Fourteen

Collette couldn’t have said how she made it back to Lady Ravensgate’s town house safely. Perhaps waiting a few hours, as Rafe had suggested, had been all it took to make certain the men pursuing them were otherwise engaged. She’d been afraid the servants would catch her sneaking back in, but the house had still been silent when she’d crept in the back door and up the stairs to her room.

That was when the waiting began. And with the waiting came the worrying because she had no way to know whether or not W. Morgan would actually send her letter. What if he sent a letter to Lady Ravensgate asking her about it and inquiring after her health?

And when Collette was not worrying about the bookseller, she worried about the royalists sending a reply to Lady Ravensgate. Collette didn’t want to be seen as skulking about the vestibule, waiting for the mail, but she had to skulk about if she had any hope of intercepting it. In addition, she had to do all this skulking while pretending to be dreadfully ill, lest Lady Ravensgate force her to attend soirees and parties so she might spy. Not only did Collette not want to spy, but she also didn’t want to chance seeing Beaumont out and about. She didn’t trust herself around him. She wasn’t certain if she would kill him or embrace him, but either option was to be avoided.

“Whatever has happened to that handsome Mr. Beaumont?” Lady Ravensgate asked one morning at breakfast. Collette was eating rather heartily after feigning stomach troubles the last few days and subsisting on weak broth. But just in case Lady Ravensgate had plans for this evening, Collette had already sneezed several times and pretended to blow her nose in a handkerchief. “I thought the two of you were friends,” the lady said, sipping her tea.

“We were—are, I mean.” Collette dabbed at her nose, which she’d pinched to redden. “I think he must have gone to the country to be with his family.”

“He never goes to the country, or so I am told. Not to mention, I saw him last night at Mrs. Ware’s dinner party.”

Collette tried to appear uninterested. “Perhaps he has found a new friend,” she said.

“He certainly seemed to have found several. He was making quite a show of himself, feeding one young lady from his own plate and fending off another who I am quite certain had her hand on his leg under the table. Mrs. Ware was scandalized.”

Collette bit her tongue. Mrs. Ware was probably thrilled at having something interesting occur at her boring function. Collette might have wished it didn’t have to do with Beaumont and women. She had no claim on him at all. In fact, she had told him she wanted to be left alone. Then why did she feel a slice of jealousy cut her to the quick? Why did she have the urge to not only murder those two women but Beaumont besides?

“It is too bad you and he are no longer friends,” Lady Ravensgate was saying. “He might have been useful.”

“I know we both thought so,” Collette answered, “but I never heard him talk about anything other than frivolities.”

“True enough.”

Collette sneezed again, hoping it sounded convincing.

“I suppose you will not be able to attend the theater with me tonight,” Lady Ravensgate remarked.

“My stomach is much better.” Collette blew her nose with a loud honk.

“Yes, but your respiratory condition has worsened. Shall I call for a doctor?”

“No. I am sure with a little rest, I will be much better.” Was that her imagination or had she heard a sound in the vestibule? Could it be a messenger with a letter?

“More rest? You have rested more in the past few days than I have in a lifetime.” Her eyes narrowed. “You had better find a way to heal soon, Collette, or you will have more serious concerns.”

Collette’s gaze locked with Lady Ravensgate’s. The threat was very, very real. The royalists wanted those codes, and if Collette could not deliver them, then they would find someone who could. At that point, she would be superfluous and discarded. Permanently.

“I’m afraid I am still so weary. In fact”—Collette rose—“I think I shall go up to my room.”

Lady Ravensgate waved a hand in dismissal. Clearly, she was past annoyed with her charge. Collette slipped out of the dining room, but instead of going to the stairs, she paused and scanned the table near the door. Her breath caught when she spotted a silver salver with several letters on it. Evans was nowhere to be seen, but he could reappear at any moment and then he would take the letters in to Lady Ravensgate. This would be Collette’s only chance to see if the royalists had sent a message back. She hurried to the table, keeping her steps on the marble silent. Heart pounding in her chest, she flicked through the letters. Invitation, correspondence from one of Lady Ravensgate’s friends, a letter from the lady’s solicitor, and—Collette gasped. This was it. She knew the writing.

She snatched the letter up just as she heard Evans’s step.

“Might I help you, Miss Fournay?” he asked.

Collette froze. She held the letter in her hands, and if she turned or he came closer, he would see that she had it. To buy herself time, Collette bent and began a coughing fit worthy of an actress on Drury Lane. Then she slid the letter into her bodice and stood upright again. “No, thank you, Evans,” she said, turning. “I am on my way to my bedchamber. I had better rest.”

