Fifteen

Collette’s eyes drooped. It was almost dawn by the time Rafe had negotiated the use of the club’s carriage and the conveyance was ready. She’d all but fallen asleep in the chair. In fact, she thought she might have been forgotten except that she heard the lovely older gentleman, Porter, chastising Rafe for keeping her out all night.

“Where is this young lady’s home? She should be in bed, sir.”

“Your concern is touching, Porter. Are you also worried for my health?”

Porter harrumphed and hobbled away. One of his legs was wooden, but he was so adept at using it, it had taken a little while for Collette to notice.

Finally, Rafe shook her shoulder and, taking her arm, escorted her to the coach. It was black lacquer and shone in the early-morning light. The team of six black horses stamped their feet and looked eager to be away. The coachman wore a high-collared coat with his hat brim pulled low on his forehead. He lifted his hat a fraction of an inch as they approached.

And then Rafe opened the door and helped her inside. He climbed in after her, seating himself across from her and facing the rear. Porter had followed them outdoors, but instead of closing the door to the carriage, he handed Collette a wrapped parcel. Collette looked down at the square of linen, and when she looked up again, Porter slid a thickly wrapped brick beside her feet. “To keep you warm, Miss Fortier,” he said. Then he looked at Rafe. “The victuals are for Miss Fortier, not you, sir.”

Collette looked down at the package in her hands again. She lifted the linen and revealed a loaf of bread, an apple, and a flagon of wine. “You are very kind, Mr. Porter.”

“If I were truly kind, I wouldn’t send you off with Mr. Beaumont.”

Rafe blew out a breath. “Need I remind you I pay your salary?”

Porter smiled. “That’s not my fault, sir.” And he closed the door.

“The man is impertinent,” Rafe groused as he tapped on the roof to indicate they were ready to depart.

“Oh, anyone can see he cares for you.” Collette set the parcel of food on the seat beside her. “He simply knows you too well. You have an awful reputation, Mr. Beaumont.”

“If he knew me, he’d know half of that is pure fiction.”

“Half is still far worse than the reputations of a dozen such men.”

Rafe considered her, the side of his face lit by sunlight. And then he drew the curtains to shield them from the eyes of the curious they passed. “And what do you believe, Collette?” he asked, his voice rising from the darkness.

“I don’t know what to believe,” she answered. “Ask me again in a few days.”

“Believe me, I will.”

The carriage moved at a slow pace, as the streets were crowded. Collette was lulled to sleep by the easy motion of the conveyance, then all but fell off her seat when the coach bounced over something—hopefully not someone—in the road.

“You’d better come sit with me,” Rafe said, his form still shadowed in the darkness. “You can lean your head on my shoulder, and I’ll keep you anchored. Or better yet, I shall sit with you.” He waited and when she gave no answer, he said, “May I?”

Collette drew a breath in. It was dangerous to be in close proximity to Rafe Beaumont. Her body tended to betray what she knew was in her best interest. “Very well. But—”

Beaumont paused in the act of rising from his seat.

“But this is not an invitation to kiss me or do anything else of that sort.”

“No kissing.” He slid beside her, his body solid and warm, and she realized even though her feet had been resting on the brick, she’d been cold. She was about to rest her head on his shoulder, but then he spoke again. “What other things of that sort do you speak of? Can you be specific?”

She let out an annoyed breath. “You know what I mean, Rafe.”

“Not at all. For example, would putting my arm around you to keep you from falling be of that sort?”

“It depends where you put your arm.”

“The shoulders?” He put his arm about her shoulders.

“That is fine.”

“Hmm. What about your waist?” His arm slid down her back and wrapped around her waist.

Collette drew a shaky breath. “That is acceptable.”

“Are you cold? Your voice is trembling.”

“I’m fine.”

“Shall I warm you up?” He took the arm not holding her and reached across her to rub his hand up and down her arm. “Better?”

“Yes. Really, I am fine, sir.” She said this more forcefully. And then, before she knew what had happened, he had touched his nose to hers. She jerked back, surprised because she had not been able to anticipate his movements in the dark. “What are you doing?”

“Your nose. It’s cold.”

