Page 189 of A Perilous Passion

Hamblett grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously, wreathed in smiles. “A brave and resourceful young woman,” he enthused, “if you don’t mind me saying so, my lord. And evidently very fond of you, if I may make so bold.”

Rafe chuckled. “Yes, you may,” he replied, “but only for now. When I return to my accustomed status, you must set a good example for the rest of my household. Otherwise, they’ll all think they can shake my hand and make me listen to their opinions.”

Hamblett stood up straight and saluted him with a nod. Acknowledging this with a grin, Rafe strode to his study, calling for bread, bacon, and ale.

His beloved Charlotte had bought him some precious time—time he and his men could use to take stock of all the new developments and decide their next course of action.

He’d barely set his lips to his tankard when there was a sharp knocking on the study door. Goves hurried in and stood breathless and bedraggled before Rafe’s desk.

“What is it, man?” he asked. “Have you been in a fight?”

“No, sir, but my horse threw me and bolted—damned miserable creature. He sauntered back here without me and is now sucking at hay in your stables, calm as can be, leaving me to run here nearly all the way from the coast.”

Rafe put his tankard down and leaned forward. “You bring urgent news? Out with it, man!”

“A frigate has anchored offshore, just beyond the point. It’s quite misty on the water today, so she can’t be seen from the fort. But I was above that cave you found back in the summer, and spotted it. I couldn’t see much, but she didn’t look to be flying any colors.”

A foolhardy omission, if the ship was a friendly one. “Which would suggest she’s up to no good.”

“Agreed. I think you need to come and see, sir.”

“I’ll bring the men with me. Well done, Goves. Sit here and rest. Help yourself to some bacon and ale.” Clapping the man on the shoulder, Rafe seized his coat, checked his pistols, and swept out, his heart thumping in anticipation.

Bonaparte had not attacked—yet. Which meant Rafe hadn’t failed in his mission. Having tasted the bitter possibility, his resolve hardened. He must send word to Portsmouth for a fast ship to capture the frigate and set an ambush for any party that came ashore.

And he would not, under any circumstances, sneeze.

He fetched the bottle of nostrum Charlotte had given him and took a big swig of the liquid. With the potion inside him, he barely reacted to unfamiliar horses anymore, and his own mount caused no trouble at all. But just in case, he slipped the bottle into his pocket.

Soon, his reputation would be restored, he could return to the duties he was born to, and he would have achieved something to make his darling Charlotte proud.

Nothing must interfere with this enterprise. It was the opportunity he’d been awaiting for months.

His entire future was pinned on its success.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The following evening, Charlotte sat in the carriage en route to the Culverdale’s supper party, decked out in green-striped muslin and fizzing with anticipation. She’d managed to rest most of the morning, and now felt much restored after the excitements—and revelations—of the previous day.

The afternoon had been spent with Thea and Hester, who were also attending the gathering, discussing apparel and hairstyles for the evening. At least, that was what they pretended to be talking about each time Mama came within earshot.

But the only thought in Charlotte’s head was Rafe. So, she couldn’t help but let her friends into some of her secrets.

She confessed to them what he was doing in the area—though she hadn’t mentioned Culverdale’s likely involvement in the plot. She wasn’t quite as sure of their discretion as she was of her own.

Thea could hardly contain herself over the fact that Charlotte had an understanding with the Earl of Beckport, but Hester had been more circumspect, implying it was all happening far too quickly. She’d advised Charlotte to insist on a long courtship so she could find out what manner of man the earl was in his natural surroundings. He was very different to Justin, Charlotte’s first choice of husband, and she shouldn’t allow Beckport’s elevated status to sway her.

Charlotte turned her hands over and stared her palms, grateful she was wearing gloves. She’d been in such a desperate hurry, she’d rung the church bells herself, although several of the Scadden children had come running, thrilled at the idea of a disaster, and had climbed onto chairs and helped her. She wished someone had told her that ropes could burn. Thankfully, the damage was only slight, and an application of a Dr. Campaign remedy had soon removed the sting.

Mama and Aunt Flora sat with her in their hired chaise, and her friends and their families were traveling in convoy in Reverend Daniell’s conveyance. Occasionally, Charlotte would look over her shoulder and wave, forcing a smile, but she was not at all in the right frame of mind to be sociable.

First, there was the problem of Rafe. Yes, she’d given him her heart. But they’d been thrown together in such extraordinary circumstances… Would love fade with the danger that had given birth to it? Would he be a different person when he was no longer Mr. Seabourne? Might his arrogance and commanding nature come once again to the fore, or had his experiences as a commoner put a period to that?

More concerning than any of these was the thought that she was hardly the right wife for an earl. Would he be ridiculed, or worse, shunned, for his choice—at the very moment he was hoping to be most lauded?

If he expected his reputation to be restored through his heroic deeds as a spy, how could he possibly risk marrying the daughter of an infamous smuggler?

Could she bear to endanger the good name Rafe had striven so hard to rebuild?