Chapter Eighteen
When Charlotte didn’t immediately respond, just stared at him with those great hazel eyes of hers, Rafe hoped desperately that Corporal Triggs had been wrong about her identity.
He wanted her to be innocent.
He needed her to be innocent.
“You’re supposed to be a spy,” she said loftily. “I thought you knew everything, my lord.”
Cheeky chit.
He should ask her about Essex. And demand she tell him who her father was. Not knowing was eating him up inside.
“I don’t believe you’ve been honest with me, Charlotte. How can I trust you when you don’t tell me everything I ought to know?”
She put her hands on her hips. Distracting him. Lord, what fine curves she had!
He shook the thought away and fixed his gaze back on her face.
Was it his imagination, or had she gone pale?
“I assumed,” she said, “since you’ve delved deep enough to discover my scandalous elopement, that you’d found out all you wanted to know about me. What else is there? What dastardly things can a nineteen-year-old woman have done in her brief lifetime to discomfit an earl?”
She had a point. All he had was the hearsay of a single man, eyewitness though he may be. Even if Triggs’s suspicion wasn’t a case of mistaken identity, it didn’t prove Charlotte had been involved in, or even knew about, her father’s illegal dealings. He needed positive proof before condemning her.
“Sit down,” he ordered. “I’ve some questions for you.”
Folding her dignity about her like a cloak, she sat opposite his desk. Feeling very much the inquisitor, he took his place behind it.
“What do you know of the smugglers hereabouts?”
She looked genuinely surprised. “Nothing, save that you want to round them up. And that they’ve been using a cave off the beach. Have you explored it more thoroughly yet?”
He raised a hand. “I’m asking the questions, remember?”
“Of course.” She looked so like a schoolgirl attending to her lessons, he almost smiled. How could anyone think she had a shameful past? She appeared innocence itself.
But looks could be deceiving.
“Nothing else?” he persisted. “No names, no suspicions?”
“No. You know I’d help you if I could.”
“Have you told anyone about my assignment?”
Again, that look of wide-eyed innocence. “Of course not! You were most emphatic we should stay silent.”
He pressed his fingers together and stared down at a scratch on his desk. This was probably the truth. If she’d been in league with the local free traders, a knife between the ribs would have sent him to an early grave by now.
Tilting his gaze up again, he met hers squarely and asked, “Before you came to this part of the world, did you live in Essex?”
She went deathly still. “Yes, I was born in Essex. It’s where my family comes from. There’s a jest there that every other baby born in Walden has Hartington blood.” Her eyes grew moist and she looked away. “I miss my home dearly.”
If she was acting, this was a creditable performance. His doubts faded. “Could you not go back? If only for a visit?”
“We can’t afford to travel. As you must know if you’ve been prying into our affairs.”
The look she gave him made him feel a swine. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I suppose I must forgive you,” she said, “since spying is your trade.” Again, she met his gaze squarely. “Now it’s my turn to question you. What exactly did happen on the heath last night?”
How could he not believe in her?
“A soldier was shot and killed,” he said. “A small detachment from the fort was on patrol. They’d received intelligence that a frigate was due in bearing contraband from France and were working with the revenue men to intercept the cargo. It went badly. A small patrol of young, ill-trained militia is no match for hardened free traders.”
“That’s awful,” she said sincerely.
He pushed out a frustrated breath. “I wish I’d known of their plans. I’m positive not just cargo, but secret papers are being brought to Dorset, direct from Napoleon. The ringleader of the smugglers is also a spy for the French, a traitor.”
He glanced up to see what effect this revelation had on her. Her lips were parted and she looked genuinely horrified. “An Englishman?” she asked incredulously.
“Presumably. The date of the drop was no doubt chosen to coincide with last night’s ball, when the whole village was occupied elsewhere.” His chair scraped back and crashed against the window ledge as he rose and stalked over to the fireplace. “I should have been there, in charge of those soldiers. I’d never have let them be such an easy target.”
“You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault, Rafe,” she said, her eyes filled with compassion.
