Twenty

Dawn was valiantly fighting through the fog of London when Rafe emerged from the reading room and into the adjacent parlor, where the heavy draperies had been pulled back. Standing in a loose circle, Jasper, Ewan, and Neil waited for him. He stopped. “This is quite the collection of rogues.”

Jasper crossed his arms over his chest. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘heroes.’”

“Ah. An easy mistake.”

“Draven says you’re leaving,” Neil said.

“Draven is wrong.”

“That would be a first.” Neil looked at the others. Ewan scowled as though Rafe had just personally insulted him.

“You won’t be rid of me so easily. I plan to go home, sleep for a few hours, and I’ll return tonight to best all of you at billiards.”

“Not likely,” Jasper said.

Neil raised a brow. “We thought you might go chasing after that woman. Fortier’s daughter.”

Rafe straightened his shoulders. “I don’t chase after women.”

“You run from them,” Ewan said, his words slow and deliberate.

Rafe rounded on him. He would have punched the man for the insult, except that doing so would have probably hurt Rafe’s fist more than any part of Ewan’s anatomy. The man was built like an ox. “I don’t run from anything,” Rafe said quietly.

“Then why haven’t you found a woman and settled down?” Neil asked.

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Just because you and Ewan have married doesn’t mean you have to drag the rest of us down with you.”

“You didn’t look dragged down when I saw you with her,” Jasper observed.

“Stubble it.”

“What are you afraid of?” Ewan asked.

“Besides your ham-sized fist rearranging my perfect face, Mostyn, nothing. I don’t understand why you seem to think I should go after the woman. She’s the daughter of a French assassin. I seem to remember we even had orders to terminate him at one point.”

Jasper made a face. “That bastard.”

Undoubtedly, Jasper was remembering his failure to track Fortier. Rafe imagined Jasper could count on one hand the number of men who’d eluded him and still have fingers left over.

“The war is over,” Neil said. “How many times have you told me that? Go live your life, Rafe.”

“I will.” He strode past them to the door. “I’ll see you at the billiards table in a few hours.”

“Just in case, Rafe, you’d better put your dancing shoes on,” Neil called after him, referring to their oft used farewell. He wasn’t certain how it had started, something about dancing with the devil.

Rafe clenched his teeth as he stomped down the stairs and into the vestibule. Porter moved to open the door, and Rafe paused. “I apologize for my behavior earlier, Porter. I…wasn’t myself.”

“Think nothing of it, sir,” Porter said with the same warmth he’d always had when he spoke to Rafe. “We all have bad days.”

Rafe put on his hat and walked out the door. Once outside, he began to stroll. Was Porter correct? Was all of this simply a bad day? Would he wake tomorrow and find his chest didn’t feel so tight, didn’t feel as though a hand squeezed his heart? Rafe didn’t think love worked that way. Infatuation, yes. But he knew Draven was right. He was in love with Collette Fortier.

He could ignore it and let her go. He could prove himself the coward his friends seemed to think he was. Or he could put on his dancing shoes and confront the devil that had been taunting him all these years. Rafe paused and looked about. He’d strolled into Mayfair and was not far from his father’s house. Perhaps it was time he and the devil danced.

* * *

Gaines led her aboard the Egret, and Collette could not help but look over her shoulder. The day was still young, but the captain was eager to be on his way. Collette was happy to board. Her father was being comfortably settled below. They had troubled Mr. Gaines enough. Once on the deck of the ship, Collette looked over the rail to the Wapping quay and warehouses. It was not a particularly pretty sight. She imagined she would see far lovelier views on the trip down the Thames and into the open ocean. But this was the last place she had seen Rafe. This was a place she did not want to forget.

She would never see England again. She couldn’t risk coming back. She had no reason to ever come back. That was a blessing, even though it meant she would always be missing a piece of her heart. She had her father, and she would work hard to make sure he was not left with a shell of his daughter. In time, she would heal from this loss.

The captain approached, introduced himself as Mr. Booker, then led Collette and Gaines belowdecks, where they made certain Fortier was well-situated. When she was satisfied, Booker showed her to a small cabin with a berth and a porthole. Collette could practically touch either side of the cabin with her fingers when she stretched her arms wide, but she and her father had private places all to themselves, and she knew she owed that luxury to Mr. Gaines.

When the captain took his leave to oversee the rest of the preparations, Gaines held out a hand. “It was a pleasure, Miss Fortier.”

