Thirteen

But Rafe had no intention of stealing a horse. The thought had never entered his mind. Instead, he turned onto Brook Street, then arrowed back into the mews behind the houses, where the carriage hacks were stabled when the residents of Brook Street were in Town.

Fortunately, the Season was over and many were not in Town. Some of the mews would be empty. When he and Collette had outrun the watchman—never a doubt in Rafe’s mind they would—he pressed himself against a lamppost and caught his breath. Hand to her rapidly rising chest, she did the same.

“How do we know which are empty?” she asked after he’d told her his plan.

It was a good question. “If the family is in Town, the horse will be exercised daily and the grooms will be in and out. The empty mews will likely not have stray pieces of straw outside and will probably be padlocked.”

“Won’t they all be locked?”

“Not from the outside. The grooms sleep in the mews with the horses. He wouldn’t be locked in.”

“Let’s go then, before one of our friends catches up.”

“Agreed.”

They passed the first set of mews, Rafe waving her on because he wanted to put as much distance as he could between their pursuers and their hiding spot. Finally, toward the end of the lane, he spotted a door with a large padlock. The dirt that made up the path in front of the doorway looked relatively undisturbed. “This one,” Rafe said. Collette moved closer, watching his back as he examined the padlock. It was sturdy and fastened tight.

“Can you pick the lock?” she asked.

He glanced up at her. “What do you think I am? A criminal?”

She raised her brows in accusation.

Rafe cleared his throat. “I may have acquired a few skills here and there.” He withdrew a pick about the length of his finger from the inside pocket of his coat.

“Your lock-picking tools?”

Rafe shrugged. “One never knows when they will be useful.”

She gaped at him in disbelief, and he rather liked that she hadn’t expected this of him. She’d find he had more than one hidden talent. He bent low and, mostly by feel and sound, sprang the padlock. Unfortunately, the doors didn’t squeak open as he’d expected.

“Hell’s teeth! It’s barred from the inside.” Leave it to him to pick the one mews where the owners took extra precautions.

“Then there must be another entrance.”

“Undoubtedly, but we don’t have time to search for it. We’ll have to find another way in.” He looked up and spotted windows above the door where the horse and carriage would be brought out. Tack might be kept in a loft above as well as cots for the grooms. The windows had heavy material fastened over them from the inside, but he could kick through it—if he could reach them.

“There,” he said, pointing to one of the windows.

Collette looked up. “How will we get inside?”

He studied the buildings again. These buildings were brick, and between this building and the next, an uneven brick pillar had been erected. The design repeated itself down the length of the row. The pillars served to differentiate the various buildings as well as provide additional support to the structures. “I’ll climb up, hop in the window, then climb down and open the door for you.”

She looked at him skeptically. “And if someone sees me while you’re inside?”

“Pray they don’t.” He tested the pillar beside him and placed one foot on the first brick sticking out.

“Rafe!”

“Stand in the shadows”—he pulled himself up and felt for another foothold—“and hope for the best.”

“I hate you,” she muttered.

“Then this might be your lucky night.” The bricks were old and some had crumbled, which accounted for their unevenness. “If I step wrong, I’ll probably fall and crack my head open.”

She made a sound he couldn’t quite distinguish as pleased or uncaring, and he pulled himself up again. She was angry with him. He could hardly blame her, but the thugs and the watchman hadn’t been his fault. And they were out here tonight to save her father.

Well, he didn’t care a damn for her father, but somewhere between Draven’s order to gather information on her and taking her to his bed, he’d come to care for her. He couldn’t leave her to whatever fate Lady Ravensgate and her compatriots had in mind. Rafe might not know exactly who they were, but he knew what they were. No matter what information she gave them, they would never have let her or her father go free.

The window was within reach, and he pulled himself up and lodged a foot on the ridge that made up the door of the mews. He’d been in and out of his share of windows and was relatively confident here. The canvas covering the window was tacked down tightly, but Rafe managed to punch a section away and slide his shoulders through. It was a tight fit, but he squeezed in, then pulled the rest of the material away. He’d put it back once Collette was inside. He didn’t want a passerby to notice something amiss.

The room was dark and smelled strongly of horses and dust. His nose itched from the tiny particles of straw he’d stirred up. He scanned the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. First, he discerned the shapes of saddles and bridles and tools to repair a carriage. He looked the other way and saw cots and a small table, where the grooms might polish the leather of the tack or mend broken pieces. Beside the table was a long trunk and beside that a ladder down to the first floor.

