Twelve

Rafe didn’t like this part of the plan. He didn’t like leading Collette to danger, even if the danger was minimal and he’d be right there all the time. But there was nothing for it. As Jasper had reiterated, she must be the one to give the intermediary the letter. Rafe would have to allow her out of his sight, but not for long. It had been hard enough not seeing her the past two days, but now that she was here, walking beside him along an alley that would take them to Bond Street, it would be even harder to allow her to take the risk—as small as it was.

“How much farther?” she asked, her voice muffled inside the cloak she wore. He’d insisted she pull the hood over her head. Any number of dangerous men were out on the streets at night, and they didn’t need a reason to accost someone they encountered. Better to stay in the shadows and keep one’s head down.

“Not far. It would have been faster to take a hackney or the main streets, but I don’t want to be seen.”

“You still have the letter I penned?”

“Yes.” He’d held on to it even after they’d met in the garden. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just given it to her when she’d first asked for it. Perhaps he wanted to make sure it wasn’t lost or perhaps he felt he needed to give her a reason to stay beside him.

“What if the bookseller doesn’t believe the letter?”

“It’s not for him to believe or not believe. He just delivers the letters.” Rafe had thought about how this was possible and determined the man must have dealt in books from all over the world. He either traveled back and forth to France or had the letter sent along with orders to French merchants for volumes in demand in England. The answer would be known soon enough. Once the Foreign Office knew about the man, he’d be taken into custody and all his secrets revealed.

The alley forked into two streets, and Rafe took Collette’s arm, leading her toward the left. As soon as she understood the direction he wanted her to go, she yanked her arm away. “I can walk on my own, thank you.”

She was colder than the Frost Fair of ’14. He couldn’t really blame her, and it surprised him that he minded so very much. Once he’d taken a woman to bed, Rafe had usually felt as though the chase was over. That didn’t mean he ignored her or spurned her. He wasn’t a scoundrel. But he didn’t often have the urge to have her again.

And he never lost sleep wishing she had stayed the night. Women never stayed the night. In fact, he preferred to go to a woman so he could be the one who left and not face the awkwardness of having to, in essence, ask her to leave. But when Rafe had finally shoved Jasper out the door and lay down to sleep, he hadn’t been able to. Her scent had lingered on his pillow and his sheets, the faint fragrance of juniper mixed with the scent that was Collette. Every time he’d breathed, he’d remembered flashes of the night they’d spent together. He’d relived the thrill of kissing her and running his hands over her soft skin and silky curves. When those thoughts had driven him all but mad, he’d retreated to the drawing room to sleep on the couch, but when he’d closed his eyes, he’d imagined her naked. He’d imagined the feel of her sex closing around him as he’d thrust into her.

Finally, he’d given up on sleep and chosen a book to read. But he hadn’t even finished a page. He couldn’t stop smiling as he remembered things she’d said and done the past few weeks. He had enjoyed their time at the theater and the museum. He’d enjoyed dancing with her and walking with her. And yes, he’d enjoyed taking her to bed. If all went as planned, she would be out of his life forever before long. And Rafe was torn between wanting things to go as planned so she would be safe and wanting everything to go wrong so he could keep her with him longer.

He had those same divided feelings tonight. He wanted everything to go as planned, but if the letter was lost or the bookseller not at home, or if something else went wrong, then he would be able to meet her again and soon. He would have another chance to make amends for having to lie to her.

Then all of those thoughts faded as he heard the echo of footsteps fall in behind them. At first Rafe thought he had imagined them. A glance at Collette showed her face, though somewhat hidden in shadow, didn’t appear concerned. Feeling his gaze on her, she glanced at him, her brows arched in question. The footsteps grew closer, and he saw the moment she heard them as well. Her eyes widened and she twisted to look over her shoulder. Rafe caught her arm as they walked and leaned close so only she could hear. “Follow me and don’t look back.”

“I will,” she murmured. Then he thought he heard something that sounded like Contrary to Aristotle’s claims, hedgehogs adopt a rear-mounting position during copulation. She must have been nervous.