Collette shook his hand, then held on for a moment longer. “Thank you again, Mr. Gaines. For everything.”

“I hope you find happiness, miss,” he said.

She gave him a sad smile and squeezed his hand. When he was gone, she stowed her belongings and tried out the berth. It was not nearly as uncomfortable as it looked. Above her, she could hear the sailors calling out, checking the ropes and the sails and rigging. She couldn’t help but feel a little excited at the future that awaited her. She found her way back to the deck and asked where she might stand so that she would be out of the way. A sailor showed her to a little corner, and she stood on the deck and watched as cranes moved the last of the cargo aboard, the gangplank was pulled away, and the smaller tugboats pulled the larger ship into the currents of the Thames.

People stood on the dock and waved goodbye. Collette waved to them, even though she knew they weren’t there to see her off. But she scanned the small crowd one last time, then turned away, berating herself for her stupidity.

He was not coming.

And with that thought, she gazed out on the bow and looked ahead.

* * *

The Haddington butler opened the door. Abbot was a relatively young man, forty at most. He had a thick head of sandy-blond hair, ruthlessly combed into submission, and skeptical blue eyes. “Good morning, sir. We weren’t expecting you.”

“I’m aware of that. Is my father at home?”

“I’m afraid he is not, sir. He left early this morning—”

“I thought I heard your voice!” Rafe’s stepmother, Lady Haddington, stepped out from the dining room, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “It is so good to see you, Rafe. Please, join me for breakfast.”

Rafe kissed his stepmother on both cheeks. “I’m not hungry, Horatia. Thank you.”

“Oh, but you can’t leave. I’m here all by myself. You must join me.”

Rafe didn’t particularly want to join her, but perhaps his father would return shortly. Then he might get the answers he wanted.

He followed his stepmother into the dining room and took the cup of tea offered by the footman. His stepmother smiled at him over her own cup of tea. She was a pretty woman, petite and delicate, with wispy blond hair and green eyes. She looked nothing like the rest of the family, most of Rafe’s siblings having coloring like his own. “How have you been, dear? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Good. Will my father be home soon?”

“I doubt it. He left early to ride out to one of the estates in Hampshire. Depending on how long it takes to deal with the issues there, he may not return until tomorrow. How is that young lady I read about? Miss Fournay, I believe is her name?”

By tomorrow, Collette would be well on her way to America. Not that anything his father said would make any difference. She would sail to the New World, and Rafe would stay here. In his Old World.

“Rafe?” his stepmother said.

“I’m sorry. Oh, you asked about Miss Fournay.”

“Yes. I had heard the two of you were often seen together. Is she someone special? I would like to meet her.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Horatia. Miss Fournay is leaving England.”

“Oh, I see.” She sighed, her green eyes looking troubled.

Rafe began to rise, to excuse himself, then he paused. “Horatia, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, dear.” She set her teacup down and smiled at him eagerly.

“Why are you so keen to see me married? All of my brothers and sisters are married and there are heirs aplenty. You never played matchmaker with any of my siblings, and I’ve never expressed any interest in matrimony. I’m quite content to remain a bachelor.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “Oh, but that would be such a waste, dear. You would make such a wonderful husband.”

Rafe raised a brow. “You do know my reputation?”

She waved a hand, dismissing the point. “And you would be an excellent father.”

“I am an excellent uncle.”

“You are.” She sipped her tea again, her face clouding. When she looked up again, her expression was serious. “I know I am not your mother, Rafe. I never tried to take her place.”

“But you have always been a very good mother to us.” This was true. She was kind and caring. Some of his sisters had even taken to calling Horatia Mama.

“Thank you. But I want to say something and I fear I’ll step out of place in saying it.”

Rafe swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “Go on.”

“I suppose another reason I took such an interest in you marrying is because of what happened with your mother.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” But he did. He knew exactly what she meant, and his skin turned to ice at her words.

“You were the one who was home when she left. You were the one she left alone, and you were the youngest. I imagine her leaving was hardest on you. When I married your father, you were barely eight and just the most charming and handsome little man. But it often seemed to me that you had been forgotten, and that perhaps you bore the brunt of your mother’s leaving on your shoulders. Did you ever feel that way? That her leaving was your fault?”

Rafe knew he should scoff and say no. He should make a witty remark to the effect that he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to leave him. But he couldn’t seem to manage to do anything but nod his head.

