of his face making him look rather menacing.

Rafe narrowed his eyes.

“I see from your expression it ended as badly as I feared.”

“It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have risked speaking with you, even outside. I thought she was dressing and hadn’t heard your arrival. We’ve ruined weeks of work.”

“You call that work?” He gestured to Rafe’s bare chest. Rafe closed the door on him, but Jasper managed to wedge a boot in the opening. “Let me in.”

He hadn’t come to apologize. Rafe knew Jasper well enough not to expect anything of that sort. But Jasper might just be useful, and his aid would serve as apology. Rafe pulled the door back and stood aside. Jasper strolled in, but was it Rafe’s imagination or did the man look a trifle unsteady on his feet?

“Why did you come back?” Rafe bolted the door behind Jasper.

Jasper slid into one of Rafe’s chairs and propped his boots on another. “I thought I’d make certain you were still in one piece.”

Rafe shoved Jasper’s muddy boots off the silk upholstery. “I didn’t know you cared.”

Jasper looked around. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“By the looks of you, you’ve had enough. Go home.” But Jasper didn’t rise. Rafe lifted his brows. “Unless there was something else you wanted.”

Jasper seemed to consider, then he took a breath and held it, looking like a man diving into a deep pool. “You have nieces and nephews, don’t you?”

Rafe peered at his friend. Where was the Jasper he knew? That man had never asked a single personal question of Rafe. “I have them by the buckets. Why?”

“So you have experience with babies.”

What the devil was this about? “I don’t know that experience is the correct word, but I’ve been around my fair share and then some.” He paused. “You haven’t just found out you’re a father, have you?”

“No,” he said emphatically. “But my brother, the heir, just became a father. He asked me to be the godfather.”

“You?”

“I tried to tell him no.”

Rafe waved a hand. “Of course you are the right man to ask. You’re the uncle of the… Was it a boy or a girl?”

“Yes,” Jasper said.

“You don’t even know?” Rafe sat, his anger over the fiasco with Collette cooling slightly. No one had ever come to him about advice not related to a female before. And he’d never seen Jasper so flustered. “Listen, I’m godfather to at least six or maybe seven. You hold them at the christening and say whatever you’re told to say.”

Jasper nodded. “Sure you don’t have anything to drink?”

“Jas, you spend half your life in the rookeries. A half hour in a church is a walk in the park.”

“What if I drop it?”

“The baby?”

“What if I break it?”

“Treat it like a pistol and you’ll be fine. If that’s all, I’d like to discuss—”

“I can’t wear my mask into a church.”

So this was the crux of the matter. If he attended the christening, he’d have no protection. Everyone would see the damage the fire had wrought on his face.

“I don’t care about the people attending and my brother has seen my face already.”

“So?”

Jasper stood, paced, and turned on Rafe. “Don’t you understand? I’m worried about the baby! What if I scare it? What if it cries when it sees me?” He lowered his voice. “What if I scar it for life?”

“You really don’t know anything about babies, do you?”

“Why the bloody hell do you think I’m here?”

“Listen, Jas, babies don’t care about what you look like. They can’t even see that well. If it cries—and really, we should determine the sex and quit calling the baby ‘it’—it will be because the baby wants its mother. Just speak softly and kind of rock it.” Rafe illustrated with a pillow. “Like this.”

“Babies like that?” Jasper sank into the chair again, propping his boots up.

Rafe pushed the boots off. “They like being jiggled. A little.”

“What else?”

“Soft voices, high voices, singsong, cooing.”

“Cooing? I draw the line at cooing.”

“If that baby starts to cry, you’ll coo.”

Jasper blew out a breath. “I owe you. Do you want me to talk to Draven?”

Rafe realized they were discussing Collette again and Jasper’s botching of Rafe’s mission. “I’m not five. I can take responsibility for my own missions.” He paused. “But I do have a job for you.”

“Of course you do.” Jasper looked resigned. “Between Ewan, Neil, and you asking me to traipse all over Town for you, it’s a wonder I track a single rogue.”

“I wouldn’t need your help if you hadn’t scuttled my entire mission.”

Jasper raised a hand. “Don’t blame all this on me.”

“Fine. If you hadn’t helped me scuttle the mission.”

“Better.” Jasper leaned back. “What do you need me to do?”

* * *

Nine hours later, Rafe knocked on Lady Ravensgate’s door. Her butler answered and gave Rafe and the flowers he held a snooty appraisal. “Her ladyship is not at home.”