Or at least there should have been.

Rafe leaned down and felt for the ladder, but it was not there. Damn! He couldn’t get down to lift the bar on the door without a ladder. The drop was too far. Rafe looked at the trunk again. He crossed to it, opened the top and lifted out riding whips and strips of leather that might be used for reins. Below that, he found exactly what he was looking for. The rope could be used to lead the horse out of the mews for exercise or grooming when the animal wasn’t needed to pull the conveyance. Rafe went back to the window and threw the rope down, tying the other end of it to a hook in the wall.

“New plan,” he hissed. Collette looked up at him. The rope only reached her shoulders. She might grasp it while he pulled her up, but if she let go, she’d fall. Certain injury and possible death would follow. She needed to have some purchase of her own. “Hold the end of the rope and use the pillar to climb higher. Once you’ve a solid hold, I’ll pull you up,” he called down, keeping his voice low. “If your hands slip, grasp the bricks.”

She stared at him, the light too poor for him to see the expression on her face. “I am in skirts,” she said finally.

“I’ll pull you up quickly.”

“Is there no other way? Why not unbar the door?”

“No time to argue. Hurry.”

She muttered something in French and then she put her hand on the pillar, lifted her skirt, and tried to place her foot. Slowly, she began to climb. Rafe alternated between watching her and the end of the street. The Watch would eventually make his way down here. Rafe could only hope he’d gone to find a partner so as not to be walking the streets alone. She climbed higher, level with the rope, and Rafe nodded approval. “Good. Grasp the rope tightly, and I’ll pull.”

“I’m doing fine, thank you.” She was. Perhaps she hadn’t lied about growing up on a farm. She looked as though she’d climbed before. In fact, even in skirts she seemed more adept at the task than he. Finally, she reached the top of the pillar, but her skirts were too cumbersome to allow her to reach a leg over and balance on the thin ledge above the door. Instead, she wrapped the rope around her hands, then gave him a nod. “Pull me up.”

He’d been holding the rope all this time, but once her full weight was on it, he had to dig his heels in and tug her up slowly and steadily. When he spotted her head at the window, he paused. “Grasp the casement. I’ll take your hands.”

“You won’t let go of the rope?”

He had to loosen his hold on it if he hoped to move to the window and take her hands. “Let me know when you have the window.”

The rope jerked and the tension eased, then returned. Finally, it eased again. “I have it.”

He could see her fingers curled over the casement. Dropping the rope, he crossed to the window and caught hold of her wrists. He pulled her in slowly, taking her waist when he had her halfway inside. It was then he heard men talking in low voices. Rafe didn’t know if it was the Watch or the thugs or another banshee flower girl, but he did not want Collette’s legs sticking out when they passed this way.

With a jerk, he pulled her inside the window. Her legs never touched the floor, and her fall was broken as she fell hard on top of him.

“What are you—”

He put a hand over her mouth. “Shh!”

She slid off him, sitting on the floor beside where he lay. Rafe barely dared breathe as he listened. When the sound of the men’s voices grew louder, she gripped his hand and squeezed.

“You check that side. I’ll check this one.”

“The Watch,” she whispered.

He nodded. Rafe wished he’d had time to replace the burlap over the window, but he didn’t want to risk the watchmen spotting any movement. Collette’s leg was pressed against his side. Her skirts had ridden up, and he could just make out the skin of her calf and knee. He glanced at her face, but she looked away from him. It would have been too dark to see her expression at any rate. From the way she gripped his hand, he knew she was worried. He gave her a reassuring squeeze and she looked back at him, her long hair falling over her shoulder and brushing his hand. Rafe had the urge to slide a hand behind her neck and bring her mouth to his for a long kiss. She might have hated him, but he still wanted her.

Finally, the men’s voices faded and Collette released his hand. Rafe rose to his feet and, keeping low, peered out the bottom of the window. The alley between the rows of mews was empty again. He dragged the burlap back over the window, then shrugged his greatcoat off and hung it there too as an added layer of protection.

Now the room was shrouded in blackness, and he felt his way to the small table and then the trunk. He thought he’d seen a tinderbox inside. He felt around the leather strips until his fingers closed on the box. There would be a lantern, most likely near the doorway. Rafe would probably break his neck trying to climb down the ladder to the first floor in the dark. Instead, he stumbled across the loft toward the hanging tack.