Rafe quickly scanned their location. They’d emerged from the alley, but they were still away from the main roads, where carriages and people might spot them. If they had been able to walk another few blocks, they would have reached Bond Street. As it was, the deserted gardens at the back of rows of terraced housing lay on one side and mews lay on the other. Rafe might not have been a skilled fighter like Ewan or a veteran soldier like Neil, but he knew when the odds were against him.

He often bemoaned the fact that he was never included in any of the exciting missions. He was always the one to stay back or rendezvous with the others when all was clear. But now that danger was right behind him, Rafe didn’t feel nearly as confident. What if he couldn’t protect Collette? What if Draven’s men had been right and all he was good for was bedsport?

Rafe pushed the idea away. He could play the role of hero. He’d been waiting for his chance, and now he had it.

The footsteps grew closer, and Rafe could either turn and face their pursuers or run. There was no shame in running—Draven’s men had done it when necessary—but there was no glory in it either. Rafe grasped Collette’s hand and spun around. Two men were quickly approaching. One was older with stringy gray hair that hung long over his collar and framed his thin, leathery face. The other was a good deal younger. His dark hair was held by a piece of cord into a queue and the brim of his hat was pulled low over his forehead. He slapped a wooden stick about the length and thickness of a walking stick in his hand.

“Can I be of some assistance, gentlemen?” Rafe asked, giving his most charming smile. It worked best on women, but men were not immune.

The men halted—that was a good sign—and gave each other amused looks. “’E thinks we’re gentlemen.” That from the younger man.

“I am a gentleman,” said the older man. This caused both men to erupt into a round of chuckles.

Rafe laughed too, edging himself in front of Collette as he did so.

“You’re a rum duke,” the younger man said. “Give us yer coin and the moll, and ye go on yer way.”

“That hardly seems a fair trade.”

“We can split your skull and then take yer coin and yer moll,” said the older man.

Rafe scratched his chin. “I don’t like that option either. How about this? You turn around and walk the other way, and I won’t shoot both of you with my pistol.”

The two thugs looked at each other, then back at Rafe. He was a good card player. He could bluff his way through most any game, but as the seconds crept by, Rafe began to think these two might just have been better at this game than he.

“You don’t have a barking iron.” The younger man crossed his arms over his chest.

“So sure, are you?” Rafe drawled. He did have a pistol. He might not have had it with him, but he owned one. At least he had owned one at some point in time.

“Let’s see it,” demanded the older man.

“You want to see it?” Rafe reached beneath his coat. Apparently, he wasn’t as good at bluffing as he’d thought. “How’s this?” he bellowed, flinging the ink pot still pocketed in his coat at the two men. The stopper popped off and ink sprayed in an arc over both men. They held up their hands and yelped. Glory be damned. Rafe took advantage of the distraction and ran, pulling Collette along with him.

“This way!” he called, heading for Bond Street. The busier the street, the better.

She stumbled, gathered her skirts in her hand, and was right on his heels.

“Faster!” Rafe called, dragging her around a corner.

“They’re right behind us,” she warned.

“Hell’s teeth!” Would his luck ever change? Shoving Collette behind him, he motioned for her to keep running. Then he crept closer to the corner and as the first man—the younger one—came around it, Rafe stuck out his foot. The man never even saw the obstacle, and he flew forward, landing with a thud on the ground. The older man was wise enough to avoid his friend’s mistake. He plowed into Rafe, sending them both sprawling. Rafe hit the hard ground, and his first thought was for his greatcoat. He’d paid a fortune for it. He didn’t have a second thought because the older man’s fist slammed into his cheek.

It would have been his nose, but Rafe had turned his head at the last second. Blinding pain exploded in his head followed by a sprinkle of stars.

“Get her!” the older man screamed as he straddled Rafe and held him down.

Rafe shook the stars off and smashed his fist into his assailant’s jaw. He heard a satisfying pop, and the man fell sideways. From the pain in his hand, Rafe wasn’t certain if the sound was his own hand breaking or the impact of fist on face, but he didn’t waste time finding out. He shoved the man off and staggered to his feet. The earth tilted like a ship in a storm at sea, and Rafe fell against the wall of the building he’d rounded. He heard the thunk of boots as the younger man pursued Collette, and Rafe shuffled after him. This is no time to fall over, he chided himself. Stand up and save her.