His stepmother’s face crumpled and she rose and moved to sit beside him. Rafe couldn’t understand why he didn’t move, why he’d allowed her to come to him, to put her hand on his arm, to embrace him. “Dear, dear boy, listen to me, and listen well. I did not know your mother, but I know you. Whatever your mother’s reasons for leaving, they had nothing to do with you.”

Rafe shook his head. “She didn’t want me.” His voice was low and hoarse. “She didn’t want another child.”

“Then that is her loss. I wanted children and was never blessed with any of my own, and you and your brothers and sisters were nothing but a joy every day of your lives. Well, Cyril was not always a joy. He was something of a terror for several years. And Helen had a penchant for dipping her toes into scandal. But you, you always made us smile. Your father and I used to smile over all the darling things you said as a child. But we always suspected you hid much of the pain you felt from your mother’s leaving.”

Rafe looked away, not wanting her to see the truth of those words in his face.

“I don’t know why your mother left. It’s my opinion she was ill even before she left. Perhaps that had something to do with it, but you cannot let your mother be the model for all women. Not all women leave. Look at me. I would never leave your father. I love him, the aggravating man!”

Rafe felt a ghost of a smile tease his lips.

“And I certainly hope you won’t spend the rest of your life leaving every woman you have feelings for just so she can’t ever leave you.”

Now Rafe did look at her. He’d never been close with his stepmother. He’d never been emotionally close to anyone except for a few of his brothers from Draven’s troop. Now he wished he could change that. He wished he had spent more time with his stepmother, confided in her more. She had much more to give than he’d realized.

But all of that would have to wait because the Egret, bound for America, would not. Abruptly, he rose.

“Have I said something wrong, dear?” his stepmother asked, rising as well.

“No. You’ve said everything right. I love her.”

“Love whom? The Frenchwoman?”

“Yes, and I have to go to America.”

His stepmother’s eyes widened. “But I thought I told you not to run away.”

He waved a hand and strolled for the door. “No. She is bound for America. I have to catch her. I have to go with her.”

His stepmother followed him into the vestibule. “But you can’t go to America! You haven’t even taken leave of your father.”

“Do it for me, will you?” He took his coat and hat from Abbott. “And don’t worry. I’ll be back.” He took a last look at the town house. “One day.” Then to his surprise, he grabbed his stepmother and hugged her tightly. She squealed with astonishment and, if he wasn’t mistaken, pleasure. “Goodbye, Mother,” he said, then released her and ran for the street.

He hailed the first hackney he saw and climbed into the cab.

“Where to, gov’?” the jarvey asked, his tone bored.

“Wapping,” Rafe said, head out the window.

The jarvey turned around. “Say again?”

“Wapping.”

The jarvey shook his head. “I ain’t licensed for Wapping. I stay in the city and—”

“I’ll pay you five pounds.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Five pounds!”

“Six if you hurry.”

“Six quid?” His eyes narrowed. “Let me see the blunt.”

Rafe blew out a breath. It was almost noon. He could not afford to waste any more time going to the bank or finding another jarvey. “I don’t have it with me.”

The jarvey shook his head emphatically.

“But I’ll write you an IOU, and my father will honor it.” God knew he wouldn’t be paying Rafe’s allowance if he made it to America.

“And who’s yer father?”

Rafe pointed to the earl’s town house. “The Earl of Haddington. That is his residence.”

The jarvey considered the town house, then looked back at Rafe.

Rafe clenched his fists in an effort to remain calm. “Look, what’s your name?”

“Joshua Clarkit.”

“Mr. Clarkit, I am in a dreadful hurry. I must reach Wapping before the ship carrying the woman I love sails for America. If we do not leave now, I may never see her again.”

“And I may never see that six quid.”

“I will give you my vowels right now. Do you have a slip of paper?”

The jarvey scowled. “You think I’m a printer or something?”

Panic at the delay making his heart pound, Rafe jumped out of the cab, ran for the nearest building covered with pamphlets, and tore one down. Then he searched the ground until he found a small piece of coal that had fallen from the cart of one of the deliverymen. He turned the pamphlet over and scrawled:

I owe Joshua Clarkit 6 pounds for services rendered.

He scrawled his name, pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to rub the coal dust from his hands, and then ran back to the hackney. He handed the paper to Clarkit. “Satisfied?”

Clarkit studied the paper. “How do I know this says what you say it does?”