Rafe knew her ladyship wasn’t at home. He’d been skulking in the shadows in the square across the street watching her town house. About twenty minutes ago, she’d left. Collette had not gone with her. He’d then gathered the flowers he’d bought this morning from one of the ubiquitous girls who sold them and put his plan into motion.

“I came to see Miss Fournay,” Rafe said.

The butler’s frown drew down farther. “Miss Fournay is not at home.”

“No?” Rafe slid an arm around the butler. “I’ll wait for her, then.”

“I don’t think—”

But Rafe was already insinuating himself into the foyer. He’d known dozens of butlers in his time, and he knew exactly how to handle them. Some men thought threatening butlers was the most effective way to deal with them. But that only worked temporarily because usually the butler’s fear of losing his position was stronger than his fear of bodily injury. Rafe knew a butler’s true weakness—a nip from the bottle.

“What’s your name again, old chap?” Rafe elbowed the door closed, keeping his arm companionably around the butler’s shoulders.

“Evans, sir.”

“Evans. Good, strong name. Evans, you know what they say, don’t you?”

“No, sir.” He had been lifting his shoulders in an impression of an aboriginal dance in a futile effort to remove Rafe’s arm. Now the man took the arm and pushed it back toward its owner.

“When the cat’s away, the mice will play,” Rafe said in a conspiratorial tone. “Why don’t we tuck down to your quarters and have a nip of whatever you’ve set aside for after dinner?”

“I couldn’t do that, sir.”

“I won’t tell.” Rafe slung his arm about Evans’s shoulders again and backed him toward a pedestal. The pedestal supported a lovely vase—Ming, if Rafe was not mistaken. It was a shame, but there were casualties in any war. “And if I know you, Evans, you have set aside some of the very best”—he looked at Evans closely—“port? No, sherry.”

Evans blinked.

“I do love a good sherry. Just a taste, Evans, and her ladyship will never even know I was here.”

Except that he steered Evans right into the pedestal, making it rock back and forth. Evans gasped and reached out to catch the vase. Rafe had to admire the servant. He caught the vase and managed to look graceful doing so. But a quick elbow to the pedestal ensured it would fall and the clatter was more than enough to wake the dead.

“Oops!” Rafe said, his eyes focused on the steps leading to the upper floors. As he’d expected, there was a thunder of feet as servants came running to investigate. He spotted a maid and another maid and what must have been the housekeeper and then… Yes, there she was—Collette.

Her eyes widened when she saw him and not with pleasure. More like horror. It wasn’t an expression he was used to seeing on a woman, but he supposed he deserved it. Rafe held up the hand not clutching the flowers, taking control of the situation. “No need to worry. Just a small accident. The Ming is perfectly safe.” He glanced at the butler. “You might set that down, Evans. Your hands are shaking.”

“What are you doing here, Mr. Beaumont?” Collette asked. Her voice held rather more ice than he would have liked.

“I’ve come to see you, Miss Fournay.” He deliberately stressed her false surname. “I brought flowers.” He held them aloft like a knight might wield a sword.

She crossed her arms over her chest—her quite spectacular chest, if memory served—and arched a brow. “You may give them to Mrs. Terris. She will see they are put in water.”

Rafe shoved the flowers at the housekeeper who had stepped forward, then he took the steps two at a time until he reached Collette. “A moment of your time, Miss Fournay.”

“I’m afraid I am terribly busy at the moment, Mr. Beaumont.”

“I see.” He made a show of consternation. “Then I suppose I will have to say what I came to say here. In front of everyone.”

“A better idea would be for you to return—”

He took her hand, holding fast when she tried to snatch it away. Then he sank to one knee. For an instant, his head spun and his chest tightened, but he shoved his discomfort away. “Miss Fournay, you must allow me to tell you—”

The maids gasped and Evans said, “Mr. Beaumont!”

“Come into the drawing room.” Collette practically pulled him to his feet. “Let’s speak in private.”

Rafe stood. Strangely enough, his knees were a bit wobbly. He followed Collette into the drawing room, knowing by the end of the day, half of London would be talking about his proposal to Miss Fournay.

The things he did for his country.

Collette closed the drawing room door and rounded on him. “What are you about, sir? Haven’t you done enough without coming here and causing a scene?”

“That’s just the problem,” Rafe said, drawing her away from the door, where he expected half a dozen servants had their ears pressed to the wood. “I haven’t done nearly enough.”

“If by that you mean you haven’t had me arrested, then I’m certain you can accomplish that without humiliating me with a proposal for marriage.”

“I wasn’t attempting to humiliate you.”

