Page 23 of A Perilous Passion

“None. I need more time.”

Goves grimaced. “My lord—” he began.

Rafe waved an impatient hand at him. “Mr. Seabourne, please.” Would no one ever remember to use his nom de guerre?

“Your pardon, Mr. Seabourne. Time’s something you may no longer have. Word is the commander wants to move you before you’re found out. There’s talk of Northumbria.”

“Northumbria!” Rafe spluttered. What good did they think he was going to do there? He balled his fists, infuriated. “I’d prefer to have the spider at the center of this web safely in shackles first,” he growled. “Mayhap I should remind the commander I’m a volunteer, not a conscript, and can walk away whenever I choose.”

The other man shrugged. “I’m just the messenger—I don’t give the orders.”

Rafe raised his hands. “I know. Sorry.”

“How will the Frenchies tell the difference between their signal fires and our own regular system of warning beacons?” Goves asked.

“Gunpowder. Each beacon has an explosive charge, so the ships will hear the noise as well as see the flash.”

It only took a second for the awful truth of that to sink in. “But the children lighting the fires will be blown to bits!” Goves exclaimed in horror.

Every time Rafe thought about that he wanted to be sick. “Why should Boney care about that? They’re nothing more than English maggots to him. This is the ugly face of war. And why it’s imperative we catch the devil behind this plot. Before I’m sent somewhere else.”

Goves’s mouth quivered in disgust. “Can’t we find the beacons and destroy them?”

“Believe me, I’m trying desperately to discover their locations. But I imagine only our traitor has that information—which is why I must take him alive. If we send militia or revenue men beating about the hedges and spinneys in search of the beacons, our quarry will go to ground. He’s too dangerous for us to risk losing him. Who knows what other atrocities Bonaparte has him carrying out?”

“But if they’re planning to move you—”

“Somehow, I must draw him out into the open.”

Goves nodded, and they locked eyes for a long moment. “But how?”

Rafe took a steadying breath. “I could offer myself as bait.”

This suggestion was met with a stunned silence. “That is a very bad idea, sir,” Goves muttered.

“What other way is there? If they capture me, they’ll take me to the mastermind for questioning.”

“Or they’ll just kill you without asking questions.” Goves spat into the dirt.

“If he’s half the man I think he is, he’ll want answers from me. He won’t get those from a corpse.”

“A tortured corpse, sir.”

“Only if something goes wrong. I’ll be in no danger with you and Paynter keeping watch. Between the three of us, I’m sure we can overpower anyone he sends after me. The smugglers in league with our traitor are an untrained rabble. And there aren’t more than a handful operating locally since the militia arrived at the fort.”

“You’re willing to bet your life on that?”

Rafe nodded. “Our spider prefers to let only a few into his confidence—he knows it’s safer that way. If I can get myself captured, Paynter will tell you where they’ve taken me, and you can get a small force together to catch our nest of vipers.” He knew the stakes were high, but he if he wanted to win this game, he had to pay the price.

They mulled over his idea a while longer, then bade each other a good night. Rafe waited until Goves was well clear of the quarry before he made his own exit. A brief scramble took him to the top of the low cliff above the cleft where they’d met. Once there, he crouched low and looked around, hoping to skyline anyone who might be about. The moonlight showed nothing more than a couple of swooping bats that whirred softly past his ears, and some rabbits feeding on the scrubby grass. The evening chorus had reduced to the occasional chink of a still-wakeful blackbird and the chafing of a wakeful cricket, and he could hear nothing else but his own breathing.

Starting back on the ten-mile trek, he once again devoutly wished he’d taken a chance and ridden the horse. He fought his way through the tangled foliage that gave way onto the road, and looked it up and down. The moon was setting and it was getting much darker, so he was unlikely to meet anyone. But he remained alert for any sound out of place, so he could take cover immediately.

Damnation. The War Office wanted to move him elsewhere, did they? Not if he had any say in the matter.

He dug his hands into his pockets and marched on, his mind buzzing with Goves’s revelation. Aside from the dangers of this mission, he’d settled comfortably into the farm and village and was enjoying its proximity to the sea. He also liked living amongst the sort of humble folk he’d never encountered as a nobleman. Their company had mellowed and enlightened him. A fascinating world lay beyond the high iron gates of privilege—one filled with as much hardship and sorrow as joy—but one in which he now moved with confidence and compassion.

Being incognito had also, of course, allowed him to spend time in the company of a certain unconventional young lady. Miss Charlotte Allston had impressed him with her presence of mind when he’d invaded her bedchamber, and he recalled with lascivious delight the touch of her lips behind the dripping laurel bush.