Page 158 of A Perilous Passion

And mistakes cost lives.

But his heart couldn’t let her go like this. The enmity that had sprung up between them felt like a sword through his insides. The pain, coupled with his guilt, made him feel more wretched than he’d ever felt before in his life.

Was there anything he could do to make it up to her? To assuage the guilt?

Or to make him feel less miserable about letting her go?

Suddenly, it came to him. He could investigate Corporal Triggs’s allegation against her family. If he proved her innocent of wrongdoing, he could quell the rumors being whispered about her. But if he proved beyond doubt she was Abraham Cutler’s daughter, and involved in his criminal activities, Rafe would be absolved. He’d know he was right not to trust her.

Either way, his heart, given time, would surely mend.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Charlotte had absolutely no intention of missing Rafe. He deserved neither her care nor her concern. He’d been poking about in her personal things, for heaven’s sake! How could she possibly forgive such a trespass?

She called herself every name under the sun for having been foolish enough ever to like him, for being so blind to the flaws in his character. He’d thoroughly disappointed her. The feelings she’d developed for him must be delusions arising from loneliness and her vulnerability since Justin’s exile.

Justin.

It was thanks to him she had discovered Rafe’s duplicitous nature. For, it was a second letter from Justin that Rafe had seen her reading.

And yes, the letter had entirely overset her. In it, Justin had informed her he’d decided to desert from his regiment in Scotland. She was terribly afraid for him. Desertion was punishable by death.

It wasn’t the hardships that had spurred him to this desperate act—indeed, he proclaimed himself so strong now, she’d think him a bare-knuckle boxer when she saw him again. What had tipped the balance was the fact he was forced to take orders from fellows far stupider than himself.

To a clever man like Justin, that must have been infuriating. But surely not serious enough to risk deserting over? He should swallow his pride and, instead, strive to become an officer himself. An intelligent man could rise up the ranks, could he not, and one day be as successful as Wellesley or Moore? But if Justin deserted, he’d ruin his chances for any kind of normal life, and bring shame on his family. And if the army ever caught him, he’d be shot.

She was terribly worried he’d try to go home or attempt to visit her in Fortuneswell. He couldn’t know the place was crawling with militia and spies like Rafe and his men. But there was no return address on the letter, no way of writing him back to warn him.

For all she knew, he might already be dead. It was a very long way from Scotland to Dorset.

And then there was the matter of Rafe’s betrayal. Their mutual physical desire was undeniable. But he didn’t trust her. And that was insupportable in either friend or lover.

Thank God the letter was tucked into her bosom, safe from his prying eyes. He was the king’s man, duty bound to pass information of a deserter on to the authorities. She might be incriminated, as well, for keeping the letter a secret.

All these imponderables drove her outdoors, desperate for a breath of sea air. It was late morning, and although it was the first of October, it was warm for the time of year. Mama gave strict orders she should take Aunt Flora with her, and a basket so they could harvest some marram grass for flower arrangements. However, on arriving at the lane, which led to the coast, Flora opted to visit Mrs. Carboys instead. Charlotte was permitted to continue alone, so long as she didn’t wander out of sight, which meant no further than the derelict Oldfield Farm on top of the ridge.

All was quiet as she ascended the steeply sloping path, and soon she was at the top. A stiff breeze flapped her skirts about her legs, bringing a cooling calm to her fevered mind. In the distance, the enticing waves flickered silver and white, making her long to be on the strand picking up seashells, feeling the wet sand push up between her toes, and making sand fortresses like the children did.

The poor children of Fortuneswell! Rafe had told her about the traitor paying youngsters to light their illicit beacons, despite knowing the pyres would explode and kill them. Only a cruel and merciless enemy could hold the lives of innocents so cheap. How awful it would be if little Jesse Scadden or Annabel Embury were blown to smithereens!

Charlotte resolved to question all the children she came across to make sure they weren’t involved.

Her worries about Justin were pushed to the back of her mind as she pondered the issue of the children, the beacons, and the free traders who were helping the French, especially their leader, Lord Culverdale. She just couldn’t fathom such a vicious traitor. She tried not to think about what he might do to her if he discovered her identity. She almost wished Jenny had hit him a lot harder.

How did one stop such a man? How could he be caught and compelled to reveal his accomplices and the locations of the beacons? He might refuse to talk, at all, but go to the gallows laughing while some other vile creature stepped into his shoes and continued with the plot.

If only there were some way she could shed light on the man’s secrets. But she didn’t move in the lofty social circles to which he belonged, so there was no way to get close enough to do anything.

Unless…

What if she somehow let him know she was Abraham Cutler’s daughter, and pretended to want to help him?

The idea so distracted her, she wandered off the path unthinking and found herself in front of a dilapidated barn, overgrown with elder and hawthorn bushes.

She stopped and stared at it. What a superb place this would be to keep a secret lookout over the bay. One could see everything from this vantage point—from a fleet on the horizon to a small skiff nipping into shore ready to unload its cargo close to the cave she and Rafe had found.

At the memory of their shared moment in the cave—she with her skirts up around her waist and Rafe rocking back and forth between her thighs—a wave of heat swept over her so powerful it made her dizzy. She clutched for the wooden doorpost of the barn’s midstrey for support.