“No. You would never do any such thing, would you? You would never befriend or seduce a woman with the intention of betraying her. I know what you are, Mr. Beaumont.” She glared at him, her pretty eyes filled with anger and hurt. “I asked my maid about you and the troop you served with. They called you the Seducer.”

Rafe drew in a breath. It was true. That had been his sobriquet. He’d been the one charged with teasing out information from lonely women left behind while their husbands were on the front. He’d never been ashamed of his work. It wasn’t the sort of thing one boasted about to one’s mother, but he had done his duty and the intelligence he’d gathered had saved lives. But last night had not been a mission, and the fact that she dismissed all they’d shared as a mission galled him. “They did call me the Seducer,” he said, voice cool. “But I didn’t seduce you.”

She stepped back as though she’d been struck. “No, you didn’t. I suppose you didn’t have to.”

He took her shoulders. “I didn’t want to. Last night was not about a mission.” Or not wholly about a mission.

“What lies! The only reason you ever took any interest in me was because you were ordered to apprehend my father.”

He didn’t actually apprehend assassins—or anyone else for that matter—but now was not the time to point out that distinction. “That’s not true. I was your friend, Collette. I am your friend, and I am here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” She spat the last word.

“Oh, but you do. And if you don’t want it, then think of your father. The letter I sent you and the concern you felt might have been false, but how long until the concern is real? You aren’t a very good spy.”

“I am an excellent spy!” she retorted.

“Then perhaps my countrymen are simply too careful with their words. My point is that the longer you take to acquire the codes, the longer your father rots in prison and the more likely you are caught and hung. Or done away with by the very people who are supposed to be your friends.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but to her credit, she didn’t allow a single one to fall.

“Let me help you.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You trusted me last night.” He let the words hang in the air between them, let the memory of her body sliding over his form in both their minds. “You trusted me enough to let go—”

“Do not remind me,” she hissed. Her cheeks turned as pink as foxglove.

“Trust me to bring your father here to England.”

“And what happens then? Do I have the privilege of watching him hanged?”

“I cannot make you promises, but I can assure you I will do all I can to see you are both safe. We already have a plan, Collette. It’s a good plan. We put it into action.”

She stared at him, her small teeth worrying her bottom lip. Rafe knew she would give in. The royalists had her backed into a corner. She had no one else and no other options. But Rafe also knew it might take time for her to realize she had no other choices. And that was time he didn’t have to spare. “If we hesitate, we might be too late.” Too late for her father or too late for him. The Foreign Office wouldn’t be put off forever.

“What do I do?” she asked.

Rafe pulled her close, even more determined that this part of their conversation not be overheard. She didn’t argue, but she held herself stiffly. He felt a pang of regret, especially when he caught the scent of juniper, of what might have been. But he had no one but himself to blame. He’d taken her to bed and asked for her trust when he had no right to ask anything of her. He hadn’t given her his trust or shared any confidences. He never did share such things with women. He didn’t like to get too close. He didn’t want to trust a woman—trust anyone, for that matter—and then be let down. The irony that he was asking exactly what he himself was not willing to give was not lost on Rafe.

“How would you have delivered the codes to your royalist contacts? How do they know how to contact you?”

She gave him a sidelong look, her eyes wary. “The few times they have contacted me they did so through Lady Ravensgate,” she said carefully.

“And Lady Ravensgate delivers any communication? Personally?”

“Yes.”

“Does she ever take you? Do you know who she deals with?”

“No. She’s too careful for that.”

And wasn’t that a pity because it would have saved them time and effort if Collette had been able to reveal who her contact in London might be. It would also give Rafe something to use to hold Draven. That was exactly the sort of information the Foreign Office needed.

Instead, Rafe would have to use Jasper’s talents. Not that he minded. Jasper was firmly in Rafe’s debt.

“Can you give Lady Ravensgate a note today? I will have her followed, and once we know her contact, we can go to him or her directly.”

She nodded. “I wondered how we would get around the fact that Lady Ravensgate reads all my correspondence. If I wrote to the royalists that they must bring my father to England, she would never agree to deliver the letter.”

“Then write something benign today, some fluff you might have gathered at the garden party, and send that.”

“She won’t be pleased to come home and have to go out again.”

“Will she delay?”

She shrugged delicately. “It’s possible. She may read the note and decide delivery can wait another day.”

“Then we give her two days. Meet me tomorrow night in the garden. Midnight.”

“No. I don’t want to see you again.”

