“What’s the matter, Cavendish? Don’t think you’d stack up against Lord Fitz?” Claringdon laughed.
“If the point system is based on titles, then obviously not.” Rafe swiped his drink off the desk and finished it in one swift gulp. “You cannot think he’s the best suited for your sister.”
Swifdon shrugged. “I don’t, particularly. But I’ve learned the hard way that trying to talk Daphne out of something once her mind is made up is a losing proposition. Cass seems to think he’s suitable. And so does Mother.”
Rafe stood and crossed over to the sideboard to pour himself another drink. “Suitable and right are two different things.”
“Careful, Cavendish, methinks you’re sounding a bit jealous. You may be the current bridegroom but I’m under the impression that both you and Daphne are in agreement in wanting this annulment as soon as possible.” Claringdon took a swallow of his drink.
“Afterthe mission,” Rafe clarified, pulling the top off the decanter of brandy.
“Of course,” Claringdon replied, eyeing him curiously.
Rafe needed to change the subject. He turned his attention toward Swifdon. “As for the mission. I intend to come for Daphne tomorrow night after dinner. She should be prepared and in costume.”
“You mean dressed like a cabin boy?” Swifdon replied.
Rafe splashed brandy into his glass. “Yes.”
“I still can’t believe Donald ever agreed to that.” Julian set his glass on the desk.
“Your brother changed a lot after your father died,” Rafe said. “He was quite a bit more carefree and daring than I’d known him to be previously.”
Swifdon nodded, turned in his chair, and glanced out the window. “God knows Mother would have my hide if she knew I was agreeing to allow Daphne to go back out there.”
Claringdon cleared his throat. “At the risk of offending either or both of you, whyareyou allowing it?”
The hint of a smile tugged at Swifdon’s lips. “It’s as I said, once Daphne’s made up her mind about something, there’s no stopping her. If I said no, she’d slip out the window while I wasn’t looking. I’d rather have her go with my blessing.”
Claringdon nodded. “I see.”
“At the risk of offending you, Cavendish, I must say that I’m surprised Wellington is allowing you to take on this particular mission. You’re not exactly impartial to this one,” Swifdon said.
“I’ve already infiltrated their ranks. They know me. The men who held me captive in France had never seen me or known me as the ship’s captain. There is no one better to do this particular mission.”
“What is your plan?” Claringdon asked.
“The Russians know me as a part-time smuggler. Someone who trades goods for secrets on behalf of the Crown. They think I’m an informant to the War Office,” Rafe explained.
“So you’ll trade goods for the letters?”
“Yes. The letters should give us the French spies’ latest whereabouts. As soon as I get them, I intend to sail for France immediately and find those bastards.”
“I wish you nothing but luck, Cavendish,” Claringdon said.
Rafe smiled wryly. “I don’t need luck. I just need those letters.”
“In the meantime, be careful,” Claringdon replied. “For yourself and for Lady Daphne.”
Swifdon nodded toward Rafe but spoke to Claringdon. “I trust Cavendish with my own life and my sister’s.”
“I will not let you down, my lord,” Rafe replied. A lump had formed in his throat. Swifdon still had faith in him, after all that had happened.
“See that you don’t,” Swifdon said. “As for Daphne. She’s going to go on this mission and then she’s going to marry this Lord Fitzwell chap whether I like it or not.”
Rafe downed the rest of his drink and growled.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
