Page 44 of A Perilous Passion

He hoped the latter.

As soon as he found Paynter, he brought him back inside and introduced him to Charlotte. Having been reassured the man’s pistol was primed, Rafe bade him wait in the hallway for a moment.

“Pay attention,” he said to her, returning to his study. “No more midnight walks, unless it’s a matter of life or death. Never go out alone. And I strictly forbid you ever to come here again. If there’s something urgent you must tell me, have Thomas the Carrier find me. I’ll come straight away or send one of my men. But only if you’re in dire straits. Understood?”

She nodded, but her disappointment was palpable. Clearly, she’d been poised to share his adventure. If nothing else, the woman had great courage.

Either that, or she’d been brought up by a master felon who’d taught her to take care of herself.

“I understand,” she replied primly. “I’ll go with Paynter, and I’ll try to restrain myself from troubling you again in future. Good luck with your endeavors, my lord.”

He ached to take her in his arms and say a proper farewell, the way his heart desired, but forced himself to step back. “One day, when all this is over, I hope to be able to make amends to you.”

She pulled her shawl tightly about her shoulders and moved past him into the passageway. “No need, sir,” she said icily. “I’ve had a little adventure, which has relieved the tedium of my existence. If I’ve helped my country by offering up a suspected traitor, then I’m satisfied. I neither want, nor expect, anything further from you.”

Touché, Charlotte! Of course she was angry; of course she was cold. He’d given her every reason to be.

He wasn’t accustomed to being hurt by a woman’s words. But hurt him they had. As she walked away from him and out into the night with Paynter, he felt as if he’d just been kicked in the chest.

His heart ached with her rejection.

And he wondered how long it would take to numb the pain.

Chapter Nineteen

Charlotte obediently followed Paynter to the front door of the farmhouse. As he was lifting the bolt to bring them outside, she noticed a strange object on Rafe’s hall table, partly concealed by a pair of leather gloves.

They’d walked several yards down the lane before she realized the significance of what she’d just seen. It had been a black, half-face mask, with holes cut out for the eyes.

But it was no masquerade mask worn to a ball. The only person likely to wear this distinctive type of mask was that most notorious and dashing of criminals—the highwayman.

Her mind buzzed at the implications.

Good heavens. Could Rafe be the highwayman?

Could it possibly be Rafe who’d been holding up unwary travelers on the heath road and in the surrounding woods?

She struggled to comprehend it. The idea was absurd.

But the more she thought about it, the more the pieces fell into place. The local highwayman always went on foot. None of his victims had been hurt, and very little had been stolen. He was always charming to the ladies, even kissing the younger, prettier ones on the cheek.

Yes, that could be Rafe all right, rake that he was.

What earthly reason could he have for endangering his life with such an enterprise? The man was wealthy and titled, and wanted for nothing.

Her imagination took flight. What did she truly know about him? There were too many secrets hovering like an obscuring cloud around the Earl of Beckport.

Was he really a government agent intent on catching French spies and smugglers? Or was he playing some deeper, less honorable game of his own?

“Is this the place, miss?” asked Paynter.

Heavens, they were home already. The problem of Rafe had taxed her so greatly she’d no memory of the long walk back from Dovehouse Farm.

“Yes,” she said, and prepared to climb back up the vine.

But as soon as her companion saw what she was doing, he whispered, “Wait. I can get you in the door.”

She looked up. The window seemed farther up, the ivy more slender than she remembered. She’d wisely tucked the key to her chamber into her bodice, so if he could get her into the house, that would be infinitely preferable.