Page 123 of A Perilous Passion

Her bosom heaved in relief.

Beckport’s chin rested for a brief moment on her head, then he eased away again. “I’d better go.”

Yes, he’d better. For more reasons than one.

Her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips to moisten them. His gaze followed the movement, and her heart flew to her throat.

He was going to kiss her again!

Half closing her eyes, she readied herself for another passionate onslaught.

Which didn’t come.

He raised her hand for a gallant brush of his lips, then helped extricate her from the laurel bush and bent to retrieve her umbrella.

As he handed it to her, he said, “I’m glad you’re safe. So long as you don’t go gallivanting about on your own again. For now, it would be best to avoid the heath. I have reason to believe the rumors of a highwayman haunting the place are true.”

There he went again, trying to curtail her freedom. But with Aunt Flora off visiting and Mama busily trying to elevate her standing within the village, the prospect of a greater freedom than she’d enjoyed in a long time beckoned.

“Then I hope you will avoid the heath, as well,” she said, tilting her chin at him. “If the highwayman shoots you, you’ll be no use to the crown.”

His eyes glittered with mirth. “I assure you, I’m considered an exceptional marksman. I always carry a brace of pistols,” he said, patting the deep pockets of his coat. “Although, they may now be too damp to fire. No matter. I can always club the highwayman with the butt.”

With that, he swept her a deep bow and strode off down the lane.

She stood beneath her umbrella and watched until he was out of sight. She couldn’t possibly go back to the cottage yet—the fire in her cheeks and the trembling of her hands were far too revealing.

She’d been ready to let him kiss her again—and was certain he wanted to—but he, it seemed, had a far tighter rein on his desires than she did.

How could she offer her lips to him in so wanton a manner? What must he think of her?

Even more mortifying was the fact that he knew about her forbidden relationship with Justin.

How distant those bitter memories seemed now! She could honestly say she regretted her scandalous behavior, defying her mother and setting herself firmly on the road to ruin with an elopement. She felt as if she had been a mere child back then, but had since become a woman.

Even so…it didn’t sit well that Rafe had pried into her past. He need only pry a little deeper and he’d discover she was living a lie for a very different reason.

He’d said he would keep her secret about Justin. But the secret of her father’s guilt was another thing entirely. If Rafe learned of it, surely he’d feel duty bound to expose her family, and hand them over for interrogation. A King’s Pardon promised—but never given—would be scant protection.

Mama—and Aunt Flora, who didn’t even know their dark secret—would be mortified.

And Charlotte would be utterly and irretrievably ruined.

Chapter Nine

Rafe peered at his fob watch in the gathering dusk. It was nearly time for his rendezvous with Goves, his contact from the War Office.

Nightingales churred loudly from the hedgerows as he pushed his way into the near-darkness of the young woodland, which had grown up around the old quarry. Thankfully, it was a fine night. To have walked the ten miles from Fortuneswell in last week’s rain would have been grim. There was an excellent riding horse in the stable at Dovehouse Farm, but no matter how remote the chance it would set off a sneezing fit, he wouldn’t take the risk during a covert meeting. As it was, his fustian breeches were knee deep in dust, and the old boots he wore were sticky with pallid dirt.

He sauntered out into the middle of the quarry, every sense alert. No sounds came back to him but the trilling of the birds and a slight breeze quivering the leaves around the stone on which he stood.

He took out a pipe, filled it, and struck a spark to the wadding in his tinderbox. Pretending to be absorbed in lighting his pipe, he waited until he saw a movement amongst the rocks above him, then removed his wide-brimmed hat, and ran a hand through his hair.

It was the agreed-upon signal. If both his contact and lookout were certain he’d not been followed, a stone would slither down the side of the quarry and land just in front of him.

As the slight click of rock on rock sounded before him, he extinguished the pipe and picked his way over the tumbled boulders to a shadowed cleft in the rock face.

Despite knowing the signal had been sent, he remained on his guard. What if some villain had intercepted his contact and tortured poor Goves into revealing all his secrets, and set up an ambush?