Chapter Twenty
“Engaged? She’s not engaged, she couldn’t be.”
“She’s obviously not, but that is what is being said, thanks to that bat of a chaperone.”
Rafe cursed and rubbed his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t have had Kit and Blackmoor assist in this when he couldn’t be involved himself. It was going to kill him to turn all of this over to them, but what else could he do? He could not pretend his dual life did not present risks, and he could not… could not reveal that side of him yet.
It was why he’d asked them to see to Margaret at Tibby’s party, and why he would dare to rescind his acceptance of her invitation. It was why he had prompted Tibby to get involved in the first place, though she would never know him well enough to know he had manipulated everything through her niece and Kit. It was why they were here now, telling him the things he craved to know, but could not explain why.
“Marianne says things are awful for Margaret at home, she and Tibby talk about it all the time.”
Rafe looked up at his friends, sitting in his library far too early for a man who worked himself into a frenzy at all hours and did not sleep well anymore. “I’ve heard, but what can I do about that? I can’t storm the house and pull her out and ride off into the sunset.”
“I don’t see why not,” Blackmoor said with a shrug. “I think that would be rather poetic of you.”
Rafe glared at him, which did not have much effect, as Blackmoor was usually the one doling out the glares, and far more successfully. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“Actually,” Kit said as he sat back and watched Rafe carefully, “I don’t see why not either. Lord Marlowe can do whatever he wants, you’d be a fine match for her, and it would solve all of your problems.”
Rafe winced and looked away, his traitorous heart pounding harder at the thought.
“Wait…” Blackmoor said slowly. “Wait. Lord Marlowe isn’t the one who wants her.”
“Excuse me?” Kit barked, his pitch higher than normal. “But… Oh, Rafe, you didn’t…”
Rafe sank further into his chair.
Blackmoor swore and Kit echoed it with a milder version.
“I met her as the Gent,” he said softly, almost defensively. “No one in their right mind would have thought me a peer, and I couldn’t very well reveal myself.”
“And when was this?” Kit asked.
“Ages ago. Months. We’ve been… That is…” He sighed heavily and rubbed at his brow. “Our relationship is unusual. Less verbal.”
Blackmoor snorted a loud laugh, which drew a scolding glare from Rafe. “That is not what I mean. I mean as the Gent, I move freely about London and I have seen her on a regular basis for months.”
“Stalking?” Blackmoor suggested, a half smile on his face. That was a testament to his change, as Blackmoor never even managed that prior to his marriage. Gemma had changed him in more ways than one, but that was the most obvious.
“No!” Rafe insisted. Then he wrinkled up his nose in distaste. “Maybe. But not like that.”
Kit looked at Blackmoor with a tame expression. “Well, that’s making sense, isn’t it?”
Blackmoor nodded. “Yes, I follow perfectly.”
“Shove off.”
“Gladly, once you actually explain yourself.”
“Yes, Rafe, do explain.”
He tried, he really did, but no matter how many times he tried to describe his relationship with Margaret, it always sounded strange and flat. There was no magic in the retelling, not in his following her, or her looking for him, or their ten-second moments. It would make no sense to anyone else, and he didn’t see why it should.
But as these were his most trusted friends, he had nowhere else to go.
“Rafe, you’re like a puppy, what is all of this?” Kit finally asked with a laugh. “You’ve never been like this in all the years we’ve known you.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if you might be mad from your years of spying,” Blackmoor added with a sage nod. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Rafe looked at them both, then leveled a serious look at Kit. “How do you explain how you felt the first time Marianne captivated you?”
Kit inhaled sharply, his amusement fading into surprise. “I… She…”
Rafe turned to Blackmoor. “How do you explain how Gemma makes you smile and laugh when thunder fled from you before?”
“Well…” Blackmoor began, looking uncomfortable. “She’s… It’s complicated.”
