Chapter Seventeen
Charlotte retired early, and Aunt Flora was detailed to escort her up to bed. Flora handed her the key and whispered that she should lock her bedchamber door from the inside, lest Mama try it when she came up.
“Be careful, and please don’t stay out too long.”
Since when had Flora become a fellow conspirator? She’d always been too much under the command of her older sister to rebel, yet here she was, doing exactly that. Would she be abetting her, Charlotte wondered, if Flora knew what she was planning?
At ten o’clock, when all was quiet in the house, Charlotte peered over the window sill. The sky was lit by the rising moon sailing amongst intermittent clouds, casting just enough light to see by.
The thick vines on the trellis looked horribly vertical. But if Rafe could do it, so could she. She was lighter, and there were bushes below to break her fall, just in case.
Heavens, what had the man done to her? She was supposed to be redeeming herself after her escapade with Justin, but instead, Rafe was making her do even more scandalous things.
Much more unladylike things. Her skirts had to be tucked right up, and her bent knees kept wide apart as she clambered down. It wasn’t until she reached the ground that she stopped to think whether she’d be able to get up again.
No matter. She’d worry about that when the time came.
It was critical she know that Rafe was safe. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest at the idea that he might not be. How she would miss his voice, the touch of those masterful fingers, and the intriguing brown of his dark-lashed eyes! Even though they weren’t supposed to meet again, the idea of its being impossible—for eternity—sent a wash of grief through her almost too intense to bear.
She tamped down the anguish and quickened her pace.
A tawny owl kee-wicked from the wood to her left and was answered by the ghostly hoot of another up ahead. All senses alert, she bent low and tiptoed past the houses, avoiding the busy tavern and taking a shortcut through the tumbled churchyard to avoid discovery.
It was full dark by the time she reached the outskirts of Byroad village, but the moon had now risen above the cloud, giving her more light to see her way. Following Thomas’s description, she located the ancient milestone almost hidden by a patch of rank nettles, which indicated she was nearing Dovehouse Farm.
Around the first bend, a small notice signaled the turnoff to the farm. A chill of fear skittered up her spine as she stepped between the arching trees of the lane. The moonlight cut off abruptly, and the shadows deepened, and sometimes—though she hoped she was imagining it—moved. She increased her pace.
When she reached the farm, it barely looked to be in use. Through the gloom, she could see a cow byre with a drunken roof, and a granary with a broken door. Grass pushed up between the cobbles in the yard, and the farmhouse itself hid like a castle keep behind the curtain wall of a tall hedge. In the stable, which seemed in better repair than some of the other buildings, a horse was tearing at hay.
Who else lived at the farm? She doubted he’d have brought a bevy of servants with him, as that wouldn’t have suited the status of Mr. Seabourne. It must be hard for one of his class to live like this, in constant danger, unprotected by position or wealth, and without the comforts that were his birthright. Having borne such trials and privations for king and country, it would be grim, indeed, if he’d come to grief at the end of a smuggler’s pistol.
Without warning, a gloved hand came hard over her mouth, pulling her back against a barrel-like chest.
Not Rafe’s.
Her heartbeat took flight.
A rough voice ground out against her ear, “What are you up to, my girl?”
“Mmmph!”
Numb with shock, she felt the cold steel of a blade against her throat. Struggling would doom her in a second, so she went rigid.
“Don’t scream,” she was ordered.
She nodded her understanding, and the hand over her mouth was removed.
“I’m…I’m just checking on Mr. Seabourne,” she rushed to say. “Someone was killed on the heath last night, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t him.”
The knife edged away from her neck, and the air gushed from her lungs in relief.
“Name?” growled the voice.
How could she tell her captor without putting her family at risk? “Elizabeth Bettany,” she rasped, hoping she sounded convincing.
“Seabourne’s never said anything to me about any Elizabeth Bettany.”
“You know him?”
“Yes. Let’s go find out if he knows you. Walk in front of me. And don’t think about running off—this knife will punch a hole in your gasket quicker than you please.”
“He’s alive?” She forced her shoulders to relax and her madly racing heart to slow down.