“What are you doing?” Collette whispered.

“Looking for a lantern. I’d rather not sit in the dark for the next few hours.”

“Hours! I have to get back.”

His foot caught on something hard and square and before he could stop himself, his shin collided with it too. Stifling a curse, Rafe went around the object.

“Rafe!”

“I’ll have you back,” he said through teeth gritted in pain. “But we cannot go right now. We’re far too popular. If we give it a couple hours, the criminals and the Watch will have moved on to other prey.” He felt the polished leather of a saddle and reached for the hooks to investigate what else might be hanging on the racks. Finally, he traced the contours of a lantern. Setting it on the floor, he spent about ten minutes trying to use the tinderbox to light a match by feel. When he managed to ignite the lantern, he sat back on his haunches and blew out a breath. Collette was standing a few feet away—the loft was only about four paces long and three wide—her hands twisted together.

“It will be close,” she said, and he knew she still worried about returning to Lady Ravensgate’s before the servants awoke.

“I’ll have you back,” he promised again.

“I don’t even know if the bookseller will deliver the letter.”

“What happened?” Rafe asked. “Did he say he wouldn’t deliver it?”

“He threatened as much.” She swallowed visibly. “And he taunted me. He told me a man like my father was better dead. He said my neck would soon be in the noose, and I should run.”

Rafe crossed to her and took her shoulders. “I won’t let that happen.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not the enemy, Collette.”

“You’re not my friend.”

“I am. I want to help you.”

“By turning me in to your friends at the Foreign Office?” She shrugged her shoulders, easing his hands off. “I’m just another woman you seduced for information.”

“No.”

Hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have lit the lantern. Then he wouldn’t have been able to see her disdain so clearly. “How am I different?” she asked.

Rafe opened his mouth to answer but couldn’t think of anything to say that she would believe. Finally, he said the only thing that made any sense to him. “Because you are different.”

“Different because we’re here in England, different because the war is over, or different—”

“Different because I care about you.”

She stared at him as though he had grown two heads. He feared he might have. What had possessed him to admit he cared for her? It was an opening for her to scoff at him, and Rafe did not allow himself to be vulnerable.

“You say that to every woman.”

“No, I don’t.”

She tilted her head, giving him a skeptical lift of her brows.

Hell’s teeth, but she infuriated him. Here he was saying everything he had vowed he would never say to a woman, and she didn’t even believe him. The irony was almost poetic.

“Don’t give me any more of your pretty lies. I’ll give you this, Rafe Beaumont—you are very good at what you do. You almost made me fall in love with you the other night.” She went on, saying something about how his words had been perfect, but he couldn’t make sense of anything except that she loved him.

No, she almost loved him.

“Collette—”

“And then there was the wine from Burgundy and the—”

“Collette.” He took her shoulders again. “What can I do to make you believe me?”

She gave him a level look. “Help my father and me escape.”

Rafe closed his eyes and released her. It would have to be the one thing he could not do. He had already decided to help her get away. Draven would not be pleased, but he would look the other way. She was a pawn, nothing more. She didn’t know anything and wasn’t a threat to England’s security.

Her father, on the other hand, had been responsible for countless deaths, not only of Napoleon’s political opponents, but also of British citizens. He couldn’t go unpunished. And if Rafe helped him evade capture, it would be akin to treason.

“That’s what I thought,” she said quietly.

“You ask the impossible.”

“Then why even bother taking me back to Lady Ravensgate’s tonight? Just turn me in. I want this nightmare over.”

“Then you’ll never see your father again.”

“I’d rather that than to watch him suffer on the scaffold.”

He reached for her, but she stepped back. “Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t let your father suffer, and you know I will do all I can to help you go free.”

“You’ll go against your orders?”

“If I must. The circumstances have changed.”

“Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed.” He stepped forward, and when she moved back, her legs brushed the table. She was out of space to escape him. Rafe put his hands on her waist. “For me, everything has changed.”

“If this is a ploy to wheedle more information, I have no more to give.”

He shook his head, lifted a hand, and brushed it over her cheek. He felt the silk of her skin and his finger tingled. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. They were dark and unreadable.

