The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(46)
Daphne nodded. Adam and Collin Hunt were Derek, the Duke of Claringdon’s, younger brothers. “Julian always believed Adam’s disappearance in France had been the reason for Donald’s mission.”
“So it was, but I also needed the use of his knowledge of Russian to find the men who had Adam. I’d spent months here at the docks trying to infiltrate the group of men in France. The leaders never came here. They only had their Russian lackeys working for them. They believed Russians would be less suspicious than Frenchmen.”
“The smugglers we’re going to meet are the Russians? The ones we met last time I was with you here?”
“Yes. Exactly. They work for the men in France.”
“But how do you intend to find the men in France if they never come here?”
“That’s just it. If we can trade for the letters they’ve sent, we can trace their last known whereabouts in France.”
“Why can’t you follow them when they go to France to meet their French allies?”
“Donald’s death put an end to their meetings with the Frenchmen. They know they’re being watched. At least they suspect it. They limit their interactions now to closely guarded letters. The Russians believe we’re trading secrets to the English government for money and goods. They don’t know we work for the government. If we can make these men trust us enough to give us the letters, we can go to France and find the men they work for.”
Daphne’s voice trembled. “The men who tortured you and … killed Donald?”
“Yes.” Rafe clenched his jaw. “I never forget a face. Or a voice. I’ll know them immediately. In the meantime, I need you to interpret if their allies say anything important in Russian.”
“I’m ready, Captain,” she said solemnly. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Dancing Pig tavern was a seedy place indeed. It was populated by an unruly misfit group of drinkers, gamblers, ladies of questionable repute, and not a few patrons who were wholly incapacitated at far too early an hour in the day. A few of them had passed out under broken tables and stools and were being licked by dogs who’d wandered in from the streets in search of their leftovers and meat-stained clothing.
Daphne fought the urge to daintily step over the refuse and old food that was strewn across the filthy floors. Instead, true to her role as a cabin boy, she pretended she didn’t even notice it. She let her boots slide through the muck, maintaining a blank face as she and Rafe made their way to a table on the far end of the place away from the windows. Apparently smugglers (or whatever they were called) disliked windows.
“Sit behind me. Pretend you’re not listening. Concentrate on your drink. And don’t say a word,” Rafe ordered under his breath, calling to the barmaid to bring over two mugs of ale.
“I remember,” Daphne whispered back.
The barmaid soon arrived. She whistled when she saw Rafe. “My, aren’t ye a good-lookin’ one, eh?” Daphne was just about to roll her eyes when she realized the barmaid was talking about her. “Ye’r a pretty boy, ain’t ya?” The woman batted her eyelashes at Daphne.
Heat rushed to Daphne’s cheeks. She ducked her head and pulled her cap down over her forehead. Rafe’s laughter followed. “You’ll have to excuse my friend,” he said. “He’s not particularly, ahem, experienced.”
Daphne’s face grew even hotter and she tugged her cap down farther.
The barmaid giggled. “Oy, but I’d like ta teach ’im a thing o’ two.” She must have turned toward Rafe. “Ye ain’t too bad-looking yerself, guv. Interested in a quick tumble?”
Daphne pressed her lips together and counted ten. Granted, the blond she’d found in Rafe’s bed had been a sight better looking and more refined than this tavern barmaid but it still brought back the memory to poke at her. It would be just like Rafe to take the barmaid up on it. If they weren’t just about to meet the smugglers, no doubt he would. He hadn’t allowed his work to stop him last time.
“No, but thank you for the offer, kind lady,” Rafe said. “My friend here will be certain to let you know if he changes his mind.”
Rafe laughed and Daphne slunk lower in her chair. The barmaid sashayed off and Daphne pulled her mug of ale from the table in front of her. She peered down into the dark liquid.
Ale was revolting. This Daphne already knew from the last time she’d falsely ordered one, which had also been the last time they were in a dockside tavern. She’d tentatively tasted it and promptly wished to spit it out. It wasn’t as if spit wasn’t commonplace in such an establishment. But even pretending to be a cabin boy, she couldn’t bring herself to spit on the floor. Instead, she’d just ever-so-carefully lifted the mug to her lips again and deposited the contents back inside. Later, she’d pretended to accidentally knock the mug to the dirt floor and shrugged when Rafe gave her a why-the-hell-did-you-do-that glare.
This time she didn’t even bother with a sip. She still wasn’t entirely over her bout with alcohol from two nights ago. She had no intention of downing more of the hideous stuff. She shuddered. Then she concentrated on assuming her role as a bored cabin boy hanging around a tavern waiting for his captain to finish his business. She’d spent a fair amount of time before their last mission studying the actions of young boys. She’d even asked Donald for suggestions. Donald, of course, had been quite a different sort of boy than a cabin boy would be, but one thing she learned was that boys loved to lean on the two back legs of their chairs whenever possible. She’d practiced quite a bit and nearly perfected the art at home, though Mama had walked in on her once in the breakfast room and gave her a look as if she’d taken leave of her senses, then warned her that she could break her neck doing such a thing. Daphne had smiled bashfully and thanked her mother for the warning.