“Aye,” said her captor. “He’ll prove that to you himself soon enough. But don’t expect him to thank you for disturbing him. He likes his privacy, does Mr. Seabourne.”
She wanted to say that she knew all about Mr. Seabourne, and exactly why he kept to himself. But who knew if she could really trust this man? Best remain silent.
He ushered her inside the farmhouse where, to her enormous relief, Rafe stepped through a side door, a half smile on his face.
When he saw her, the smile faded. “What in God’s Name are you doing here?”
She swallowed. He looked tousled and more handsome than ever. Thank heaven he was alive! “I needed to see you,” she said, gathering her wits. “I was concerned for your welfare.”
He scowled down at her. “I distinctly recall telling you we weren’t to meet again.”
“You do know the young lady, sir?” asked the man behind her in surprise.
“Yes, Paynter, I do. That will be all for now, thank you. I’d be much obliged if you’d scout around to make sure nobody followed this foolhardy young female.”
Damn him! She’d stolen out in the dead of night because she feared he was dead, and all he could do was loom in the passageway, glaring at her.
She felt the prickle of tears and spun round to follow the man called Paynter back out the door.
An iron grip fastened on her elbow. “In here, madam,” Rafe said. “We need to talk.”
Disappointment warred with joy. He was alive—frustratingly, annoyingly, arrogantly alive. He looked sturdy and strong as ever, the power and heat of him filling the gap between their bodies. She barely took in the detail of the room he drew her into—her eyes were trapped by his penetrating gaze.
“I thought you had some sense about you,” he said, “but I see I was mistaken. Didn’t I make it clear our liaison was at an end?”
Liaison?
She shook herself free of his grip and held her head high. Why did he look so angry? She was the one who should be furious.
“Don’t flatter yourself that I came because I couldn’t bear to be parted from you. I merely wanted to make sure you weren’t the poor soul killed on the heath last night. I know you sometimes haunt the place as part of your assignment.” She ground her teeth. “Though, why I should care a jot for your worthless hide is beyond me.”
His face—that sculpted, devilishly handsome face—softened not one bit. He said coolly, “I appreciate that you care about my worthless hide, but you endanger yourself being out alone after dark. The woods are full of bandits, the bracken and the beach are crawling with smugglers, and militiamen aren’t known for their gentlemanly behavior where unescorted young ladies are concerned. You’ve been very foolish, indeed.”
She crossed her arms over her midriff in frustration. “How else was I to find out what had happened to you? I was careful, I was quiet, and I’m sure no one saw me, or followed me.”
“The danger is greater than you believe. Any association with me could bring suspicion down upon you.”
She knew quite well what risk she was taking.
Unless there was something he wasn’t telling her…
“But I am associated with you,” she said crisply. “If you’re so worried, wouldn’t it be better for you to offer me protection, rather than rail at me?”
He gave her a considering look. “Much as I’d like to, I don’t have the manpower. I can’t risk being seen with you again, Paynter’s keeping watch, and Hamblett, my valet, would be insulted if I asked him to do guard duty.” Rafe grimaced. “So. What am I to do with you, now you’re here?”
She scanned his face in the flickering candlelight. His anger had cooled, and so had his manner. Yet, there was something else, a fierce glint in his eye that belied his coldness—something deeply primal that called to her.
Something that made her want to throw herself into his embrace and kiss him senseless.
Time to leave.
“Now that I’m assured of your safety, I’ll go,” she said firmly.
“No!”
The violence of his reaction made her step back.
“No,” he repeated, more gently. “Too dangerous. You must remain here until daylight, then I’ll take you back myself.”
She shook her head vigorously. “I can’t wait till then. They’ll know I’ve been out, and I’ll be imprisoned again. I must go now.”
He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes as if in pain. “Why won’t you listen to me? It’s too dangerous.”
“And I’m telling you, I’ll be careful. I didn’t meet a soul coming here.”
“Not the point!” he bit out.
“Why?” She threw out her hands in frustration. “Is there something more to your operation than just catching smugglers? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He fixed her with a stare so grim she flinched away.
“On the contrary, Miss Allston,” he said stonily. “I rather think there’s something you’re not telling me.”