At that, Rafe laughed out loud. ‘God help me if you ever decide to become a spy, Miss Carew,’ he chuckled. ‘I suspect the rules of espionage might have to be rewritten…’
Eleven
Staring up at the canopy above his bed at three a.m., Rafe went over and over his interaction with Henrietta Carew. That kissing her was singularly the most foolish thing he’d ever done in his life was without question, but quite frankly, that wasn’t his real quandary. No, the biggest issue with the whole bacon-brained business was that he didn’t regret it. Not even for one second. And that scared the living daylights out of him.
For the first time in his life, Rafe was actually imagining having a home. Not simply a place to leave his few belongings, but somewhere he belonged, with… God help him… afamilywaiting for him.
How the hell did it happen?Whenhad it happened? He thought back to the few days he spent at Blackmore. The chaotic, boisterous,joyousfamily gathering that had captivated him against his will. Watching them all together had prompted a longing so painful he’d immediately pushed it deep down inside – instead, behaving like an arrogant fool.
Since then, he’d struggled to summon the unemotional, aloof side of him that always settled over him like a shroud when hewas on a mission. And he was nearlyalwayson an assignment of some kind…
Before meeting Henrietta, Rafe had considered women merely as a means of gaining information, well aware that most found him attractive. In his experience, there were two types ofladies. Young, genteel innocents who thrilled at the hidden danger they sensed in him but were content to flirt within the safety of their gilded cages, and those who were older, wiser and wanted to experience firsthand the thrill of that hidden danger. Both were equally useful in his line of work.
But Henrietta was of neither type. That she’d been sheltered he had no doubt, but despite her incorrigible wit, there was no guile to her at all. Experience told him the attraction between them was mutual, but she hadn’t tried to flirt with him. Perhaps it was due to the serious nature of their current situation, but in all honesty, he suspected it had simply never occurred to her to do so.
When he’d spotted her being accosted by the drunken thug, Raphael had wanted to kill the bastard. His ability to operate dispassionately in every and all situations had deserted him entirely.
And therein lay his biggest dilemma. Somehow, he had to put his burgeoning feelings for Henrietta aside and deal with the problem at hand. If he failed to reinstate Tristan and put an end to theRevisionistsonce and for all, Raphael feared he would never be free of all the subterfuge and secrets. Indeed, there was one particular secret he hadn’t yet shared, and when his duplicity finally came out – as it was certain to do, he was almost certain that Henrietta would want nothing more to do with him…
Naturally, Henrietta said nothing about the day’s unexpected turn of events. In actual fact, she didn’t even mention she’d been out of the house, and if she was quiet over dinner, well, in truth, so was everyone else. Looking round the table, she suspected the reality of what they were about to do was uppermost in everyone’s mind. Even the bickering between her grandfather and Dougal was confined to the occasional kick under the table.
Once everyone had retired to their respective bedchambers, she’d been tempted to confide in Roseanna, but in truth her feelings about the Frenchman were confused. The sensations she’d felt when he kissed her were like nothing she’d ever experienced before, so instead, she spent the entire night tossing and turning until Rosie had grumpily questioned whether the bed had bugs.
Raphael had asked her to wait until after the current situation was resolved, but Henrietta knew very well that it might never be solved at all. What would happen then? Would he walk away?
Would he beallowedto walk away? He was undoubtedly the keeper of a multitude of secrets. Could someone like that ever have a normal life?
Henri didn’t have any of the answers, nor would she any time soon. Whether she wished it or no, her only option was to watch as she’d been asked to do and let things run their course and when it was over, pick up the pieces…
‘I have to say I am disappointed in you, Sir.’
Reverend Shackleford looked over at his curate in surprise. ‘What the deuce are you mumbling on about Percy?’ he asked.
The three of them were the first to board theFaith and Fortune,having arrived bright and early for two reasons. Firstly, Finn had spent the entire previous day ingratiating himself with the crew, and naturally they wished to take advantage of the excellent relationship the boy had cultivated. Secondly, and arguably more importantly, one more second in the bed with Percy and Finn could well have resulted one or both of them leaving the room through the window… What made it worse was the knowledge that Dougal had his own bedchamber.
‘I brought my son to Torquay under false pretences,’ Percy continued firmly.
The Reverend sputtered in indignation. ‘You can’t deny the lad’s been having a wonderful time,’ he went on, waving towards Finn, who was running up and down the deck under the benevolent eye of the crew, being chased by Flossy.
‘You asked me to come to Torquay because you were concerned about Dougal’s immortal soul,’ Percy insisted.
‘Well, that’s not qu…’ Augustus Shackleford, only to stop as Percy held up his hand. ‘You said you thought he was possessed.’
‘Well, I…’
‘…That you thought Finn might well benefit from coming face to face with the forces of evil.’
Reverend Shackleford winced.
‘Now, I’ll be the first to admit that Dougal Galbraith could make even a saint’s entry into heaven uncertain,’ Percy went on sternly, ‘but I think we both know he isnotpossessed, Sir.’
‘I don’t think the forces of evil would give him house room,’ the Reverend muttered under his breath. At the curate’s sharp look, he gave a sigh and nodded. ‘You’re right, Percy, lad. Though I’m not proud of it, I can’t deny I’ve been tempted to violence on more than one occasion when dealing with Dougal. However, I have to admit there’s been no evidence to suggest that old Nick has any particular interest in the bampot’s soul – and I can’t say I blame him…’
‘Then, why did you ask me to come?’ Percy quizzed him crossly. ‘I had to leave the parish in old Tom’s hands, and the last time he took over, he had half the congregation stocking up for the Second Coming.
‘I assume that you had no idea that Finn might be asked to investigate atraitorwhen you sent the missive?’ The curate’s voice had turned from cross to suspicious, and with a small cough, the Reverend looked round at the mention of the word traitor. ‘Keep your voice down, Percy, lad. We don’t know who might be eavesdropping.’
‘Well, did you?’ the curate repeated.