“Your bedchamber is that way, miss.” The butler pointed toward the stairs.

“Of course. Thank you again, Evans.” And she hurried away, hoping he would not notice the missing letter on the salver. She rushed to her room, while trying not to look as though she were rushing, and then closed the door. Immediately, she looked for a place to secrete the letter in case Lady Ravensgate should come looking for it. But Collette quickly realized that keeping it close to her bosom was probably the safest place for it after all. She would read it when she heard Lady Ravensgate go out for the day. That would be the only time she could be certain she was safe from her guardian. In the meantime, she would feign sleep.

It was not an easy task. She had rested so much the past few days that she had grown restless. She might lie on the bed, but she could hardly keep her body still.

Especially when she thought about Rafe Beaumont. She didn’t know what the letter might contain, but she knew she would have to leave a note for him in the garden tonight. And that would be the first step to seeing him again. Her body burned with the very thought of seeing him, touching him, being touched by him. A day had not passed when she hadn’t relived every moment of their time together—every touch, every kiss, every caress.

Something had happened that night in the mews. She’d felt it, and she’d known he felt it too. It had been powerful enough that he lost himself and forgot to pull out at the last moment. Collette touched her belly. What if she was carrying his child? Why did that thought terrify him so much? Why did he want to avoid marriage? Besides the obvious: she was a spy.

He might have married before. He had his pick of women, and yet he never had. Was it because he disliked the idea of fidelity to one woman? If so, she didn’t see why that would have been an obstacle. As far as she could see, English society was no different than French—the men had dalliances where and when they wished. The women did the same after the line was assured.

There was something else. Had a woman tried to trap him before? That was a foolish question. Countless women had tried to trap him, but he was an expert at escaping. So why hadn’t he tried to escape from her?

And here was where the problem lay. She wanted to believe she was somehow special. He wanted to believe she meant something to him. But she didn’t. He’d made that fact very, very clear. She was just another of the many women who had fallen for his charm and handsome face. Only she was fool enough to believe he had fallen back.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet tap on the door, and she thanked God she was lying down and pretending to sleep because Lady Ravensgate did not wait to open the door and peer inside.

“Feeling any better, dear?”

Collette fought to keep her lip from curling in disgust. “A little.”

“I have sent for my carriage to take me to Bond Street. Do try and rest. I want you to come out with me tonight.”

“I’d like”—Collette pretended to sneeze—“that.” She was not going anywhere, except to the garden.

Lady Ravensgate closed the door, and a little while later, Collette heard her go out and the house went quiet. The servants were obviously taking this opportunity to retire to their quarters and rest for a little while or attend to sewing or ironing. Collette withdrew the warm, wrinkled letter from her bodice, sat, and read it.

Then she read it again.

Her fingers trembled as she tucked it back into her bodice. She had to compose herself before she could write a note to Beaumont to hide in the garden tonight. It would not be an easy task. The letter said all she had hoped it would.

Her father was on the way to England.

* * *

After more sneezing and blowing of her nose, Collette was able to convince Lady Ravensgate to go out without her. Since the lady had no real affection for Collette, she felt no need to stay home and nurse her. And that meant Collette was once again alone except for the servants. To her surprise and delight, all but Lady Ravensgate’s lady’s maid and the butler had been given the night off. That meant Collette felt relatively safe sneaking down to the garden at a little after ten, rather than waiting until Lady Ravensgate returned home and the staff retired.

Once in the garden, Collette made for the tree she and Beaumont had met under before. She didn’t know if he had been back to look for notes from her, but she had to hope he came to check regularly. She would need him in the next few days. The trees in this part of the garden made it darker, and when Collette paused under the tree she thought was the one she and Beaumont had met under before, she had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they did, she screamed.

His hand came over her mouth to stifle the scream, and he pulled her behind the tree and out of sight. Collette pushed his hand away and stepped back. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Why are you skulking about?”

Rafe straightened his shoulders. “I never skulk. I was waiting for you.”

Collette put her hand to her heart to still the pounding. When she’d caught her breath, the words sank in. “How did you know I would come out tonight?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

He opened his mouth, paused, and then cleared his throat. “That’s not the point. You are here. What do you have for me?”

She looked down at the small paper in her hands. She’d gone to some trouble to write it as she was not allowed pen or ink or paper in her room. “My father is on his way to England. The royalists believed our story, and they are bringing him here. They’ll send word when he lands and tell me when to meet him so I may give them the intelligence.”

Rafe leaned against the tree. “When did you receive this information?”

“Today.”

“Then we can safely assume your father could already be in England.”