“No. It’s not.” Rafe shook his head slowly. “I can’t describe it. I don’t know why things happened the way they did, or why it means so much when we’ve actually not had much time together at all. But I love her. As the Gent, as Lord Marlowe, as Raphael William Edward Thornton, and with everything that all three of them are. She doesn’t know who I really am, and the person she knows me as is in no position to provide the solution to her problem. But I cannot sit idly by and let her be treated like this. And I will be damned to hell five times over before I will let Sir Vincent Castleton have her.”
His friends sat there for a long moment, staring at him in wonder. Then Blackmoor turned to Kit with an innocent expression. “I think he loves Miss Easton, Gerrard. Just a thought.”
“You might be right,” Kit murmured, still watching Rafe.
Rafe slumped back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face. “I am going mad with it, so please, tell me everything.”
“First of all, Gent,” Blackmoor said with a hint of mockery on his street name, “I think you might need to tell her that you love her.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“She told me to get out.”
His friends made sympathetic noises, and he glared at them both. “I know! I climbed the wall of her house and into her bed chamber just to see her, and she rebuffs my declaration?”
Kit clicked his tongue. “Such disregard for your efforts.”
Sensing he was being mocked, Rafe sniffed dismissively. “After all I’ve done for her, that wasn’t proof enough that I wanted to be with her.”
“And what exactly have you done?” Blackmoor asked, lacing his fingers around one of his knees and sitting back.
With a resigned sigh, Rafe told them the rest. He left out the parts that related to national security, naturally, but everything else he told, including the things Callie had told him about Margaret’s visit with Sir Vincent. He told them about the Bounty and the rumors, everything Margaret would have heard there, and the change it had wrought in her.
They listened with interest, their faces darkening at the appropriate times, and then faint amusement settling in by the end. The more Rafe spoke, the more the tightening in his chest began to unravel, and the more he missed Margaret and all she meant to him. And the more confused he became about why he was sitting around and not taking her for himself.
“Well, that was enlightening,” Kit said when the story was done, scratching at his jaw.
“Certainly was.” Blackmoor nodded slowly, his eyes on Rafe the entire time.
Rafe rolled his eyes and folded his arms about his chest. “And?” he prodded without patience.
Blackmoor shrugged, and Kit smiled. “We’re still of the opinion that you should storm the house and take her for yourself.”
“What?” Rafe barked. “I already told you I can’t.” But it was sounding more like a good idea the more they repeated it.
“Indeed.” Blackmoor’s mouth twitched in an almost smile. “So, in light of that, the protection of several powerful members of Society might be your best bet.”
“Which is why I had you all take her under your wings and introduce her to everyone you could at Tibby’s. Thank you for that, by the way.” He looked between the two with a smile.
Blackmoor waved it off. “That was easy. I hadn’t known much of Miss Easton before this, but I was impressed with her. She showed a lot of spirit, and I think that, given the chance, she will break off her restraints.”
Rafe smiled before he was aware of it, a surge of pride swelling within him. “She is not quite the demure and proper miss she portrays.”
Kit chuckled a little. “That explains why Tibby has taken such an interest in her.”
“And Gemma,” Blackmoor added.
“And it’s why I love her,” Rafe admitted. “One of the reasons, anyway.”
There was so much to love about Margaret, so many pleasant surprises, even for him, who thought he knew her so well. She would never become dull, life with her would never be tame, and he knew that he would find more and more to love about her as time went on.
He needed her, and that was all there was to it.
“So what can we do?” Kit asked him. “You obviously love her, so why aren’t you with her?”
“Are they preventing you from being with her?” Blackmoor’s question was sharp and accusatory, and Rafe was torn between defending his colleagues and praising his friend’s loyalty.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to make the distinction.
He smiled wryly. “Actually, they are working on taking care of certain situations so that I can be with her while still maintaining my position.”
Both men looked surprised by that, and exchanged a look. “You are going to have to reveal your real identity, you know,” Kit told him carefully. “And what you are.”
Rafe shrugged. “I am prepared to do so, as soon as it is safe.”
Blackmoor nodded, but frowned. “And until then?”
