Page 186 of A Perilous Passion

But she’d not be able to rest until his assignment was over and they were safely wed. Only then would she feel secure in the knowledge that he was entirely hers, and the duties that might take him from her side were not potentially fatal.

Rolling over, she closed her eyes and prayed that sleep would put an end to her fears.

But it did not.

So she deliberately filled her mind with the pleasant memories of Rafe’s touch, the image of his well-honed body, and the words of love he had spoken.

Which only brought a whole other avalanche of fears to her tormented mind.

Thus, she was still awake when Jenny arrived at the cottage to light the stove and start preparing the breakfast. In the next room, Aunt Flora started clonking about as she prepared for the day. Moments later, the door closed and she heard her aunt make her way downstairs.

With a sigh, Charlotte lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She may as well admit defeat and get up.

A muffled sound of voices came up from the kitchen, followed by footsteps clattering up the stairs. A rapid knocking on her door had her up in an instant. She swung it open to reveal a flustered-looking Aunt Flora.

“Whatever’s the matter?” she asked.

“Jenny’s just arrived and told me she heard in the village that the Earl of Beckport is known to be staying in the area under the alias of Mr. Rafe Seabourne and living at Dovehouse Farm. If everybody knows it’s him, won’t that prejudice his mission?”

Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face. Rafe’s presence was known? Her pulse sped. Now his mission would be even more treacherous.

If word reached Lord Culverdale, it would put Rafe in serious danger.

She had to think of something, fast, to save the man she loved!

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Charlotte, sit down at once! I’ll fetch the smelling salts.”

Ignoring her aunt, Charlotte picked up the clothes she’d been wearing the previous day, still a little damp from the dousing, and hastily got dressed.

When her aunt returned, she was dragging a comb through her tangled curls and cursing each time it snagged.

“Sit down!” repeated Aunt Flora, with unexpected authority. “I don’t know why you’re in such a rush. What can you do about anything?”

She sat obediently on the edge of her bed, but when the pungent smelling salts were wafted under her nose, she waved them away. “I’m just so worried. Rafe— I mean, Lord Beckport’s mission was more important than you know.”

Her aunt gazed at her a moment, then sat down beside her. “I may know more than you think,” she said gently. “What can I do to help? You can rely on my complete discretion.”

If only Charlotte could confide in someone! If people went to Dovehouse Farm to catch a glimpse of Rafe—as the gossips undoubtedly would for an infamous peer—not only would Rafe be exposed, but Justin would be, too. And be mistaken for a deserter. All hell would break loose.

Whatever was she to do? She must warn them both!

“What’s going on, Charlotte?”

She forced herself to calm down. Panic would solve nothing. Perhaps she should confide in Aunt Flora—she’d always been very level-headed.

Before she could frame a sentence, Flora said, “Perhaps you’ll be cheered by the other news I have to share. There’s to be supper party tomorrow night at Finchcombe House.”

Charlotte’s heart jolted. “Finchcombe House? Isn’t that the Culverdales’ estate?”

“It is, indeed. But it’s very odd, them giving virtually no notice. We’ve accepted, of course, though I don’t suppose there’ll be anybody there I want to talk to.” Her aunt looked wistful, but Charlotte’s mind was buzzing too busily to wonder why.

The Culverdales were having an impromptu supper party? If Rafe was right that the previous ball had been to distract the locals during a smuggling run, did it mean another run was happening tomorrow?

Rafe couldn’t possibly know about this, or he’d have mentioned it.

But how on earth was she to get word to him covertly, especially now that everyone knew his true identity and direction?