Collette could not stop herself from grabbing on to his arm. It seemed the ground she stood on had shifted and she needed support. “Do you really think so?”

“It’s possible. If his captors read your letter, replied, and departed immediately. The reply might have sailed on the same ship as your father.”

“Then I shall see him soon.”

“I said it was possible, but it’s unlikely. I think it more likely your father travels a day or two behind the packet that brought this letter. But there’s only one way to be certain.” He disentangled his arm from her grip. “Go inside, Collette. I’ll contact you when I have more information.”

She stared at him. Did he mean to send her back inside to sit and wait for his return? Her father might even now be only a few miles away. Collette didn’t care if she ever saw Lady Ravensgate or her town house again if it meant she could see her father tonight. “I would go with you.”

He shook his head. “It’s not safe. You’ll be safe inside.”

“I don’t care about my safety. Do you think it was safe for me to come to England? Safe for me to spy for France? I’m not concerned about safety. I only want to see my father.”

Even in the dimness of the garden, she could see him frown. And perhaps because she had not seen him in several days, she couldn’t help but think that even with the frown, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. “I don’t think your father’s captors will want to risk traveling by coach. They’ll sail into the Thames on a ship with legitimate cargo and take the first opportunity to slip off.”

“And go where?”

“I don’t know. They probably won’t risk any of the inns. Perhaps they have a hiding place in London, more friends they can trust on this side of the Channel.”

“And if you mean to find out this information, I mean to come with you.”

He took her by the shoulders, and for a moment Collette half hoped he might kiss her. It was a foolish thought, one she pushed away. There would be no more kissing between them. She had made that mistake twice already, and she would not make it again. “Collette, if you leave Lady Ravensgate’s house, she will know something is amiss. She will send word to her contacts.”

“And if her contacts are on the way here, it matters not.” She didn’t want to admit she feared Lady Ravensgate was already planning to dispose of her.

His fingers tightened on her shoulder. “If I could shake sense into you, I would,” he muttered. “I must go to the docks to find out if your father has already come ashore. That is no place for a lady.”

“I am not a lady. I’m the daughter of an assassin, so you need have no worry for my sensibilities.”

He released her with a flourish. “The daughter of an assassin who was sheltered from her father’s work.”

“But who lived in Paris, where the worst sights might be seen daily. Do you fear I’ll see starving children? Prostitutes? Drunken men? I have seen it all.”

“Fine, but where we go, I will be fortunate to escape with my life. I can’t protect you.”

“Then I’ll protect myself.” She pointed at him when he shook his head. “If you go without me, I’ll just have to make my own way there. Either way, I won’t stay here another night.”

“You are that eager to die?”

She notched her head up.

“Fine. Let’s go die together.”

* * *

Rafe had never met such an obstinate woman. Women always did what he asked. They were eager to do his bidding. From the very beginning, Collette Fortier had been difficult. He should have realized back then that she would be too much trouble and passed the assignment to another of Draven’s men. And then another man would be here with her. Or she would be in prison. Or worse.

Rafe took her by the arms again, stopping himself when he realized he meant to pull her into an embrace. He cleared his throat. “You had better go inside and take what you need. You won’t be coming back here.”

“Oh, and while I am inside, you will make your escape.”

“You have so little faith in me?”

“I think you may have mistaken ideas of chivalry.”

He laughed. “I promise I have very little chivalry. If you don’t trust me, I’ll go with you. I might be able to help you change into a darker dress, or at least a plainer dress.”

She looked as though she might argue, then closed her mouth and gave a stiff nod. He wondered if she knew he didn’t want to see her partially unclothed any more than she wanted him to assist her dressing. Rafe was tempted enough by her without seeing her creamy skin bared. “How will I go in without being spotted?”

“The butler and Lady Ravensgate’s maid are the only servants here. I believe they are in the servants’ quarters. I haven’t heard or seen them in hours. Her ladyship isn’t expected back for another few hours at the earliest. She’s at the theater.”

“We’ll hurry nonetheless. You lead the way. I’ll follow.”

She was quick and sure as she made her way through the garden and into the house. As she’d claimed, the house was quiet and no servants were about. They went silently to her room, where she closed the door. The lone candle flickered, and she trimmed the wick before pulling a small valise from under her bed.

Rafe shook his head. “That’s too conspicuous. You’ll attract every thief for miles. You’d be better with a small satchel you can put over your shoulder and hide under your cloak.”