The question was expected, but it didn’t lessen the pain of it. “Until then,” Rafe told them on a long exhale, “I am to continue as I am, focus on my task, and not cause any trouble.”
“So you need me to cause trouble,” Blackmoor said bluntly.
Rafe barked a laugh, tossing his head back. “Not at all. I just need you two to continue to mind her, if she manages to get out in Society. I have one of my scouts posted at her house and following her everywhere, and Callie is still in Sir Vincent’s employ, but…” He shrugged uneasily. “I need to know she is protected at all times, as I am not in a position to do so.”
Kit had been watching him closely, and now leaned forward, his eyes earnest. “Rafe, what else are you doing? You have dark shadows under your eyes and lines on your face, and you’re not as sharp as you normally are. I know you well enough to know this is more than a poor night’s sleep. What else?”
He had not expected any such accusations, nor had he thought that he showed so very much of his exhaustion. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them everything, how he had spent his nights outside of her home, near her window, just to ensure that nothing happened. If his information was correct, Sir Vincent would stop at nothing to have Margaret, and her chaperone was somehow in favor of it, if not orchestrating the whole thing. He’d had visions of Sir Vincent coming to Margaret’s bedchamber, and the horror of such scenes terrified him to his core.
He might not be able to be by Margaret’s side, given her situation and her last words to him, but it was not about to keep him from ensuring her safety and well-being as much as he was able.
He was treading a fine line as it was, and if anything else happened, he would probably do something irrational.
A knock on his study door prevented him from having to answer Kit. Davis entered and raised a fluffy brow in greeting. “Sir, a message for you.”
“From whom?” he asked, signaling for the butler to come over.
“The lad did not say, sir,” Davis said, delivering the note, bowing, and departing the room.
Rafe’s hands stilled on the note, and he glanced up at his friends to see them watching warily. He broke the seal and scanned the lines in Rogue’s scratchy scrawl quickly.
Your Roman uncle is in the office. Says the renegade is recruiting. Damsel in distress. Details upon arrival.
He shot to his feet, his mind scrambling. He had no living relatives, as Rogue knew, let alone ones from Rome, so he could only deduce that meant a Rom was in the office, and there was only one Rom that would seek him out through official straits. Kem had come into London, which had never happened in the years he had known him, and if that was true, the renegade would be Pov, and if Pov, working for Sir Vincent, was attempting to recruit…
And the only damsel that could be in distress would be Margaret.
Rafe was out of the study before his friends said a single word, and he gave them no apology or explanation. They were used to his comings and goings, and if they needed to know, he would have told them.
He slipped out of his house through the kitchens, and took the crooked back streets to the office at a fast clip, his mind spinning. Was Margaret in danger at this moment, or was it in the future? Was Pov inciting a riot with his brothers and other discontented Roms? Had Sir Vincent finally shown his hand?
It was a maddeningly complex situation, and it ought to have been very simple. Curse his life and its various aspects that were now all getting in the way of each other.
He pushed into the office when he arrived and tossed his cap at Gordon, who caught it and hung it on the wall automatically.
Rogue and Kem met him in the hall, both wearing serious expressions.
“What is it?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”
Kem shook his head slowly. “I am so sorry, Gent. I didn’t know.”
“Know what?” He was close to bellowing, but he was beyond caring.
“In here,” Rogue ordered, gesturing with his head towards the empty office.
Rafe and Kem followed, and only when the door was closed did Kem look at Rafe again.
“Tell me,” Rafe said darkly. “Tell me everything.”
“Pov has been in contact with his brothers,” Kem told him. “They communicate frequently, despite my dictates. He’s been trying to convince them to come with him. He knows Margaret was in the camp, and that you are her protector.”
Rafe swore and sank into a chair, putting his head into his hands.
“His brothers started to get suspicious when he wanted details of the girl,” Kem went on, “and they brought their concerns to me. They liked Margaret and you know they respect you greatly. They have no interest in joining him, and are keeping others from doing so.”
Rafe didn’t respond to that. He rubbed his hands over his face and looked up. “What is Pov doing?”