Rafe wanted to slam his head on the yellowing sides of the conveyance. What had he ever done to deserve a distrusting, illiterate jarvey? “You can read numbers, can’t you?” he asked, keeping his tone level.

The man nodded.

“You see I wrote ‘six’ there. The word after that is ‘pounds.’ And that is my name.” He pointed to his signature. “Rafe Beaumont. I am a younger son of the Earl of Haddington.”

The jarvey looked him over. Rafe had no idea how he looked, but he could guess. His eyes were shadowed, his jaw stubbled, and his clothing wrinkled. Fortunately, the jarvey seemed to be a man who noted details. His gaze traveled over the well-tailored coat Rafe wore and the muddy but expensive boots.

“Get in,” the jarvey said, with a flick of his head.

Rafe jumped in and the jarvey turned toward Wapping.

A half hour later, Rafe banged his head on the back of the seat. The stuffing had been lost long ago and pieces of straw stuck out here and there. Banging his head against the hard, scratchy surface kept him from leaping out of the coach and banging the heads of the farmers together.

Of course, today had to be market day, and every farmer or country bumpkin from near and far was making his or her way into the city. The gates were clogged with carts, children chasing other children, and dogs chasing the livestock, which oinked or squawked or bleated and generally caused mayhem.

Rafe leaned his head out the window again. “What the devil is taking so long? Aren’t the farmers supposed to arrive early?” It was nearly one.

Clarkit looked back. “From what I hear, there was an accident on the road this morning. A cart stuck in the mud and another didn’t see it with all the fog. People stopped to help, and it blocked the road, so many had to wait until it was cleared.”

Today, of all days, there had to be a collision. “Is there nothing you can do?”

The jarvey shook his head. “Naught but wait my turn. It won’t be long. As soon as these pigs are rounded up.”

Rafe allowed his head to fall into his hands.

When the hackney finally arrived in Wapping, Rafe didn’t wait for it to stop before he jumped out. They’d stopped in front of the Wapping Inn and Coach House, Gaines’s inn. “I know the proprietor here. I’ll tell him to give you a meal and have the grooms see to your horses.”

Clarkit raised his hat in thanks. Rafe sprinted into the common room of the inn. It was empty except for a man or two reading the paper, and Rafe skidded to a stop and looked about.

“Mr. Beaumont.” A man Rafe recognized as the manager came out from behind a counter. “Good to have you back with us. Would you like a room?”

“No. I need Gaines.”

The manager shook his head. “He is not here—”

“Where is he?”

“I’m not certain. I think he escorted the young miss and her father to the dock. To take them aboard Egret.”

“Damn and blast!”

“Sir?”

Rafe turned to run for the docks, then paused. “There’s a hackney from London in front. Will you see to him and his horses?”

“Mr. Gaines hasn’t—”

“Put it on my account!” The pocket watch he’d had to give Gaines could have covered the cost of seeing to five hackneys.

“Yes, sir.”

Once in the street, Rafe ran for the quay. He had to dart around some boys playing a game with sticks and rocks and somehow lost his hat, but he could have cried with joy when he finally spotted the muddy water of the Thames. He bent to catch his breath, scanning the docked ships for the one that might be the Egret.

There were far too many, and it would take hours for him to approach each and read the names. He had to find one of the customs officials who could direct him to the correct dock. Rafe began to push through the sailors and dockworkers, looking for someone in authority. He shouldered past one man, then felt a hand on his shoulder. The man spun him around.

Rafe recognized the sailor’s yellow grin from the first night he and Collette had been on the river shore. This was the sailor who’d taken his purse.

“I’ve been looking for you,” the sailor said.

“Look another time.” Rafe struggled to free himself of the man’s grip. But instead of releasing him, the sailor held on, ripping Rafe’s coat. That was the last straw. The coat had been made by Weston, and how was Rafe to acquire another like it in bloody, savage America? If he even made it to America?

“I’m not done with you yet,” the sailor said.

Rafe pulled his fist back and slammed the man in the face. His dirty hands released Rafe’s coat and he fell backward onto the dock. “But I am done with you.”

Rafe started away, only to come face-to-face with Thomas Gaines. Gaines nodded at the fallen man. “I was about to say you have a knack for finding trouble. But I take it back.”

“Where is she?” Rafe asked, not caring that his voice was trembling. Not caring that sweat streaked his face, his throat was parched, and his head ached from hunger and the sun beating down on it.

He didn’t care about anything but Collette.