“It’s fine.”

“I can’t have your nose ice cold. I’ll warm it for you.” He touched her nose with his again and this time his forehead tapped against hers too. She knew she need only move a fraction to press her lips to his, and his mouth would be warm and inviting and so, so wicked. “I know you are a hedgehog expert, but were you aware that in some northern cultures, this is considered a kiss?”

“What is?” She could hardly breathe. His sweet breath feathered over her chin.

“Rubbing noses. It’s like a kiss for them.”

“So then you are breaking my rule.”

“I’ve never been very good at following the rules.” His mouth brushed hers so lightly she could almost believe she’d imagined it. Heat and longing flared inside her. She could not seem to stop wanting this man. Even when she knew she should not want him. Even when she knew she could not have him.

“Neither have I.” Her mouth met his and warmth raced through her. She felt as though she’d been sleeping and now that he kissed her, held her, she was awake and alive again. His mouth slanted over hers, his hands tangling in her hair and cradling her head. He might have pulled her into his lap, but he made no move to do so. Instead, he lowered her to the soft squab and looked down at her, his hair falling over his forehead so she could not see his eyes at all.

“Just let me hold you,” he whispered. “I cannot seem to ever hold you close enough.”

She closed her eyes and reveled in his scent and the feel of his body pressed against hers.

“This will most likely be our last day together,” he said quietly. “If we are right and your father is already in England, you will see him today.”

And then what would happen? she wondered. Would Rafe turn them all in to the Foreign Office? Or would he let her go but imprison her father? He must have known that she would never be willingly parted from her father. Where he went, she would go. And if Rafe was the one responsible for her father’s death, she would never be able to forgive him.

“And then we will be enemies once more,” she said.

“We were always enemies. We just forget. From time to time.”

She smiled wryly. “I never wanted this.” And she didn’t know if she meant her life as a spy or falling in love with him.

“Neither did I. And yet…” He trailed off, sounding thoughtful.

“And yet?” she prompted. For some reason it was easier to speak to him like this, in the dark, when she couldn’t see how beautiful he was and he couldn’t see her expressions.

“And yet I always knew this was coming. I always knew I’d meet a woman I couldn’t dismiss quite so easily.”

“Have there been no women in your life you cared for, truly cared for?”

“If I say you are that woman, would you believe me?”

Her cheeks heated, and she was glad he could not see them in the dark. “Ask me—”

“In a few days. I shall add that to the growing list. In that case, I suppose I care for my sisters and my nieces, although the nieces are all too young to be considered women. But I love them all. In my way.”

In my way. What did that mean? She dared not ask, but she thought she might already know. He had been the perfect man to play the role of seducer in the war. He was a man who did not grow attached, who did not care for women beyond the moment they were together. It didn’t seem to her that Rafe Beaumont was capable of love. He felt strongly for a little while and then the passion faded and he moved on. Was he incapable of love or could he simply not allow himself to love?

“And what about your mother?” she asked.

He stiffened. The gesture was so unlike him, so unlike the Rafe who was at ease in every situation, never ruffled, never flustered. “What about her?” Even his voice sounded different—tense and guarded. He sat, breaking the contact between them. Collette levered herself up as well.

“Don’t you care for her?”

“I don’t know her. She left when I was four. My father remarried a few years later when he learned of her death. My stepmother is a good woman, but by the time she came into our lives, I no longer needed a mother.”

Poor man. Everyone needed a mother. “I’m sorry,” Collette said simply. “I didn’t know about your mother.”

He waved a hand, the gesture barely discernable in the dark. “It’s not as though she was a very good mother at any rate.”

“Why do you say that?”

“My brothers and sisters always called her neglectful. On more than one occasion, I was forgotten or left behind. I am the youngest and easy to forget, I suppose.”

Collette could not think of a more ridiculous statement. He was the most memorable man she had ever known. Women sought his attentions and his favors. Men emulated his way of speaking and his dress.

“When we were all younger, my brothers and sisters blamed me for her leaving.”

Collette sat straighter, surprised at this revelation. “How is that possible? You were only a child. A four-year-old cannot be responsible for the actions of an adult.”