She nodded, then crossed to the nightstand. She pushed it aside, careful not to allow the legs to scrape on the floorboards. Then she pushed on one end of a short board that had been cut so as to meet the wall. The edge bowed slightly but did not pop up. “Can you help?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Rafe knelt. She must have hidden something under the floorboard. Something she didn’t want Lady Ravensgate to see or confiscate. Rafe grasped the other end of the floorboard and used his fingers to pry it free. Collette reached down into the darkness and felt about, then pulled up a worn, tattered satchel. “I brought this with me from France,” she said. “When Lady Ravensgate ordered everything I had brought burned or taken from me—for my own safety—I hid this here.”

“What’s inside?”

“A dress that will suit our purposes, my official papers, and a few mementos.” She pulled the dress free of the satchel and several other items spilled out. He saw the yellowed papers that must have been her identification papers, but he looked past them to the miniature of a young woman. She had the same eyes and forehead as Collette, though her hair was lighter and her expression more serious. He lifted the small painting.

“Your mother?” he asked.

She nodded, taking it back. “This is all I have left of her.”

It was more than Rafe had of his own mother. “And you would have left it behind if I had threatened to go immediately?”

“What other choice would I have?” she asked. “My father is everything.”

He was beginning to see that. What must it be like to have the sort of love Collette had for her father? Rafe was certainly fond of his father and his siblings, but he did not know if he would go to the lengths Collette had for a single one of them. He couldn’t say whether he would have gone to any trouble for anyone in his life, save the men he had fought with in Draven’s troop.

And now Collette.

She held up the dress, and it was more than suitable for a trip to the London docks. The color was a rather dull brown and the dress had no embellishments. Wrinkled and stained, he wondered when she had last worn it. She must have read the question in his face because she said, “I wore this on my voyage to England. When I met Lady Ravensgate, I changed into a better dress. I might as well have left this one on, because I never saw that dress again. I think her ladyship burned it. My father and I didn’t have much need for fine clothing in the country, but considering I sewed all my own dresses, I rather resented her burning that one.”

“I understand.”

She raised a brow. “You? You have never even lifted a needle and thread.”

He couldn’t argue. “Would you like help unfastening this dress?”

She blew out a breath. “This is not an invitation, Rafe Beaumont.”

He held up his hands, his expression all innocence—he hoped. “I understand.”

She presented him her back, and he began to unfasten the ties and tapes and laces. She dealt with the pins in the front and soon the garment began to sag, exposing the skin of her shoulders. Rafe looked at the wall above her head.

“You never said how you knew I would be in the garden tonight,” she said. Her movements indicated she had stepped out of her skirts and stood in her chemise, petticoat, and stays, but Rafe kept his gaze on the wall. And when that proved a challenge, he turned his back.

“I didn’t know. I wait for you every night.”

He heard her gasp and, a moment too late, realized what he’d just revealed. “You stand out there every night?”

“Not every night.” That was a lie. “At least not all night. Not most nights anyway.”

She grabbed his arm and turned him to face her. He looked down at her face, then down farther, and quickly brought his eyes back up. Her full breasts swelled over the tops of the stays. “Are you lying to me? Lady Ravensgate said she saw you at a dinner party.”

“I’ve gone to several events, hoping to see you.” Keep looking at her face, he reminded himself. “To speak with you in case you had new information,” he added.

“I have pretended to be ill.”

“I gathered as much when I overheard Lady Ravensgate speaking. And so the last few nights I’ve waited in the garden for you.”

She stared at him, her mouth parting slightly as more questions seemed to form in her mind. He wouldn’t allow her to ask them. He didn’t quite understand why he stood outside the town house most nights himself. He did not want to try and explain it. “Do you need help with your dress?” He gave her a slow perusal to remind her she was standing half-clothed before him. At least that was the reason he gave himself for the survey. Her cheeks reddened and she grasped the ugly brown dress.

“I can put it on. If you could just help with the laces in the back.”

“Of course.” She turned and bent to step into the skirt. Look up. Do not look at her bottom. That rounded, sweet bottom…

“What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing.” His voice sounded strained. “I cleared my throat.”

“It sounded like—”

“How old were you when your mother died?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.

She paused and began to don the bodice. “Twelve, almost thirteen.” She held laces out to him, and he studied them a moment, then went to work. He had dressed and undressed enough women to understand the workings of most every type of dress.

“A hard age to lose a mother,” he said.

“It was, and losing her was made harder by my father’s frequent absences. But I had my aunt until she married when I was fifteen.”

“It’s not quite the same, is it?” He’d had a stepmother.

She glanced back at him, her eyes shrewd. “No, it isn’t.”

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I don’t know what trouble we might find, but you have to promise to do as I say.”

She nodded.

“And the first rule I make is for you to wear this cloak at all times.” He dropped it over her shoulders. “With the hood up. You’re too pretty for your own good.”