Rafe gave her a long look, so long he expected her to blush and look away. She blushed, the color high on her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “No doubt you would be pleased never to lay eyes on me again, and if you are fortunate, one day, you will have that privilege. But that day has not yet come. You’re stuck with me for a little longer.”

She glared at him. “I hate you.”

“Tomorrow night. In the garden.” With that he kissed her hand, which she snatched away, and bowed before he strode out the door.

* * *

Collette dreaded the two days that followed. She’d obeyed Beaumont’s orders. What other choice did she have? As she’d anticipated, Lady Ravensgate had read her letter and deemed it not important enough for immediate delivery. And when she’d gone out to deliver it the next day, Collette had watched her carriage as it sped down the street and turned the corner. Had Beaumont followed? She hadn’t caught sight of him.

Collette supposed he might have asked someone else to follow Lady Ravensgate. That would have been safer, as the lady would surely recognize Rafe. Not to mention he tended to draw attention wherever he went. She could do nothing but wait and hope all went as they’d planned. And when Lady Ravensgate returned, Collette struggled to pretend she had not just set a plan in motion that would most certainly end with Lady Ravensgate, and quite possibly herself, on trial for treason. Collette attempted to read and sew and even draw, although her drawing skills left much to be desired.

“Are you feeling well, Collette?” Lady Ravensgate asked.

“No!” Collette answered, seizing on the opportunity to escape. “I have a slight headache.” No need to worry Lady Ravensgate. “I think I shall lie down.”

“Of course, my dear. Shall I check on you later?”

“Thank you.” Collette made her way to her bedchamber. Later, when Lady Ravensgate looked in on her, she would tell the lady she felt better but a little tired and ask not to be disturbed. Then she would need only wait until midnight to meet Beaumont. Once in her chamber, Collette closed the door and leaned against it. Although she’d wanted to escape Lady Ravensgate, she hadn’t feigned the headache. Lately, whenever she thought of Beaumont, her head started to throb.

She moved toward the bed, then froze when the curtains rustled. She had left them open, hadn’t she? One of the maids might have closed them, but that didn’t explain why they moved. Or the man who stepped out from behind them.

“Don’t scream,” Beaumont said.

Collette covered her mouth and only a small squeak emerged.

“You’re earlier than I thought.”

“What are you doing here?” she hissed. He looked even more handsome than she’d remembered. Had he always had a dimple in his right cheek? Why hadn’t she noticed it before?

“I need to talk to you.”

“Midnight. In the garden. Remember?”

He waved a hand, dismissing her. “I can’t wait that long.”

“Lady Ravensgate might come in at any moment. I don’t have a key to my room. I can’t lock it.”

“If she comes in, I’ll hide. The curtains work well enough or I can squeeze behind that chair.” He looked around and nodded at the bed. “There’s always the mattress. I’ll lie under it and you lay on top.”

Collette narrowed her eyes. “You seem to have some experience in this area.”

“Hidden talents.” He shrugged. “I had Lady Ravensgate followed. She met with a man in a bookstore. My information is that he lives above the store. We’ll return tonight, and you will give him the letter demanding your father come to London for the delivery of the codes.”

Collette stared at him. “I am to give him the letter? In the middle of the night?”

“I can’t do it,” Rafe said. “He’ll know who you are, and you tell him Lady Ravensgate has taken ill and sent you in her place.”

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll take you there and wait for you below. We don’t have time for a discussion. You need to write the letter. Have you paper, pen, and ink?”

She shook her head. “She doesn’t allow me use of any except in the parlor.”

Beaumont blew out a disgusted breath. “Must I do everything?” But apparently he was prepared for that eventuality because he pulled out parchment, an ink pot, and a quill from his greatcoat. Collette studied the garment.

“What else do you have in there?”

He gave her a quick grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Her heart gave a painful kick and a simmering heat began to build low in her belly. How could she still feel attracted to him when he’d lied to her? Betrayed her? She hated him even more than she might have because he’d made her love him. She didn’t—she wouldn’t—care for him any longer. Snatching the paper out of his hand, she took a bound book and placed the paper on top of it. Then she indicated the nightstand, and Beaumont set the ink pot and quill there. She didn’t have a desk in the room, so the book would have to do. She sat on the bed, placed the book with the paper before her, and dipped the quill in the ink. She wrote, Dear Sirs.

“What do I say?” she asked, looking up. Beaumont was right beside her, looking over her shoulder. He was so close that she jerked and splattered several drops of ink on the paper.

“Do I make you nervous?”

“No.” She blew on the ink to dry it. “I would finish this before Lady Ravensgate finds you and ruins everything.”