“It’s no ploy. I care about you.” He leaned forward and kissed her soft cheek. He couldn’t stop himself from inhaling her addictive scent. His body tightened. “I want you.” He kissed her other cheek.

“If you think I’ll let you bed me in exchange for—”

He put a finger on her lips. “No exchanges. No bargains. No deals.”

“No thinking about what happens tomorrow or next week?”

He nodded. The blood thrummed in his ears. His heart raced.

“I’m not as good at that as you seem to be.”

“Then allow me to help you.” He leaned forward and kissed her. He wanted desperately for her to kiss him back, but he held her loosely, kissed her lightly. If she rejected him, he could retreat to the other side of the room and lick his wounds. It would be a much-needed reminder of why he never allowed himself to care too much about a woman.

He felt her hesitation, knew she was still thinking. He couldn’t let her leave him, not without trying to show her how he felt. It was dangerous to open himself up more, but he would hate himself if he didn’t at least try. The hand still at her waist slid back and down, cupping her bottom and bringing her tightly against his arousal. “Don’t think,” he murmured. “Just feel. Let me show you how I feel.”

A long moment passed, then another. His head swam with desire. The feel of her against him, her sweet flesh in his hands made him hard and focused. Nothing but Collette mattered in this moment. Time seemed to drag on as he stood holding her. And then she put her arms around him and kissed him back. Rafe was all but undone by the sweetness of her kiss. It was tentative—a fragile thread of trust and hope wrapped around something else he couldn’t quite name. He returned the kiss, putting all of the emotions he couldn’t name into the act of meeting her lips with his. He would show her she was not wrong to trust him, not wrong to believe in him.

He would show her she was different to him. She’d come closer to his heart than any other woman, and when he kissed her, when he touched her, he tried to show her a piece of his heart.

The kiss deepened and he lifted her onto the table and stepped between her legs. He held her face between his hands, his lips reverently tracing every line of her lovely features. Her hands were not quite so reverent. She pushed his coat back and unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat. Then her hands were tugging his shirt out and sliding under the linen to touch the bare skin beneath. Rafe hissed in a breath and, because he could not focus, moved his lips to her neck, untying her cloak and pushing it off her shoulders. His lips were on the skin of her shoulders and his hands were filled with her breasts, still swathed in yellow muslin. He wanted to feel her warm, naked flesh, but the bodice was too tight to push down. His hand worked between the fabric until his knuckles brushed the swells of her breast, and she moaned quietly.

Then her hand was on the placket of his trousers, tracing the outline of his erection. He freed his hands and stepped back, a sacrifice he thought he deserved some sort of medal for. “Let me pleasure you tonight.”

She shook her head. “Let’s pleasure each other. If this is the end, I want one more night with you.” She reached for his hips, brought him back between her legs.

“You don’t need to do anything.”

She gave him an arched look. “And if I want to?” Her hand found him again, and this time she opened the placket. “If this gives me pleasure?” She reached in and drew him out, slid her hand up and up and then down, down, down his swollen flesh.

“Who am I to argue?” he said through clenched teeth.

Her hand slid up and then down again, her actions sure but by no means practiced. Rafe had exercised self-control before—not that anyone ever gave him credit for it—and he summoned every last ounce to gather her skirts to her knees and slide his hands over the plump skin of her thighs. She was so warm, so soft, and when he skimmed the apex of her thighs, she was so wet. She did want him as much as he wanted her. Her legs wrapped around him, and he eased her back onto her cloak, raising her skirts as he did so to reveal her pink center. He stroked a finger over her sensitive flesh and watched her shiver. Then he parted her and traced the small nub that gave her pleasure until her head whipped back and forth and her hips bucked. Her legs tightened on him, and he yanked her hips forward, then plunged into her.

Her eyes opened, glittering in the soft light, and filled with pleasure. “Yes,” she murmured. “Rafe. Yes.”

He couldn’t look away from her. Even as the intensity of the connection between them grew, as his body plundered hers, as he gave and she took and then she gave and he took, he could not break the link between them. Somewhere in his mind, a part of him urged him to look away, to turn her over, to concentrate on the feel of his body joining with hers. But his instincts had taken over, and he knew no matter how good it felt to thrust into her—and it felt better than he could ever remember—nothing could match the way she looked at him in that moment.

And when she climaxed, his name on her lips, he held her gaze and allowed himself to come, allowed her to see the pleasure crash over him, to hear her name on his lips, and watch as she took him over the edge to a place he’d come close to but never before reached. She drew him down, kissing him gently, cupping his face, and whispering that everything was all right.