“She didn’t want me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I heard it whispered many times. My brothers discussed it when they thought I slept. Servants talked of it when they did not know I could overhear. From the moment she realized she would have another child, she made it clear she thought the pregnancy was a burden. She had seven children already. She did not want another. To make matters worse, she was very sick during her pregnancy. The doctor actually feared for her life because she could not manage to take any sustenance. Food and even water made her ill.”

“I have seen such sickness in other women. It usually passes after the first few months.”

“Not with my mother. When she finally birthed me, she was so glad to have done with me, she would not even hold me for the first few days.”

“Rafe.” Collette reached for his hand, but he moved it away. He didn’t seem to want her comfort.

“And then there were all the times I was forgotten or left behind. It happened so often they called me Rafe the Forgotten as a sort of joke. But it was not funny when my mother left. She had been with me in the nursery, or so she had said.” His voice took on a rather hard quality she was not used to. The tenor of his voice was usually so musical and lilting, but now it sounded like the edge of a blade. “We were in London for the Season, and the rest of the family had gone to a museum or some sort of performance and left me behind because I was too young. My mother had claimed she wanted to stay back with me. She dismissed my nurse and stayed in the nursery with me herself. I was told hours later the family returned and found me with the nurse, crying inconsolably.”

“And your mother?”

“No one knew where she had gone, but they deduced she had been gone for hours. The nurse had heard me crying and came to investigate. You see, I never cried as a child.”

“All babies cry.”

In the darkness, she made out the quick shake of his head. “Not I or not often. Everyone knew something dreadful must have happened to cause me to cry.”

“And what of your mother?”

“She had taken a valise, some clothing, her jewelry, and gone. My father had her tracked as far as Italy, where we think she settled for a time. And then a few years later, we received word she had died from a fever that came on quite suddenly.”

“You must have been devastated.”

He was silent for a long time, the wheels of the carriage on the packed earth below and the muffled snorts and hoofbeats of the horses the only sound she heard.

“I don’t remember very much from those early years of my childhood. I don’t think most people do, but I remember that day. And I remember why I was crying.”

“Why?” Collette asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Because my mother had been in the nursery, but she ignored me and all my efforts to engage her in play. She stood at the window and stared out. And then after what seemed to me like many hours, but was probably only three-quarters of an hour or so, she picked up her skirts and walked out. I ran after her. I called her name. Mama! Mama! She caught me at the door and with rough hands pushed me back into the nursery. And then she closed and locked the door. I cried in part because I was afraid to be alone, but mostly I cried because I knew she did not care. I knew she did not love me, and somehow I knew she was leaving me.”

Collette sat very still, letting all he had said wash over her. His behavior toward women made more sense to her now. After all, why would he seek any sort of genuine relationship with a woman? The one woman who should have cared for him and loved him left him. And then he’d been blamed for her departure. To make matters worse, women all but threw themselves at him, and these women did not want to know Rafe Beaumont. They only wanted the excitement of having the attentions of a handsome man and a skilled lover.

“Not all women leave,” she said quietly.

He made a sound like a snort of laughter. “It doesn’t matter. There’s always another one.” But she heard the brittleness of his voice, and she knew it did matter. And she knew she was but one more woman who would leave him. He’d told her he cared for her and she was different. How much had it cost him to say those words, to admit he felt something more than lust for her? And yet, even when she had pushed him away, even when he knew they would never be able to be together, he was still here. He was beside her, taking her to see her father. Taking her to begin the journey that would separate them.

At least that was what she wanted to believe. She did not want to think that he took her to Wapping now because this was part of his grand plan to capture her father and turn them both in to the British government. But she could not discount that option. There would always be another woman for Rafe Beaumont. The question was whether he cared enough for her not to want another woman.

* * *

It was almost midday by the time the coach arrived in Wapping. Rafe had not been here in some time, having no reason to go to the town. There was little here, and what there was had been built up around the river. From the Thames rose one main street lined by taverns and inns frequented by sailors. Rafe supposed there were homes and perhaps better areas of town, but he instructed the coachman to take them to the quays.

