Page 35 of A Perilous Passion

As the temporary blindness from the lantern abated, Rafe saw a flash of red with white webbing. A Redcoat. “I was just searching for a handkerchief,” he said mildly. “I’m Mr. Seabourne. Who are you?”

“Corporal Triggs, of the 12th Reserves, garrisoned at the fort. Why are you headed toward the heath at this time of night?”

Rafe glanced to one side. Moonlight glinted off a rifle barrel aimed directly at his chest. More soldiers had gathered quietly in the darkness, but Triggs was the only one with a lantern.

Rafe groaned inwardly. He hadn’t meant to come this way. His bed awaited him, not his duty. So, why had he turned his steps in the direction of the sea? Damnation. Charlotte Allston was making minced meat of his mind.

“The heath?” he said, deliberately slurring his speech. “Musht ’ave taken a wrong turn. Meant ta go home. Jusht come from the ball in Dorchester.”

“In your cups are you, sir?” inquired Triggs, his narrow eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Your hands moved quick enough just now. Let’s see what’s in them pockets of yours.”

Damn it! Things were about to go disastrously wrong.

Spreading his hands in a gesture of assent, Rafe straightened up and said in an authoritative tone, “I’d advise you begin with the left inside pocket of my jacket and examine the papers you find there. Assuming you can read.”

“You barefaced jailbait!” said a second voice.

He heard a metallic click, then felt a hard blow on his left shoulder from a rifle butt.

His temper boiled over. In the blink of an eye, both pistols were out of his pockets, one trained on Corporal Triggs’s forehead, the other at the head of the rifleman.

More clicks sounded in the still night, making his hackles rise. “If you value your sorry skins, listen carefully,” he said. “I’ll drop these two before any of you can fire a shot. It wouldn’t look good returning to barracks with a dead officer because you were too hasty in your judgment. I’m on the king’s business and carry proof of that. Stand your men down, Corporal, and I’ll show you.”

For a few seconds, all he heard was the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. He’d be damned if everything he’d achieved so far was to be lost in such ignominious circumstances.

He held Triggs’s gaze until the man looked away and ordered, “Stand down, men.”

Rafe’s shoulders relaxed, and he rubbed at the sore spot where the rifle butt had hit him. Uncocking his pistols, he replaced them in his pockets, spread his arms wide, and said, “Left breast pocket, as I said.”

Triggs retrieved the documents, and Rafe enjoyed watching his face change as he read them. The man handed the papers back, stepped away, and saluted smartly. “My apologies, sir,” he said, as Rafe nodded his acknowledgement. “We have orders to be particularly alert tonight, and we’ve already had some trouble. It seemed mighty suspicious, you being out here at this late hour.”

Rafe took Triggs’s elbow and turned him away from the rest of the detachment, who were talking amongst themselves in hushed voices. “Why are you on particular alert?” he asked.

“Two reasons. First, there’s reputedly a footpad haunts this heath. The horseless highwayman, the locals call him. Lord Culverdale just put a bounty on his head.”

Culverdale? Blast it! This was an unforeseen hindrance. “What’s the bounty?” Rafe asked, thinking quickly.

“A hundred guineas.”

“I’ll double that, if you capture the man alive, unharmed, and bring him straight to me.”

The corporal grinned broadly. “Aye, sir. Where can we find you?”

“At Dovehouse Farm. But be discreet.”

“Oh, we will.” Triggs would be for the chop if his superiors knew he was after bounty, rather than doing his duty.

“The second reason?” Rafe asked.

Triggs’s expression turned somber. “A few hours ago on the heath, we stumbled on a bevy of free traders. Private Maddox was shot and killed in the skirmish.”

Rafe tamped down the chill fury that assaulted him. So, the smugglers were murderers now. And arrogant enough to take on a detachment of soldiers.

This put a whole new perspective on things and made his mission all the more urgent. And Charlotte would be far less likely to condone the free trade when she learned of this killing.

“I’m sorry,” he told Triggs.

“Yes, sir. He was a good man.”