It wasn’t all right. He’d revealed too much of himself. He’d let her see into not just his heart but his soul. If she didn’t know that she’d seen the truth about his feelings for her, she had to be blind. But then again, what if she had seen the truth and then used it against him?

He knew the thought didn’t make sense. Knew he was the one with all the power here, the one who held her life in his hands. And yet, she was caressing his hair and telling him over and over that it was all right.

And then he realized what she meant. He was still inside her. He had spilled his seed inside her.

Hastily, he withdrew and stepped away from her, rearranging his clothing. “I apologize. I wasn’t thinking.” That was certainly true enough, but little good an apology did when the damage was done. His friend Neil Wraxall was a bastard, and Rafe had seen the pain his illegitimacy had caused Neil. That was only one reason Rafe had always been careful about his relations with women. Now he might very well have gotten Collette with child.

She sat up and pushed her skirts down. Obviously, the mood was completely broken. He’d gone from experiencing one of the most amazing moments of his life to feeling utter terror and remorse.

“It’s fine,” she said. She reached for his hand, and Rafe knew he should allow her to take it. He could hold her, perhaps recapture some of the intimacy they’d both felt a few moments ago. But instead, he couldn’t seem to move. He couldn’t quite believe she hadn’t trapped him. It was ridiculous, of course. She hadn’t forced his actions, but his mind wasn’t thinking rationally. He was like a wild animal after the cage door had slammed shut.

“I might have gotten you with child.”

“It’s unlikely. Besides, didn’t you just tell me not to think about what happens next month or next week?” She smiled.

“This is serious, Collette.”

“Oh, well, in that case, you have nothing to worry about. I’m sure I’ll be dead in a few weeks. Then you needn’t worry about the consequences.” She pushed off the table and swept past him.

“I won’t let that happen to you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I told you.”

“So you will keep me from being prosecuted as a traitor, but God forbid you make any additional commitment to me or your child.”

A chill ran through him. “You just said it was unlikely there would be a child.”

She shook her head in amazement. “What are you so afraid of? Do you think I want you to father my child? Do you think I’ll try to make you marry me?”

Rafe didn’t know what she saw in his face, but she took a step back. “That’s it, isn’t it? You think I’m trying to trap you into marriage.”

“No—”

“And how exactly did I force you to lie with me? How did I force you to climax inside me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, you said all that and more, just not in so many words.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense!” She slashed her hand angrily through the air. “And for the record, I no more want to be saddled with a womanizing—what is the word you English use?—dandy than you want to be trapped in marriage to a French spy!”

“I am not a dandy.”

She gaped at him. “That is your rebuttal?”

Rafe was so angry he was practically shaking. “Lower your voice,” he ordered.

“Why? Let them find us. Let’s end this now.” She crossed to the window and opened the burlap. “We’re up here! Come and find us!”

Rafe pulled her away and pushed her up against the wall. “Stop this now.”

“Why? This will solve your problems.”

He took her face in his hands. “You are not a problem.”

“You are!” Tears wet her eyes. “I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to care about you. I want this over.”

“I don’t.” He kissed her. He couldn’t stop himself. He knew it was a bad idea. He knew he shouldn’t want her, shouldn’t take her, shouldn’t entwine himself any further with her. But he couldn’t make himself stop any of it. Because he had never felt what he’d felt with her, and now he wanted more of it. Rafe could understand why opium addicts took the drug long after it had ruined their health, their finances, and their lives. Rafe needed Collette.

But she didn’t kiss him back. She pushed him gently away. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know what to feel. I hate you and then I love you and then I hate you all over again.”

Rafe’s hands clenched into fists. “You love me?”

She pressed her hands against her eyes. “That frightens you. I can see by the look in your face.” She scooted away from him, but this time her movements were calm and measured. “I don’t understand you, Rafe Beaumont. I don’t want to.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means stay away from me until we’re forced together. I’ll have to intercept mail before Lady Ravensgate sees it. When I receive word from France, I’ll leave you a message in the Ravensgate town house. We needn’t see each other until I go to meet my father.”

“That might be weeks.”

“Good.”

“Yes,” Rafe agreed, but for some reason, the thought of not seeing her was the one thought that terrified him most of all.