“She won’t find me. As to the wording, you tell them you have the item they requested. You tell them you have made a special friend of a Lieutenant Colonel Draven. That’s all. As I said before, just whet the appetite.” His voice was close, low and velvety by her ear. “Tease them. Make them want more.”

His voice made Collette shiver. She could all but feel his hands skating over her flesh. Gritting her teeth, Collette gave him a sharp look. Rafe merely raised his eyebrows in what she knew had to be feigned innocence. “Are you certain I should give them Draven’s name?”

“Yes, but after you state your terms. You will only give them the codes in person. And after you do so, they must allow you and your father to go into hiding.” He pointed to the paper. “Put it in your own words. There must be no question that this too comes from you.”

The ink on her quill had dried and she reached to dip the nib into the pot again, but her body went rigid when she heard Lady Ravensgate’s voice addressing one of the servants. “She’s coming!” Collette hissed. Oh, why hadn’t she told the lady she wanted to be left alone? Now she would be found not only with a man in her room, but also paper, pen, and ink.

“Lie down,” Beaumont ordered.

“Rafe, this is no time—”

“Lie. Down.”

She obeyed and managed not to yelp when he lifted her skirts and shoved the book and paper beneath them. Then he whisked away the ink pot and quill and disappeared behind the curtains. There was no question he’d done this sort of thing before. He was too practiced.

“Miss Fournay?” Lady Ravensgate tapped on the door.

Collette glanced at the curtains. They still swayed from Beaumont’s rapid retreat.

“Collette?” Another tap on the door.

Stop swaying! Be still!

“May I come in, dear?”

Dear. Dear? As though the woman actually cared for her. The door opened, and Collette closed her eyes and hardly dared breathe. She prayed the curtains had stopped swaying and didn’t draw Lady Ravensgate’s attention. She heard the woman’s slippers on the carpet and then felt her standing nearby and looking down at her. Slowly, as though just waking, Collette opened her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Lady Ravensgate asked.

“A little better. I must have dozed off.”

“Poor dear. Shall I fluff your pillows?”

“No! I mean, no thank you.” The last thing she wanted was Lady Ravensgate fussing with any of the bedclothes or asking her to sit up or move in anyway. The paper wedged between her knees would rustle and that would be the end of everything. “I think I will just go back to sleep.” She closed her eyes again, hoping the lady would take her cue and depart. Collette heard no sound for a long moment and then the lady’s slippers shushed on the carpet again. Cracking her eyelids, Collette saw she was straightening a pile of books that had been knocked over when Beaumont had put the ink on the nightstand. That accomplished, the lady moved around the rest of the room. It was small and Collette did not have much, so the room was neat. Fortunately, the prevailing wisdom was that cool air and sunlight were to be avoided if one was ill, so Lady Ravensgate had no reason to open the windows or the curtains. But the longer she tarried, the more nervous Collette became.

Finally, Lady Ravensgate went to the door. “I will have a maid bring some supper a little later.”

“Thank you,” Collette said, not opening her eyes.

“Just sleep for now.”

Collette nodded and pretended to fall more deeply asleep. Then the door closed. Collette did not dare move for fear the lady would return to impart some forgotten words of wisdom. Finally, she heard the curtains swish and Rafe moved across the room. “Easy enough,” he said.

Collette wanted to strike him. She hadn’t stopped shaking. When he reached the bed, he began to lift her skirts, presumably to retrieve the book and paper, but she swatted his hands away. “Don’t touch me.” She had to whisper it because the servants might have been outside her door, but she managed to slap his hand hard enough that he frowned at her and shook it. “Let me have the ink and quill. I want to finish this before someone else interrupts.”

He produced the items again, and she hastily scrawled the note. She waved the paper, waiting for the ink to dry. “Midnight in the garden. Do not come in my bedchamber again.”

“That’s the first time a woman has ever said that to me.”

“I hope it’s not the last. All I want is to help my father and go far away from you.”

“Again, that’s not a sentiment I usually hear from—”

She shoved the paper at him. “Take it. I’ll see you at midnight.”

He bowed. “I look forward to it.” And then he pushed the curtains aside, opened the window, and slid out. She didn’t know how he managed to make it to the ground. Perhaps there was a tree he used or he’d found a trellis to climb? She didn’t care. She would have rather he’d fallen and smashed into a thousand pieces. Her head rather hoped he would.

Finally, she rushed to the window, but there was no sight of Rafe Beaumont. He’d made it away, apparently unscathed. Her heart, curse it, rejoiced.