He stalked back to the desk again. “I should have known. I was a short-sighted idiot to attend that ball. I should have been at my post, vigilant. But instead, I made a tryst with you. Had it not been for my selfish desires, that soldier might still be alive, and I might have intercepted those vital dispatches from Napoleon. Intelligence that could have saved thousands of British lives.”
His voice had risen with each word. Charlotte’s eyes were wide as saucers. He stared down for a moment at his balled fists to calm himself. “Make no mistake, I don’t blame you. The fault is all mine. I’ve threatened you, I’ve forced you to meet with me, I’ve pushed my unwanted attentions upon you. I’m truly sorry, Charlotte.” When she said nothing, he looked up. “Charlotte?”
She seemed not to be listening.
Suddenly, she shot out of her chair and grasped him by the sleeve. “Rafe! I think I know who the ringleader is!” In her face was pure excitement, not deceit.
“How is that possible?” he demanded. “Tell me!”
“At the ball last night I danced with the Earl of Culverdale. He was dressed as Apollo—you must have seen him.”
“Of course. What about it?”
“I noticed he vanished for a long while, which seemed odd for the host. At first, I thought he was just at cards or smoking a pipe or whatever gentlemen do. But when he appeared for his dance with me, his hands were cold, as if he’d been outside. And his boots dropped something on the floor that felt gritty under my slippers, like sand. I thought it very strange he’d gone to the beach and not had his boots cleaned before the ball.”
Rafe stared at her, instantly grasping her meaning. “You think he went during the ball.”
“He must have ridden faster than the wind. But…yes, it’s the only plausible explanation.”
Rafe paced the room, his mind tangled in frenzied thought.
Culverdale.
The earl would have just the right amount of authority to tempt secrets out of unwary ministers and generals but was too high in the instep to be considered a potential traitor. Even Rafe had dismissed him as a self-important bore. Clearly, he’d underestimated the man.
What might the earl’s motives be? Capital interests in France? Family connections? Was he being blackmailed, or being promised the earth by Bonaparte?
Or simply a man with no loyalty or patriotism?
“I think you may be right,” he said slowly, “but don’t involve yourself in this. Let me deal with it. We need to concentrate on getting you home safely with your reputation intact. Wait here in the study for now, and don’t move a muscle. Promise me?”
She nodded, but her eyes sparked with pleasure. Because she’d successfully turned his focus away from herself? Or because she’d helped him?
He hoped the latter.
As soon as he found Paynter, he brought him back inside and introduced him to Charlotte. Having been reassured the man’s pistol was primed, Rafe bade him wait in the hallway for a moment.
“Pay attention,” he said to her, returning to his study. “No more midnight walks, unless it’s a matter of life or death. Never go out alone. And I strictly forbid you ever to come here again. If there’s something urgent you must tell me, have Thomas the Carrier find me. I’ll come straight away or send one of my men. But only if you’re in dire straits. Understood?”
She nodded, but her disappointment was palpable. Clearly, she’d been poised to share his adventure. If nothing else, the woman had great courage.
Either that, or she’d been brought up by a master felon who’d taught her to take care of herself.
“I understand,” she replied primly. “I’ll go with Paynter, and I’ll try to restrain myself from troubling you again in future. Good luck with your endeavors, my lord.”
He ached to take her in his arms and say a proper farewell, the way his heart desired, but forced himself to step back. “One day, when all this is over, I hope to be able to make amends to you.”
She pulled her shawl tightly about her shoulders and moved past him into the passageway. “No need, sir,” she said icily. “I’ve had a little adventure, which has relieved the tedium of my existence. If I’ve helped my country by offering up a suspected traitor, then I’m satisfied. I neither want, nor expect, anything further from you.”
Touché, Charlotte! Of course she was angry; of course she was cold. He’d given her every reason to be.
He wasn’t accustomed to being hurt by a woman’s words. But hurt him they had. As she walked away from him and out into the night with Paynter, he felt as if he’d just been kicked in the chest.
His heart ached with her rejection.
And he wondered how long it would take to numb the pain.