Wapping had a marine police force, but Jasper had made it clear any ship from France carrying a wanted man would do its best to avoid not only the customs men, but also the police. The ship would not be docked too close to police headquarters. More likely the captain would want to stay west of the town in order to be able to make a quick escape, if need be. With that in mind, Rafe had the carriage leave him and Collette some distance west of the police. He’d given the coachman a few shillings and told him to see to the horses and himself but to stay close and be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. Before the driver could spur the horses forward, Rafe held up a hand and turned to Collette. “Are you certain you wish to come along? Even in broad daylight, the riverfront is dangerous. You can stay with the coach. I will return when I have located the ship.” If it was even here. He dared not hope.

“I am coming with you,” she said, and he knew that look of determination in her eyes. Lowering his hand, Rafe stepped away from the coach. It pulled away, and he and Collette were left alone. Rafe gestured to an old set of stone steps leading down to the river, and he and Collette began to walk.

He didn’t know why he had told her about his mother. He’d never told anyone about his mother, save one or two of Draven’s men and that had been when he’d drank too much wine the night before a mission that was surely suicide. It hadn’t seemed awkward to say such things when all of them would most likely be dead in the morning. It hadn’t seemed awkward to tell Collette his secrets either. He’d wanted to tell her, wanted her to understand who he was. He was not the man the gossip pages made him out to be—a rake and a seducer of women. He had seduced his share of women, that was true, but they had all wanted to be seduced. And although he had been able to make dozens of women love him, he had not been able to secure the love of his own mother. In fact, he had driven her away. He knew Collette would leave him too. She had to leave or find herself imprisoned in Newgate or worse.

She was with him now, following him closely, and it wasn’t long before Rafe wished he had a spyglass or some other sort of mechanism with which to see the ships anchored in the river better. Some were tied to the quays, but most of those were guarded by sailors who did not take kindly to being questioned. This Rafe gathered after he’d had a dagger pulled on him by one sailor with tattoos of naked women decorating his forearms.

Rafe had walked quickly away, pulling Collette with him, but they hadn’t gone far before he noted that the stone path they had been following along the water ended in a stone wall that reached above both of their heads. A rocky outcrop jutted into the water, and whoever had built the path along the water had obviously not wanted to go to the effort of cutting through it. Clearly, he and Collette would have to go back to the last set of steps and go up before coming back down again where the path resumed.

She had already come to this realization and turned back. Just as he made to do the same, she clutched his arm. “Rafe.”

He frowned at the wall one last time. “I know. Doubling back will cost us time, but there’s nothing for it.”

“I think we have a bigger problem than losing time.”

Unease pooling in his belly, Rafe turned slowly to see the sailor with the tattoos on his forearm had followed them. And he’d brought a few of his friends. About six friends to be exact. They stank of unwashed bodies and rotting fish and their open shirts and stained breeches reminded him more of pirates than men operating a merchant vessel. They were armed with knives and daggers, several of them held a weapon in each hand and a knife between yellowing teeth. Rafe looked at Collette. Too late, he realized her hood had fallen back.

A wall of stone at his back and a wall of men before him. He’d faced worse odds, but never alone. “Hullo, gentlemen,” Rafe said, giving them his most charming smile.

The tattooed sailor chuckled with menace. “We ain’t no gentlemen. Give us yer purse and we’ll let ye pass.”

That sounded easy enough. Rafe hadn’t much in his purse, a sovereign and some shillings. He took it from his coat and tossed it to the leader. “There you are. Now allow us to pass.”

The sailor peered into the small pouch with Rafe’s coins, the naked women on his arms moving obscenely as his muscles flexed. “All right, boys.” He gestured and the men parted. Rafe didn’t much like the idea of walking a gauntlet, but he wasn’t in a position to argue.

“Stay close to me,” he murmured to Collette. Taking her arm, he pushed her in front of him, reasoning he could better protect her if he could see her. He did not want to risk her being torn away behind his back.

Collette began to walk, but the tattooed man blocked her path. “We said he could pass, not you.”

Collette looked back at Rafe helplessly.

“She’s with me,” Rafe argued. “I gave you my coins. We don’t want any trouble.”

“But we want the woman,” the sailor said. “And we mean to take what we want.”