The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(47)

But now, here in the tavern, she kicked away a small pile of leftover bones, and set about balancing on the back two legs of her chair with great aplomb. By the time the two men they were meeting arrived, she’d managed to perfect her balance and hold her mug in the air without spilling.

When the Russians entered the tavern, Rafe darted a look her way and then toward the doors. Daphne continued to balance on her chair but her gaze briefly touched on the two swarthy-looking men and then she looked away. She barely nodded back at him to indicate that she’d seen them.

It didn’t take the men long to locate Rafe and they came marching over soon after. Rafe inclined his head toward the two chairs next to him. The men grabbed the rickety wooden chairs, turned them around, and straddled them. Daphne made a mental note. She’d do the same if she ever pretended to be a swarthy smuggler. Men seemed to like to have their legs spread quite a bit. Fascinating really. Even Rafe, who sat facing forward, had his legs spread open at the knees, boots firmly planted on the dirty floor in front of him.

“Gentlemen,” he said smoothly as soon as the two had taken their seats.

“Captain,” one of the men said gruffly in a thick Russian accent.

Rafe nodded at them both.

“Who’s that?” The second man, who seemed barely taller than Daphne, jabbed a fat finger in her direction. He, too, spoke with a heavy Russian accent.

“You remember my cabin boy, Grey?”

The taller man grunted his apparent approval. But Shorty kept staring at her with beady eyes.

“Grey, say good morning to Anton and Viktor,” Rafe prodded.

“Mornin’,” Daphne mumbled. She pulled at the visor of her cap in greeting and went back to pretending to drink her ale. She remembered them. The taller one was Anton and beady eyes was Viktor. She wouldn’t forget.

The two men barely nodded at her in return greeting and then Rafe leaned forward. Anton and Viktor followed suit. They talked in hushed tones that Daphne struggled to hear. Rafe had warned her that it would be difficult. They were discussing their trade and it would be odd for Rafe to speak of such things in a loud voice. That’s why she’d positioned herself closer to the Russians’ seats than Rafe’s. Still, she’d hoped they would be louder. She held her breath to hear better while trying to appear as if she was not leaning toward them. Spying was downright difficult.

Thankfully, she was able to pick up some of the conversation.

“I can have everything to you tonight,” Rafe finished. “I just need to return to my ship and make the preparations, hire a wherry.”

“After we get it, we’ll need a few days to examine it, for quality,” Anton grunted.

“Of course,” Rafe replied. “How long do you need?”

The two spoke in hushed tones but Daphne made out “Friday.”

“Agreed,” Rafe answered. “But if I wait till Friday, I expect to get the full price immediately. I won’t countenance any last-minute shortages or delays.”

Daphne knew the “price” was the letters Rafe wanted, but they obviously weren’t speaking about it in those terms.

Viktor kept glaring at her with those dark beady eyes of his. She tried to look as if she were whistling a tune to herself. She could only hope he believed it.

“Do we have an agreement?” Rafe finally asked.

The men turned toward each other and began speaking quietly in their native tongue. Daphne caught her breath. This was it. The reason she had come. She continued her balancing act, staring straight ahead of her, desperately hoping the look on her face indicated she was nothing more than a bored cabin boy waiting for her captain to finish his business. But her senses were on high alert. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and her ears prickled. Sweat trailed down between her bound breasts.

She continued to hold her breath, listening intently, fighting against the urge to squeeze her eyes closed she was listening so attentively. And she heard every word.

A few minutes later the men stopped talking and Anton turned to Rafe. “Agreed. Have your men send everything to us. We’ll see you back here on Friday.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT




Rafe waited until they were well on their way back to the True Love in the rowboat before asking Daphne. “What did they say?”

“Taller, I mean … Anton, said the price would depend on the quality of the goods.”

Rafe laughed. “Taller?”

“Yes, that’s my nickname for him. Viktor is Beady Eyes.”

“Good names.”

“He also said Gabriel wouldn’t like it. Who is Gabriel?” Daphne asked.

Rafe’s voice grew tight and angry. “He’s the leader of the Frenchmen who captured us. He also speaks Russian and often spoke it in our presence. That’s why I needed Donald there with me.”

Daphne nodded. “Gabriel’s the man who tortured you?”

“Yes,” Rafe said through obviously clenched teeth. Then his voice relaxed. “At any rate, the quality of the goods won’t be a problem. They’re coming directly from the English government.”

“What exactly are you giving them?” Daphne asked.

“The usual things. Spices, tea, fabrics, pottery. Anything they can sell for more in France. Which right now is nearly anything. What else did they say?”