Page 194 of A Perilous Passion

“Oh, he’ll come. You can be certain of it. And I’m looking forward to his arrival enormously. Have you ever seen a man tortured? No? Then you shall absolutely watch.”

Bitter bile rose into her throat. This man had been to the royal court. He’d meted out justice in the village. He held the welfare of dozens of dependents in his hands. She’d even danced with him, for heaven’s sake!

How could he live such an outrageous lie?

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. She truly wanted to know. “You have everything you could possibly want—rank, privilege, wealth. Why throw in your lot with our country’s enemies? With a regime that has slaughtered countless innocents, including most of your fellow noblemen?”

His smile contained no hint of humor. “I welcome challenge,” he replied, “and I welcome change. The old order is dying, anyone can see that. What use have we for kings in their dotage, for fat princes who care only for their own pleasure? None, whatsoever. The new order in France is refreshing. It must happen here, as well.”

“I don’t necessarily disagree. But what of the bloodshed?” she countered. “You’re prepared to risk lives, even of innocent children?”

“Everything comes at a price.” He fetched a silk handkerchief from his pocket and made great play of stifling a yawn. “I tire of this discussion. Perhaps it’s time to gag you, so I can finish you off in peace. I have to occupy the time somehow until Beckport comes.”

She turned her head away as he seized her bound hands and flung her to the floor. But she’d barely time to register the fresh agony when, with a rush of air, a dark shape hurtled past and knocked Culverdale off his feet.

He gave a grunt of pain, and when she looked up, two men were grappling violently on the slimy surface of the ice. She tugged at her bonds, desperate to escape them, but it was useless. All she could do was watch as the men rolled over and over, clawing, striking and grabbing at one another.

She saw the glint of a knife in Culverdale’s hand. He struck at his assailant, but the man just swore and sent the weapon flying.

Her heart stilled at the curse. She knew that voice. Rafe!

But why was he wearing such ill-fitting clothes? Clothes that made him look a little like…Justin?

There was no time to puzzle it out. She must get herself free, or at least get close enough to distract or immobilize Culverdale.

But Rafe needed no help. He bore down on his foe with grim determination, trapping the older man’s flailing legs, countering every blow with iron strength, and finally pushing Culverdale’s head backward with the flat of his hand until the man’s neck creaked.

The traitor’s body went limp, but Rafe took no chances. He drove his fist so hard into the man’s face the whole body jerked. Culverdale’s head struck the ice.

Then all was still, except for the slow leak of dark blood from the traitor’s nose.

Rafe rolled the inert form away from Charlotte. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said.

A swift step brought him to his knees beside her. He drew her to him, and she collapsed into the strength and safety of his embrace. “Oh, Rafe, thank God.”

“My darling,” he rasped. “Did that whoreson hurt you?”

She could force no more sound past the knot of emotion lodged in her throat, so she just shook her head against the sturdy column of his neck. His chest heaved as he held her closer still, and the moment spun out like a thread unraveling, until her fear and shock slowly ebbed away.

He rocked her in his arms, and soon she felt as if the world was empty but for the two of them, melded together like the strongest steel, one being, unbreakable.

When she finally found her voice, she asked, “Is it over?”

He kissed her hair. “Unfortunately, my love, it isn’t. I still have more battles to fight.”

Which meant he was going to leave her and risk his life again.

How was she going to bear it?

Chapter Forty-Two

An eternity passed before Rafe could bring himself to release his hold on Charlotte. He didn’t want the moment to end, but he needed to free her quickly and get her out of here. Who knew what other torments this night was liable to bring?

He eased back and kissed her gently. Her cheeks were wet—but from her tears, or his, he couldn’t say.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice. Moving behind her, he tugged at the cords that bound her hands, afraid to use Culverdale’s knife lest he cut her.

As he pulled at the knot he continued talking, in hopes of calming her. What she’d just been through was something no young woman should have to face, especially not his future wife.