“We thought we’d come out and see your rig,” Viktor explained.
Rafe didn’t believe it for a moment. They weren’t in the habit of paying friendly calls. They wanted to make certain that the crew was a crew and the ship was a ship. Which meant they were suspicious and that wasn’t good.
“Where’s your boy? What’s his name, Grey is it?” Viktor asked in his heavy accent.
Rafe matched his gaze calmly. “He’s asleep with the rest of the crew, I expect.”
“I would like to see the hold,” Anton added.
“Absolutely,” Rafe answered, knowing full well that they wanted to see the hold to ensure there were actually more goods on the ship. Another sign they were suspicious. They wouldn’t be disappointed. The War Office had packed the hold tightly. Not a detail left to chance in this ruse. “I’ll take you there momentarily,” Rafe said. “But first, what of the letters?”
“We’ve got them,” Viktor said. “If we like what we see in the hold, we’ll bring them to you tomorrow. At the tavern.”
“Very well. Let me get the key.” Rafe tossed back the sheet and stood. He made his way over to the desk. Anton stood and moved out of the way and Rafe rifled inside his desk drawer for a bit too long. They were speaking in Russian and he hoped Daphne could hear.
Finally, he turned to them, the key in his hand. “Ah, here it is. Follow me, gentlemen.”
***
Daphne counted one hundred before opening the closet door and tentatively stepping out. She dressed more quickly than she ever had in her life. Her heart still beat like a drum in her chest. She’d been holding her breath in there. Her ear pressed to the wood to hear the two smugglers speak.
Her head was no longer fuzzy. She crawled back into the bed, shaking a bit at the memory of what had almost happened here not an hour earlier. She didn’t allow herself to think about it, though. Instead, she concentrated on remembering what the two men had said to each other. Because she had heard. Every word.
Rafe returned over a quarter of an hour later, and by then, Daphne’s heartbeat had returned to normal and she had restored a semblance of calm to her face. She was lying in the bunk, staring at the ceiling and repeating the Russians’ words over and over again so she wouldn’t forget them.
Rafe opened the door and eyed her cautiously.
“Are they gone?” she asked, pushing up on her elbows to look at him.
“Yes, I watched their rowboat go.” He closed the door behind him.
“Thank heavens.” She gave a shaky laugh. “That was… close.”
Rafe raked a hand through his hair and gave an equally shaky laugh. “An understatement, to be sure.”
“I heard what they said.”
Rafe cocked his head to the side. “And?”
“They’re suspicious, but they do intend to bring you the letters. At least they said they do.”
“Traitors have no loyalties, to anyone. Even their supposed cohorts,” Rafe said.
“That’s good for us, though.”
“You’re right,” Rafe replied. “They were impressed with the hold. They told me they’d see me tomorrow night at the tavern again. We must meet them. They’re bringing the letters. This is it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Daphne awoke with a splitting headache and a bundle of nerves in her belly. She hadn’t slept well. What had happened with Rafe last night kept replaying itself over and over in her mind. The bedsheets still smelled like him. Maddening, that. She snuggled into them and breathed deeply.
His speech had sounded heartfelt and sincere when they’d been drinking, but that was the problem with drinking, wasn’t it? It confused things. Gave you a fuzzy head. Hadn’t he said as much himself?
The truly frightening part was she’d nearly given herself to him last night. She had no doubt if they hadn’t been interrupted, she would no longer be a maiden. Rafe had apparently been so overcome that he was willing to defy Julian’s edict and put himself in danger just to have her. But a night of passion wouldn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be trusted and they weren’t suitable for one another. Yet another reason not to drink.
Daphne spent the day practicing with her knife, and by the time they loaded into the rowboat to go ashore, she had firmed her resolve in two quarters. She wasn’t about to let alcohol touch her lips again when she was anywherenearRafe Cavendish, and she was not—was not—going to kiss him again. Ever.
The ride to shore was mostly silent. In fact they’d barely spoken to each other all day. It was more of an awkward silence than anything else. They both seemed hyperaware of the enormity of the mistake they’d come so close to making last night.
