Page 67 of A Perilous Passion

When she got home. For now, Rafe’s refusal to respond to her kiss was too painful to bear.

But when she tried to withdraw, he grasped her elbows in a vise-like grip.

“You’re not to do that again. Ever. Understand?”

“Not kiss you?” she asked, her breath catching with hurt of her own.

“That, too. But what I meant was, never seek me out again. It’s far too dangerous. For us both.”

“I’m sorry.” She struggled to escape his grip, but he wouldn’t let her. She’d clearly not gain her freedom until he said his piece. She ground her teeth in frustration.

“This is no game,” he growled. “Lives are truly at risk, and you’ve hazarded more than your own tonight.”

“We needed your help.”

“You could have sent Tom Harris with a message as I’d instructed. Or do you enjoy sneaking about after dark like a seasoned felon? Perhaps you’re accustomed to it?”

What did he mean by that?

“We made not a sound,” she assured him. “Justin has eluded capture all the way down from Scotland, so he knows what he’s doing. He could have protected me, if there’d been any trouble.”

Rafe gave a derisive snort. “A callow youth who doesn’t even carry a sword?”

“A weapon would have attracted too much attention. Farm laborers don’t carry swords.”

He gave her a little shake. “Why won’t you listen to me? I have your own interests at heart, believe me.”

“Do you, indeed? Tell me, how do you know what my best interests are? I should have thought I was the better judge.”

Expecting a sharp put-down, she was surprised at the vulnerability in his voice when he asked, “Charlotte, is there something you really ought to tell me?”

“About Justin? No.”

“Not about Justin. About you. About who you really are.”

She felt as if she’d been struck by a thunderbolt.

Rafe couldn’t possibly know about her past.

Could he?

She and Mama had been so careful.

Her mind worked frantically. Should she brazen it out?

Or should she trust him, and risk everything?

But her secret wasn’t just hers to spill. It was Mama’s, as well, and—indirectly—Aunt Flora’s. If she trusted him and revealed their past, and Rafe reacted badly, they might all be ruined.

“Are you going to tell me?” he demanded harshly. “Or must I spell it out for you?”

“Go on, then,” she prevaricated, desperately trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

His fingers clenched and unclenched on her shoulders. “I have it on good authority that your surname’s not Allston. You were born Charlotte Cutler, daughter of Abraham Cutler. Do you deny this?”

Deny thy father, and deny thy name…

She said nothing, but her heart sank like lead into her stomach. He knew who she was, and the power to break her world apart was in his hands. She felt hollow—all emotions, all feelings suspended.