“You’re too late,” Gaines said. “The ship has sailed.”

Rafe felt his knees crumple. Too late. No two words had ever so crushed a man.

He reached out, his fist closing on Gaines’s lapel. “I swear by all that is holy, if you don’t take me to her, I will kill you with my bare hands.”

Gaines raised a brow. “I don’t think you can do it.”

Rafe looked him in the eye. “Want to see me try?”

Gaines stared back at him, then shook his head. “Come with me. There’s still a chance to catch her.”

Rafe’s heart leaped. Still a chance! “Show me.”

Gaines’s large form cut a swath through the people on the dock, and a moment later, they were in front of an empty berth. The ship that had docked there was being led into the center of the Thames by two tugs. The tugs’ work was almost done. In a matter of minutes, the ship would be under sail. Rafe would never catch it then. He might have swum to the ship—as disgusting as that idea was—but he would never have been able to swim fast enough. He turned to Gaines. “What do I do?”

Gaines pointed to an empty boat. “Can you row?”

Rafe had rowed when he’d been in school, but that had been years ago. Still, not wasting a moment, he jumped into the boat and lifted the oars as Gaines untied it and pushed him off.

“Hey!” a man yelled. Rafe assumed it was the owner of the boat. He didn’t look back, sticking the oars in the water and beginning to row. Behind him, he heard Gaines speaking to the man. Rafe would have to send Gaines another pocket watch.

By the time he’d rowed halfway to the ship, his shoulders ached and his muscles burned. He was breathing fast, sweat dripping down his back. Not only was his coat ruined, but his boots were well on their way to ruination too. The boat had a leak—either that or it needed to be plugged—and it was taking on water. Rafe’s feet sat two inches deep in muddy river water. But he continued to row, grunting with the effort of catching the larger, much faster ship. He would have no chance at all once the tugs released it. Another ship sailed toward him, and Rafe rowed faster, narrowly avoiding being clipped. The burst of speed had served him well. He had reached the Egret, and now he stopped rowing and looked up. Several unhappy sailors looked down.

“Move away from the ship!” one called.

“I need to come aboard!” Rafe called.

The sailor shook his head. “Any attempt to board will be treated as an act of aggression.”

What the hell? Did the man think he was a pirate? He was in a row boat. A sinking row boat. “I just need to speak with one of your passengers.”

“Write a letter!” the sailor answered. “This is your last warning.” And he raised a large pistol and pointed it down at Rafe.

Rafe looked into the muzzle of the gun. At this point, he’d rather have been shot than row back to shore. “Collette!” he yelled. “Collette Fortier!”

“I will fire on three!” the sailor called.

“Collette!” Rafe called frantically. “Collette, I need to speak to you!”

“One!”

Hell’s teeth. He had never imagined this was how he would die. “Collette!”

“Two.”

Rafe heard the hammer cock.

“Collette!”

“Th—”

Rafe squeezed his eyes shut.

“Stop! I know this man.”

Rafe opened his eyes. On the deck, beside the sailor with the gun, Collette’s small white face looked down at him. “Rafe?”

He grinned at her. “Send down a ladder. I have to speak to you.”

Another face appeared next to hers. “I am the captain, sir. You have not been given permission to come aboard.”

“I need to speak with Miss Fortier.”

“And I have a schedule to keep and paying passengers, not to mention valuable cargo, to transport to America.”

“I’ll pay for him,” Collette said. The captain looked at her.

“Are you sure, miss?”

“Yes, she’s sure. Drop the ladder,” Rafe ordered.

“Not so fast,” Collette said. “Let me hear what he has to say first.”

Rafe scowled at her. “Drop the ladder.”

“If you have something to say, Mr. Beaumont, say it.”

Rafe looked at the ship’s deck. It seemed every soldier and passenger on board peered over the railing or down from the rigging. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, much less say it in front of an audience. But then he looked at her again, and he knew he would do anything not to lose her.

“I came because—” His throat closed. He swallowed and tried to remember what his stepmother had told him. Not everyone woman left. And even if Collette did end up leaving him, even if she rejected him now, she was worth the risk. “Because I want to”—he felt light-headed—“I want to”—just say the word, damn it!—“I want to marry you.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

He gaped. Would she really force him to say it again? “I said, I want to m-marry you.”

“But my father.” She waved a hand, the gesture meant to encompass all that her father had been. “And I…I am not exactly welcome in London.”