She laughed.

“That is not amusing.”

Then she saw his look and her face changed. “You are serious? You think me pretty?”

He waved the question away. “You know you’re pretty.” But from the look of astonishment on her face, he thought perhaps she didn’t. “The second rule is not to ask questions. Put everything you want in the satchel. We are leaving.”

“For the docks?”

“Yes, but not directly.”

“Then where first?”

He pulled the hood of her cloak up. “No questions.”

They left the town house as quietly as they’d entered. Rafe thought Collette might look back one last time as she walked away, but she never even slowed. He could all but hear the questions forming in her mind, but to her credit, she refrained from asking them. Rafe had barred them not because he didn’t want her to know what he was doing, but because he didn’t like to admit he was a bit out of his element. Fortunately, he knew someone who could help. He’d always said that it wasn’t what you knew but who you knew, and knowing Jasper Grantham would serve him well tonight.

But where to find the thief taker? If he was on the trail of a criminal, he might not surface for days. Rafe could only hope business was slow at present. He’d try the Draven Club, and if Jasper wasn’t there, then the man’s home. As they had to make their way down King Street to the club, Rafe was glad he had told Collette to keep her hood up. At this time of night, all sorts of men were out on the street. The brothels and the gaming hells were open and thriving, and reputable women were not usually to be found in St. James’s Square after dark.

Once at the Draven Club, he ushered Collette up the stairs and tapped on the knocker. As though he had been expecting them, Porter opened the door a moment later. The Master of the House inclined his head at them. “Good evening, Mr. Beaumont. Good evening, miss.”

“Is Jasper here?” Rafe asked.

“Lord Jasper is in the dining room. Shall I fetch him?”

Rafe looked back at Collette. Women were not allowed inside the club. No exceptions. But Rafe could not leave Collette on the street alone.

“I’d rather speak with him inside. Would it be possible for Miss Fortier to wait in the vestibule?”

Porter’s face showed no emotion. “She may be seated just inside the doorway, and I will keep her company. I trust you may find the dining room on your own, sir?”

“Yes.” Rafe shouldered Collette and himself inside. Porter indicated a stiff-backed chair, and Collette sat gracefully, rearranging her cloak as she did so. Rafe rushed halfway up the steps and then back down again. “Thank you, Porter. I appreciate this.”

“Of course, Mr. Beaumont. Think nothing of it, sir.”

“But it isn’t nothing, Porter. I know”—he put his arm around Porter’s shoulder and drew the man a little away from Collette—“I know my reputation. Miss Fortier isn’t like the other women.”

Porter looked him straight in the eye. “Yes, sir. She wouldn’t be inside right now if I thought she were.”

Rafe gave Porter a long look, then bounded back up the stairs. He found the dining room deserted except for Jasper, who sat at a back table with a bowl of soup and a book. When Rafe entered, he lowered his book, revealing his scarred face. Never more than in moments like these did Rafe marvel at the dichotomies inherent in his friend. He was the son of a marquess but lived most of his life in the London rookeries. He wore a mask in public because his face scared women and small children, and yet here he sat, the epitome of elegance, sipping soup and reading a book. Jasper was a man who could fit into any situation, a veritable chameleon.

“What the devil happened to you?” he drawled, setting his book down but keeping a finger between the pages to mark his place.

“I need your help.”

Jasper shook his head. “I told you before, I don’t want to be involved with your hordes of women.”

“You’re not amusing. This is a question about a packet from France.”

Jasper drew his finger out of the book. “Go on.”

“If a ship arrived in London from France, where would they drop anchor to attract the least notice?”

“Ships from France generally arrive at Dover.”

“I don’t think this one will. The passengers will want to avoid a land journey with its turnpikes and toll gates.”

“Are they smugglers?”

“Of a sort.”

“Then Wapping. It’s far enough away from the center of London that the customs officials are not quite so strict. Plus, it has a history of smuggling and pirates. If this ship wants to avoid notice, I imagine they’ll seek out the quay in Wapping. The customs officials there might be easily bribed to overlook one or more passengers who wish to disembark without the proper paperwork.”

Rafe closed his eyes. “I don’t want to go to Wapping.”

“No one wants to go to Wapping. Hire a carriage. It’s four miles at least and the highway can be dangerous.” Jasper lifted his wine and Rafe expertly plucked it from his hand.

“Where am I to find a carriage at this hour?” He drank Jasper’s wine down.

Jasper glared at him. “I would have suggested you ask Porter. But now you’ve drank my wine, you can go to hell.”

Rafe grinned at him. “I’ll see you there.”