“Rafe!”

He recognized Collette’s voice and kicked up his pace, weaving as he ran but staying on his feet. The dizziness was passing, and he was able to make out Collette just ahead. The younger thug had hold of her arm, and she was kicking and scratching wildly. The thug reached for her other arm and pushed her against the wall. She struggled, pushed away, and he knocked her back. Another hard shove like that and he’d bash her senseless.

“Rafe!”

Rafe jumped, knocking the man back and away from Collette. He kicked out, but the man caught his boot and pushed, sending Rafe sprawling. From the ground, Rafe blinked. That move seemed to always work when Ewan used it. The assailant reached for Collette again, but she was quick. She ducked under his arm, circling him and causing him to turn to follow her. Rafe took advantage of the man’s inattention, leaped (very well, crawled) to his feet, and jumped on the man’s back.

It wasn’t the most elegant fighting move he’d ever seen, but when the man slid to his knees, Rafe judged it one of the more successful. He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and squeezed until the man clawed at him. Fortunately, the greatcoat was made of thick wool and his efforts were largely ineffective. When the man slumped, gasping for breath, Rafe stood and, panting, held out a hand to Collette. “Mademoiselle.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and his glove came away bloody. “Shall we?”

Her eyes widened when she caught sight of his face, but she took his arm without hesitation. “Thank you, sir.” And the two of them strolled away.

* * *

Rafe walked confidently enough, but Collette couldn’t stop darting glances at him. She’d never seen him look less than perfect. Now his hair was disheveled, his cheek red and swollen, and his lip bled. His coat was torn and dirty, and his eyes glittered with anger. He looked dangerous.

Each time she looked at him, her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she caught her breath. She wanted him. She wanted to push him against the wall of one of the shops right here on Bond Street and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. His gaze met hers, held, and then she was off her feet and being carried into the doorway of what smelled like a bakery. Under the shelter of the doorway’s canopy, Rafe pinned her to the wall and bent his head to hers. “Are you hurt?” His voice was husky and low, almost breathless.

“No,” she managed. “But your cheek…” She lifted a hand to touch the swollen skin, but he caught her. Slowly, he pressed her hand back against the building, just above her head.

“I thought… I didn’t think…”

She understood what he couldn’t find words to say because she felt the same way. He had almost lost her. She had very nearly lost him. “You won’t be rid of me that easily.”

“I won’t be rid of you at all.”

She looked up at him to ask what he meant, but his mouth closed over hers, hot and demanding. She lost any thought of anything other than kissing him back. Their tongues tangled and dueled, and his hard body pressed against her soft one. When he would have gentled the kiss and possibly drawn back, she lifted her free hand and fisted it in his hair, pulling his lips back to hers.

“Oy! You there!” The man’s voice slowly penetrated the haze of arousal. “None of that here or I’ll have you arrested, I will!”

Collette loosened her grip on his hair, and Rafe looked up. He let out a disbelieving breath. “It’s the Watch. Why don’t you go chase a real criminal!” he yelled back.

“Wot was that?”

“Now you’ve done it,” Collette muttered as the Watch, a man three stone overweight and at least fifty years old, lumbered toward them. “Come on!” She tugged at Rafe’s coat, but he hesitated. She could tell he was spoiling for a fight. She’d seen this sort of reaction before. Emotion ran high—fear, anger, pain—and a man needed somewhere to put it. Based on her behavior just now, she was not immune to that impulse either. But they didn’t need any trouble from the Watch. She grasped Rafe’s hand and tugged.

“We’ll be on our way,” she called to the approaching watchman. “Which way to the bookstore?”

“This way.” Rafe quickened his step, and when they were far enough away that the Watch would have been forced to run, he gave up the chase. “Useless coward,” Rafe grumbled.

“Do you still have the letter?” she asked. He felt in his battered coat and then nodded.

“I have it. And this is the shop.”

She paused and stared at the small shop with a black sign displaying the drawing of a book and the words W. Morgan, Bookseller. The shop was dark, of course, but in the window a selection of bound volumes was on display behind the thick glass.

