Page 70 of A Perilous Passion

Standing to attention, Jessop said, “I’ve had full military training, sir.”

“For all of three, four months? One would hardly call that full. Ask the militia at the castle if four months is enough. Ask the poor recruit shot dead in an ambush if four months is enough. We are a covert force, Mr. Jessop, and depend upon skills that are out of the ordinary. I’ll teach you to listen, observe, and track, to decode and send secret messages, to speak French, and how to read your fellow man. Now, what’s your weapon of choice?”

The young man paled. “You mean to call me out?”

“Of course not, foolish boy. I merely intend to discover if you prefer pistol, sword, or knife. A knife is the best weapon for a spy.”

“If you continue to insult me,” Jessop blustered, “I shall walk right out of here and tell Charlotte how gravely she’s mistaken your character.”

An empty threat—Charlotte’s opinion of him couldn’t possibly get any lower.

“You’re overreacting, Jessop,” he said. “Don’t take offense at everything I say. Grow a thicker skin. I’m your commanding officer now, so don’t expect me to cajole you.”

Jessop adjusted his stance, forced his chin down, and tugged mulishly at his cuffs. He might be a decent fellow in normal circumstances, Rafe mused, but while he was such a slave to his own emotions, he was a liability.

“Sit down and calm yourself,” he ordered. “Let’s just accept that misfortune has brought us both together, and in order to please Miss Allston we must make the best of it.”

The youth stomped to the far side of the room and sank into a deep leather armchair. “I’d do anything to please her,” he said.

“She’s more important to you than king and country?”

“More important than life itself. You know what I’ve hazarded for her sake.”

“And do you know how much she’s hazarded for yours? She was horrified that you deserted and played hide-and-seek with the army all the way from the Borders to Portland.”

“How could you possibly know her feelings?” Jessop muttered. “You’re a stranger to her.”

“Not so much a stranger as you might think. No, don’t glower at me, sirrah—I’ve warned you to keep your emotions in check. If a man can’t keep a cool head, his enemy will exploit the weakness.”

“I’m not talking about spies or foes or free traders, Seabourne. I’m talking about love. Though I doubt you have enough depth of soul to feel that emotion.”

Rafe had to force himself not to step up and teach the pup a lesson he’d not soon forget. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. I will take pity on you, however, and say that you needn’t be jealous about me and Charlotte. She wouldn’t have me if I begged her. Nor will she take you, I might add.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Ah, but I do.” With regard to himself, it was an absolute certainty. “She has a level head, and she learned not to repine over your loss when she could do nothing about it,” he said. “Her heart has now healed. I’m sure you’ll find her the staunchest of friends, though.”

Jessop was instantly on his feet again, stalking back and forth.

“We shall be more than friends, Mr. Seabourne. You can take my word on that.”

“Just because you wish it, doesn’t mean it’ll happen. Life has a way of putting obstacles in the path of love. The greatest of them being our own stupidity,” he said, recalling with dismal clarity how he’d behaved last night.

“Obstacles are there to be overcome. That is their purpose—to make love sweeter because it has been dearly bought.”

Rafe barely resisted rolling his eyes. “Very poetic, I’m sure, but I’m a practical man. When there are too many obstacles, love is best abandoned, for it was clearly not meant to be.”

“That makes you either a fatalist or a cynic, sir,” Jessop replied, coming to stand squarely in front of him.

“Or possibly both,” Rafe answered. He was tiring of this conversation—it was making him think too much about Charlotte. “Why don’t you go outside for a breath of air?” he suggested. “I have work to do that requires my concentration.”

Without a word, Jessop spun on his boot and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Rafe stared at the door, wondering how Charlotte could ever have cared for such an irascible, immature fellow. Young Jessop had been fortunate, indeed, to win her love.

What would it feel like to hold her heart, to be in her every waking thought, to win her delectable body for one’s own?

It would feel like heaven.