Page 65 of A Perilous Passion

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. When Hamblett appeared with the decanter, Rafe pounced on it and poured himself a generous measure of sack.

It was going to be a very long night.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Charlotte sat opposite Justin, leaning forward, her hands folded in her lap. Neither of them spoke, and nothing could be heard above the soporific ticking of the clock and the scratch of Rafe’s pen.

The awkward silence ended only when he pushed the inkwell aside, dusted over what he’d written, and flourished the page in front of her. “Will this serve?”

Moving closer to the lamp, she scanned the page, then sat back, marveling at his ingenuity. He’d written to his superiors saying that he’d learned of the skills and local knowledge of a Mr. Justin Jessop through an acquaintance in Fortuneswell. He’d sent a message to Jessop, followed by another to his commander in Scotland, outlining why his services were required back in Dorset. Rafe explained that an increase in smuggling activity, the soldier’s death, and his own injury had delayed the sending of the second letter. Justin had not deserted the army but was to be engaged in matters directly for the War Office, and that any warrant for his arrest should be withdrawn immediately and his record cleared.

Despite Rafe’s threat about interrogating her, she couldn’t help but admire him for what he’d done for Justin. Of course, Justin’s exemplary character and knowledge of the local area would genuinely benefit Rafe’s cause.

“It will do very well,” she said gratefully. “And any obligation you might feel toward my family for…any reason whatsoever…you can consider more than discharged.”

And perhaps she would also have to forgive him for having such a suspicious mind regarding her…

As she handed the letter back, she hoped the two men would become friends. It delighted her to think they’d be working for the common good.

She sipped at the schooner of sack she’d been given, enjoying the wash of warmth as it trickled down her throat. Danger had—at least for now—been averted, and the relief was enormous.

She took another longer drink. The sweet wine was delicious. She wondered where Rafe had obtained it, and whether it might have arrived as contraband. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? She was smiling at the thought when someone shook her shoulder.

She came back to earth to with a jolt. Rafe was kneeling before her, his face so close she could smell his cologne and see the swathe of dark stubble that shadowed his chin. He was hopefully no longer her enemy, so she allowed herself the pleasure of examining his face, admiring his rugged, masculine beauty, the sculpted lines of his mouth, and the fine creases that became dimples when he smiled.

He had two sorts of smile. There was the fleeting public one, which never reached his eyes, and was doubtless used to remind people he was an earl. But she’d also seen his private smile—a deep, heartfelt grin that lit his face like a wash of magical starlight.

She was a whisper away from tracing her fingers over the contours of that face and savoring those seductive lips with her own.

If only Justin weren’t observing them…

Rafe watched her for a long moment, his eyes darkening, then broke the spell by springing to his feet. “I think it’s time I returned Miss Allston to her bed,” he said crisply.

Justin sucked in a hissing breath, and her delicious imaginings came to an abrupt halt.

Rafe deserved a slap for that unfortunate choice of words, wretched man!

Had he been reading her mind? She flushed and prayed he hadn’t.

But he was right in saying she should return home. It was the dead of night, and she was at a remote farm, alone with not one, but two unmarried gentlemen. If Mama ever found out, she’d be sent to a nunnery.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Half past two. Don’t worry, your household will still be abed when we get there. I assume you let yourself out with a key this time and won’t be scaling the creeper to your window? It’s an awkward climb, as well I know.”

A strangled noise issued from Justin.

Oh lord. How was she going to explain that remark? Damn Rafe! He was being deliberately provoking.

“I can take her home, Seabourne,” Justin said curtly.

“Absolutely not. You won’t be safe until my letter reaches London, and even then, they’ll have to put the word out that you’re not a deserter. These things take time.”

Justin’s expression turned thunderous.

She gave him her fiercest stare. He mustn’t let himself be baited—not when his whole future hung in the balance. “Thank you,” she told Rafe before Justin could say anything. “You’re too kind. Justin is most grateful for your assistance, as am I. You’ve dug him out of a deep hole, sir, and we’re both indebted to you, are we not?”

There was a discernible pause before Justin replied, “Yes, quite so.”