“The entrance to the living quarters are around back,” Rafe said. She followed him past another few shops and then down an alley and around the back of the businesses. After their interactions with the thugs, she didn’t particularly want to stand around.

“Shall we go up and knock on the door?” She indicated a wooden staircase leading to the first floor.

“You go. I’ll wait here.”

“You want me to go alone?”

“No, but there’s no other way. It’s better if he doesn’t see me. If we make him nervous, he’s likely to flee the city, and then we’ve lost our only means of contacting your father’s captors. If he asks, tell him you took a hackney and gave the driver a ha’penny to come back in a quarter hour.”

She swallowed and nodded. He was right, of course. She would have to go alone. And he’d be waiting for her here. He wouldn’t leave without her. Rafe pulled the letter from his coat and put it in her hands. With a nod, he stood back, under the steps so he couldn’t be seen from above. Collette lifted her skirts and started up the stairway. At the top, she knocked lightly on the worn wood. She didn’t see any light or hear any sound coming from inside, so she assumed W. Morgan was sleeping.

She counted to ten and then knocked again, this time louder. The sound seemed to echo across the dark buildings, and she peeked over her shoulder to see if she’d roused anyone. Then the sound of a lock being turned made her jump, and she swung back around. The door opened a sliver.

“What do you want?” asked a papery voice.

Collette lowered her gaze to settle it on one blue eye looking out at her and a gnarled hand holding the door wide enough for that eye to see her.

“I have business,” she whispered, not wanting to say too much before they were in private. “May I come in?”

“What sort of business?” the old man asked.

“The sort Lady Ravensgate comes to you about.”

The eye peering at her blinked. The door opened wider and the man moved aside. Collette squeezed through and was all but shoved out of the way as the man hurried to bolt it again. Now that she was inside the room, she could see, by the light of a single lamp illuminating the room, that the man was thin, small, and garbed in a burgundy dressing gown that had once been rather lovely and elegant but now was thin and shabby. He was short, not quite her height, and he had white hair and wrinkled yellow skin. “Where is Lady Ravensgate?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Collette had rehearsed her answer and responded without hesitation. “She ate something that has upset her stomach. We’ve called for the doctor.”

“You fear poison?” the old man said, coming to exactly the conclusion she’d wanted.

She paused, allowing the thought to seep in. “She sent me in her stead. The information in this letter”—now she held it up to the light—“is too valuable to delay in sending. I am—”

He waved a hand. “I know who you are.”

Did he also know where her father was? Did he know the men holding her father? Surely he was too old and frail to make the crossing and deliver the letters. But he undoubtedly knew something of their contents.

“Then you will send the letter right away?” She offered him the letter, but he didn’t take it.

“Who else knows you are here?” he asked.

“No one but Lady Ravensgate. She did not wish to tell me where to go, but we had no other choice.”

“And you say she has been poisoned?”

She hadn’t said that at all, only implied it. “It might have been a bad piece of fish. The doctor has been summoned.”

“How did you come to be at my door, all alone, in the middle of the night? I didn’t hear her ladyship’s carriage.”

“I took a hackney and asked the driver to stop a little ways from the shop. I gave him a ha’penny to come back in a quarter of an hour. My time is almost up. Will you deliver the letter?”

“And if I won’t?”

She hadn’t expected this response. She had wanted this exchange to go quickly. The sooner she could be away from this dark flat and this man of questionable loyalties, the better. She straightened, determined not to show any fear. Only her courage would save her. “Then Lady Ravensgate and I will find someone who will.”

The old man’s face didn’t change. “Do you really think you can save him?”

She could only assume the old man meant her father. “That’s not your concern.” She moved toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“What makes you think he isn’t dead already?”

She paused. “What makes you think he is?”

The old man met her gaze with pity in his eyes. “A man like that, better to let him die.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I know that soon it will be your head in the noose. Run while you still can.”

Collette did run. She flung open the door and scrambled down the steps as fast as her legs would take her. When she reached the bottom, she didn’t stop running. Her only thought was to put distance between herself and the bookseller. All she had wanted was a quiet life for her father and herself. All she had wanted was peace.

