Page 69 of A Perilous Passion

His lips pressed against hers, and her body quivered as his tongue sought entry to her mouth. It didn’t occur to her to resist—he was giving her what she wanted. What she longed for.

But he held command of the situation. Her body was in total thrall to his, and while her mind cried out that he didn’t deserve her, or her trust, the rest of her body was sending a completely different message.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to kiss you,” she said when he paused for a breath.

“Don’t quibble. In fact, don’t talk at all.”

He kissed her again, robbing her of all words, of all thought. His anger, or perhaps his jealousy over Justin, had given an edge to his appetite. As he plundered her mouth with increasing hunger, she sensed he was poised on a knife edge of control. It would take very little to send him over and make him forget himself.

Which meant she had some power, too.

So, she dived wholeheartedly into the sinful temptation of his kiss. He always unlocked something inside her, something wild and wonderful, a creature of passion, and wanton, glorious freedom. It had never, ever felt like this with Justin—he’d never aroused, or slaked, her desire like this.

Rafe was the only man who could. She and he were two parts of the same being, meeting and responding at the very deepest level. He completed her—or would do, if she let him.

With a groan, he tore himself away and held her at arm’s length. When she reached for him again, he let out an oath and stepped free.

“No. We can’t do this. We mustn’t do this. Not here, not now, not ever. There’s too much at stake, for both of us. If you care for me at all, run home, go straight to your door and don’t stop. I’ll keep watch until you’re inside. Don’t look back; forget I’m here. In fact, forget I exist altogether. Believe me, it’s for the best.”

Her heart plummeted.

He was rejecting her.

Again.

Pride urged her to tell him it didn’t matter, that she didn’t care. But she did care, and it hurt like nothing she’d ever felt before. Tears stung her eyes, and her teeth clamped together so hard she tasted blood.

The air was heavy with things unsaid as they walked back to the cottage. She felt Rafe’s presence behind her, forced herself to quash the need to take his hand, to embrace him, and taste just once more the heady wine of his lips.

By the time they reached the cottage, she was exhausted from her internal battle, and, though her feet felt like lead, she hurried away down the path.

Thinking of Orpheus and Eurydice, she didn’t look back for a last glimpse of him. She knew he’d be watching her from the shadows, and she couldn’t bear to let him see the despair in her face or the burning tears, which now coursed down her cheeks.

He must never know the damage he’d done to her heart and her soul.

Chapter Thirty

Having slept in late, it was well past noon the following day by the time Rafe settled down to work again. He sat hunched over his desk, writing a dispatch, while Jessop lurked, pale and disapproving, in a corner.

The young man was still seething after the peal Rafe had rung over him—first for deserting from the army, and then for embroiling Charlotte in his unrighteous activities. Didn’t he know she was too soft-hearted to refuse help to someone in trouble? Didn’t he know that she had a courageous soul and would risk life and limb for a cause she believed in?

Every time the pen squeaked, the young man sighed and shifted, until Rafe wanted to leap up and throttle him. The urge was only intensified by the knowledge Charlotte had once loved the boy and still cared enough about him to endanger herself by helping him.

Rafe bent determinedly to his task. Saints alive! What was he doing thinking about her when he was supposed to be capturing traitors?

He scribbled a rapid signature to his letter, then swiveled round in his chair and glared at his tormentor. “I hope you’re satisfied with the trouble you’ve wrought,” he said. “I’m now one man down, since I’ve had to send Goves to deliver the letter that will save your sorry neck. That means this dispatch will have to wait until he comes back.”

Jessop shot up from his corner. “Look here, Mr. Seabourne, or whoever you are,” he said. “I don’t like being spoken to with so little respect. I know I’m in your debt, but that doesn’t make me a lesser being. I come from a respectable family, you know.”

Good family, indeed, but hardly competition for Rafe’s own. Wouldn’t he love to tell Jessop his true identity? The boy’s face would be a picture! “I’d hate to think I’d saved a mere yeoman,” he replied. “But a man’s reputation is based upon his deeds, not the importance of his forebears. I’ve yet to be assured of the quality of your actions.”

“And I have yet to be assured of the value of yours,” retorted Jessop, taking an ominous step closer.

Gad, the young man was so quick to take offense! Little wonder he coped so badly in the army. Rafe began to despair of ever being able to put such a hothead to good use.

Ignoring Jessop’s jibe, he stood up and rang the bell for Hamblett to make some strong tea. After his valet’s departure, a taut silence fell on the room. Jessop stood rooted to the spot, while Rafe returned to his chair.

“If you can withhold your rancor long enough, Mr. Jessop, I suggest we start your espionage training.”