“We’ll all go to America together. You and your father can start over there.”

She shook her head. “But you belong in London. What about the balls and soirees—”

“Collette!” he cut her off. Hell’s teeth, but this would have been easier if he hadn’t had to yell up at her. Not to mention he had water past his ankles. “I want to marry you. None of that matters to me anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

He let out a low growl. Couldn’t she understand what he was saying? Did he have to say it in front of everyone?

“I’m saying lower the ladder!”

She stared down at him. “You’re sinking, Mr. Beaumont. Your boat must have a leak.”

“I know! Lower the ladder, goddamn it!”

“Because you want to marry me?”

“Yes!”

“You’re certain?”

The boat lurched, and he felt the cold water on his knees. “Yes. I’m certain.” He had to say it. She wouldn’t lower the ladder until he said it. “Collette, I—” His heart thudded so hard he couldn’t hear anything else. Blood rushed to his head, making it pound. These were words he’d never said, words he’d never thought he would ever say, ever mean. “I love you, Collette Fortier,” he yelled. “I’ve loved you for…I don’t know how long. I should have told you. I love how you blush when I get close to you. I love how your eyes squint when you’re angry. I even love how you pontificate on hedgehogs when you’re nervous. I should have stayed with you. I’m standing here, on this sinking boat, because I cannot lose you.”

She smiled, the expression making her face light up. “I love you too, Rafe Beaumont.” She turned to the captain. “Lower the rope.”

A moment later, a rope dangled down the side of the ship. Rafe looked up, not having realized how bloody high the ship was. He began to climb, holding on to the rope for all he was worth. And trying to ignore the jeers and kissing sounds of the ship’s crew as he made his way to the top.

Finally, his arms shaking with fatigue, he crawled over the rail and collapsed. Collette knelt by his side. “Rafe?” She took his face in her hands. “You really came.”

“You think I’d leave you?” he said between gulps of air.

“I did, yes.”

“I was a fool.”

“Yes.” She hugged him.

“Your father?” he asked when she finally pulled back.

“He’s below. He’s not very happy with you.”

“He’ll have to get used to me.” Reaching in his coat, he removed the lines Draven had decoded. “I took the coded letter from your bed and had it deciphered. You were right about him. The Foreign Office is willing to let him go free. As long as he never comes back.”

“Oh, Rafe!” She embraced him again. “Thank you! Is this why you left?”

Her expression was hopeful that he wanted to say yes. But it was better if they began as they meant to go on. “Nothing so noble. I ran like a coward.”

“You’re no coward, Rafe, and you’re here now.” When he would have argued, she shushed him. “That’s all that matters.”

He would make this up to her, even if it took him the rest of his life. In America. “I’ll never leave you again.”

She helped him to his feet, and the captain stepped in front of him. “Welcome aboard. You have the fare for passage?”

“Would you take an IOU?” Rafe asked.

“Would you like to swim in the Thames?”

“As I said, I’ll pay for his passage,” Collette said. She looked at Rafe. “Gaines gave me a little money.”

That was one more thing he owed Gaines.

“Thank you, madam.” The captain bowed and left them.

Collette looked at Rafe. “So, America. With my father. The assassin.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I knew as soon as you said you would go to America with me you must love me.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes. “And yet you made me say it. In front of the entire ship.”

“I didn’t know if I’d ever hear it otherwise.”

He took her hand. “Madam, I hereby vow to tell you I love you every single day of the rest of our lives.”

“And I’ll do the same. I love you, Rafe.”

He squeezed her hand. “I love you, Collette.”

She took a quick breath. “Do you want to stay on deck and watch us set off? It might be the last you ever see of England.”

He would be back. Rafe knew that as surely as he knew he loved Collette. “Do you have a cabin?” he asked.

“I do.”

“A private cabin?”

She nodded.

“Then England be damned. I have other business to attend to.” He took her in his arms, but she pushed him back with one hand.

“We’re not married yet.”

Rafe froze, shock making him go rigid. “You want to wait? Of course you do. And we should. It’s only what—three, four, six months until we arrive in America? I can wait.”

She gave him a pitying look, and he straightened his shoulders.

“Really, I can.”

She put her arms on his shoulders. “Oh, how I love you.” She bent close and whispered in his ears. “Now, take me belowdecks and ravish me.”

Rafe let out a breath. “Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

“Gladly.” And he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. All around them, the ship erupted with cheers.