Kem looked disgruntled, and folded his massive arms. “He works for a peer in London. I don’t know who. It is not respectable work, that much I do know. He will do whatever is requested for an impressive sum of money, and it seems his employer has enough to keep him on.”
“I know who it is,” Rafe muttered darkly, “and I know what sort of a man he is.”
“Then perhaps you would like to know that the man in question is asking more unusual things of Pov?” Kem suggested, his tone matching Rafe’s. “Like procuring a carriage without windows and a driver to be on standby? Or that Pov has been examining Margaret’s house and layout?”
The room went deathly still, and Rafe could only blink.
“Or that your urchin has seen Pov talking with the bat?” Rogue added in a low voice. “And another report came in about him talking with the bat’s footmen?”
Rafe looked at Rogue, who leaned against the desk, watching him.
“Well?” Rogue said quietly. “What do we do about this?”
“He’s going after her,” Rafe said quietly. “That’s what this is. The bat is in on it, if not working for him, and all of this is to get him Margaret.”
“Why?” Rogue asked bluntly. “What does she have to offer?”
Kem growled darkly and Rafe held up a hand. “He’s all right, he likes Margaret a great deal.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” Kem snarled.
Rogue looked mildly surprised. “You too?” He looked at Rafe in exasperation. “She’s won over everyone, except for London Society. How did you manage to fall for the one woman in the world who actually suits your life?”
Rafe managed a smile. “I am that good.” He pressed his hands against his temples. “Why Margaret? He doesn’t even need to marry, and he’s never had an inclination before. Of all the women in London, why…?” Realization dawned and he dropped his hands, eyes widening. “It’s all about the money.”
“What?” Rogue asked, having missed his muttering.
Rafe got to his feet, pacing the room. “It’s money. He said at the beginning that he had a plan, something that would bring in unending profits, or some such. A contract, and pieces in place. Don’t you see? They need money to fund the operations, and we couldn’t figure out where it was going to come from. He doesn’t have impressive financial ties, not like the others, and we could prove theirs. He’s taking Margaret’s money.”
Rogue whistled low. “Is it a lot?”
Rafe nodded quickly. “She has her own inheritance, plus whatever her aunt has coming. She’s an heiress, and if anybody knew just how much she is worth, she would not be nearly so ignored.” He paced faster, his mind whirling. “He doesn’t need to marry, he doesn’t care about Margaret, he just needs the money. Her parents are gone, which makes it easy to compromise her, and…” He stopped and whirled to Rogue, who stared at him wide-eyed. “The chaperone is in on it, and he’d be able to compromise her without any resistance there. And the bat is just cruel enough to make sure it is a public spectacle with no recourse available but marriage.”
Rogue moved quickly out of the room and barked something at Harrison that he couldn’t make out.
Kem stared at Rafe without expression, then exhaled slowly. “I am sorry, Gent, for what Pov has done, and the part he plays.”
Rafe shook his head and came over to shake Kem’s hand. “No apologies needed, old friend. You are not responsible for Pov. Every man must make his own path.”
“Well, if you see him again, feel free to kill him. Te malavel les i menkiva.” Kem spat on the floor, shaking his head.
May the malignant disease waste him. Rafe coughed a surprised laugh at the harsh insult, and allowed Kem to clamp him on the shoulder, then slip from the building without any fuss.
Rafe rather hoped a malignant disease would waste Pov. That would solve many problems. On the other hand, without Pov trying to recruit his brothers, they wouldn’t have received this information, and now he thought he might be able to make a move. Now he could act.
Now he could save Margaret.
But first…
He jotted off a note on a slip of paper, folded it, and left the now empty office.
Out in the street, he whistled, and one of his little tykes, Frank, appeared.
He gave the sandy-haired boy a serious look. “Take this to Helen Dalton, tell her Tibby will vouch for it, and wait for a response.”
Frank nodded, took the note, and dashed off.
Rafe stared after him for a long moment, then sighed softly. “Hold on, pet. Hold on.”