But she’d never have peace. Collette had begun to think she’d never see her father again. And what then? She’d be alone in the world, without family or friends. She had nothing. Even the clothes on her back did not belong to her. If Beaumont’s plan didn’t work, what would she do and where would she go?

Strong arms caught her about the waist and she struggled for freedom until she heard the familiar voice. “Collette, it’s me.”

She ceased fighting but kept her head averted, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. She’d forgotten he waited for her below. She’d only wanted to get away.

“What happened?”

She shook her head, her throat too choked for words.

“Did he hurt you? Touch you?”

“No, nothing like that.”

His arms tensed and then he released her. “We can’t stay here without attracting attention. You can tell me more later.” Hand on the small of her back, he guided her around a corner.

And they both stumbled into a girl carrying a bundle of flowers. The girl let out a screech and all the flowers scattered. Roses, lilies, daisies, and tulips rained down and littered the hard-packed earth.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Collette said, bending to collect a bunch of daisies.

“Who do you think you are?” the flower girl hollered, her Cockney accent so thick Collette could barely understand her. She was a small thing, skinny and scrawny and the size of a twelve-year-old. But she had the voice of a fishwife. “Look wot you done. All me flowers—ruined!”

“They are not ruined, miss,” Rafe said, his voice low and civil. He swept several roses into his hand. “We’ll help you collect them and you can be on your way.”

Unfortunately, one of the roses he held out as proof against hardship had a bent stem and the bud flopped over. The flower girl wailed even louder.

“I’m done for! How could you do this to me? I ain’t done nothing to you.”

Candles flickered in windows above them, and a few people leaned out and yelled down for them to cease the noise and clear off.

Collette exchanged a look with Rafe. The last thing they needed was the neighbors’ attention or for the Watch to intervene.

“Look, miss, there’s no need for all this racket,” Rafe said. “I’ll pay you.”

Like a wind-up doll, the flower girl stuck out her hand. Rafe reached into his coat and then placed a coin in her hand. She looked down. “A shilling? That’s it? I could have made a pound selling all them flowers.”

Rafe straightened. “Now, see here. Not only is that patent exaggeration, but our collision was an honest mistake. A shilling is more than fair.”

“Watch!” the flower girl cried. “Watchman!”

Collette grabbed Rafe’s arm and squeezed. The Watch would likely not take the flower girl’s side, but that didn’t matter. How would she explain her presence here to the Watch? What if they took her home? What would she tell Lady Ravensgate?

“Hush!” Rafe commanded. “If you bring the Watch here, I’ll tell him you’re harassing me.” He was not dressed as finely as usual tonight, but his stylish greatcoat, shiny boots, and the froth of white linen at his neck proclaimed him a nobleman. Although, with his disheveled hair and the bruise on his cheek, he looked a bit less reputable than usual.

“Did you hear that?” the flower girl screamed to the buildings around them. Collette hunched her shoulders. “He threatened me. Watchman!”

Rafe took Collette’s hand. “There’s only one thing to do,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Run!” Rafe yanked her with him, and though Collette’s legs felt as though they couldn’t possibly manage another step, she kept pace with him. Behind them, the flower girl screamed as though being murdered.

“What now?” Collette panted as the girl’s screams grew farther away.

“I wish we had run toward Oxford Street. We might have hailed a hackney or ducked into a tavern.”

“You there!” a new voice called out with authority.

Collette did not bother to look. She knew it was a watchman, possibly the same one they had encountered earlier. She could not be caught out with Rafe. Lady Ravensgate would surely hear of it, and if the lady couldn’t take Collette into public to spy any longer, she’d be of no use. She had to get back to the town house and play her part for a little while longer, to give her father’s captors time to cross the Channel.

That was if W. Morgan actually sent the letter.

“Halt! Halt in the name of the king!”

Rafe ran faster.

“Where are we going?” she managed between pants.

“Brook Street,” he said.

“Brook Street? What’s on Brook Street?”

“Residences and you know what that means.”

“No.”

“Horses.”

Wonderful. She would end the night as a horse thief. Between the flower girl, the king’s men, and Rafe Beaumont’s schemes, this night was turning into the longest of her life.