The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(53)

Rafe came up behind her again, jolting Daphne from her thoughts. “This blade is far larger than the others. Allow me to show you,” he said.

His nearness caused gooseflesh to pop along the back of her neck. She swallowed. His large, warm hand covered hers. Why was her hand so cold? She’d never before realized how small her hands were. They were tiny compared to his. “Y … yes,” she breathed.

His chin hovered just above her right shoulder. “Hold this one by the handle,” he instructed.

He smelled like wood and ocean breezes. She closed her eyes. Oh, fiddle. She couldn’t concentrate on his instruction. She was reliving their kiss over and over again in her mind. There was no help for it. She wanted to kiss him again.

“… like this,” he was saying, and Daphne bit the inside of her cheek to remind herself to pay attention. Rafe moved to the side to allow her room to throw. It was much easier to think when he wasn’t so near. She pulled back her wrist and let the blade fly. It struck the box straight on and quivered in the wood. She expelled her breath.

“Well done,” he said, grinning at her. She tried not to notice the alluring cleft in his chin. “I’ll leave you to practice. I must see to a few things.”

He was leaving? Why did the thought make her want to whimper?

“I’ll ask Cook to bring you up a cup of tea,” he added.

Tea. Spilled tea. Blond. Last night’s nightmare came rushing back full force to squeeze Daphne’s middle until she could barely breathe.

“Thank you for the lesson, Captain,” she said in the most businesslike voice she could muster.

He tipped his hat to her but she refused to look at him. He turned on his heel.

He was leaving. Good.

*

Rafe made his way down to his cabin and shut the door firmly behind him. Good God, he’d nearly embarrassed himself out there on the deck, getting hard when Daphne had sidled her little backside up to him while he’d been teaching her to throw a knife of all things. Only she could give him an erection while he was teaching her how to use a deadly weapon.

He crossed over to the washbasin, dunked both hands into the cool water and splashed his face. He was tempted to upend the entire basin over his head. But Daphne would probably ask why there was water all over the floor when she returned.

It was a good thing, teaching her how to be a spy. Showing her the hand signals and teaching her how to throw a knife. She should be skilled, trained. She’d have a fighting chance to defend herself if the worst happened and they were found out. A memory flashed before his eyes. A painful memory of the day Donald Swift had been shot. He was useless to them, they decided. Nothing more than an aristocrat who knew no real secrets. Rafe suspected they’d kept Donald alive as long as they had only to make Rafe more compliant. They’d been right. Rafe would have done anything to save the earl. But in the end, they’d taken him out to the tree line behind their tents and shot him in the head. Rafe clenched his fist. The crack of that pistol would ring in his ears forever. The guilt would stay with him longer than that. He shook his head. Yes, Daphne should learn all she could in their short time together on the ship.

*

That night Rafe couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t get comfortable in his hammock at all. Daphne had remained on deck all day throwing the knives. She’d come back down late at night with a fetching amount of sun on her cheeks (no doubt that would be difficult to explain away next week when she was back in her Mayfair drawing rooms). She’d yawned and stretched and thanked him for teaching her how to throw the knives, reporting that she’d got so good at it by the end of the day that the crew had been placing bets on her throws. Rafe lurched in the hammock, nearly throwing himself onto the wooden floor. He cursed under his breath. Daphne was fast asleep, adorable little sighs coming from her throat like a relaxed kitten, while he was wholly unable to sleep because all he could do was remember her tight little backside pressed against him during their knife-throwing lesson.

He’d already decided upon tomorrow’s lesson and there was nothing at all alluring about it.





CHAPTER THIRTY




“Today I’m going to teach you how to shoot, Daphne,” Rafe announced the next morning after Daphne had finished her breakfast and was making the bunk. There wasn’t much to do while they awaited the Russians’ inspection of their cargo. They had to remain on the ship in case the Russians paid a visit, and Rafe was convinced they were being watched as well. They had to appear completely at ease, playing the role of a crew anchored in harbor.

Daphne whirled around to face Rafe. “I don’t particularly care to learn how to shoot. I intended to spend the afternoon practicing my knife throwing.”

“There will be time for that later. I’ve been considering it and I think it’s important for you to learn how to shoot as well.”

Daphne wrinkled her nose. She’d never much cared for pistols. Her father and Donald had gone shooting often. She followed them on occasion to watch and she remembered it being loud and smoky. Not a particularly pleasant way to spend the day if you asked her. But if Rafe thought it was important that she learn, she wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity for a lesson. Not to mention, spending a bit more time in his company was not an unpleasant thought.

Daphne followed Rafe up to the deck to the far side of the ship where no other ships were moored off the starboard side. There was nothing ahead of them but open water, a perfectly safe place for shooting practice. He had set up a makeshift target using an old piece of flotsam he’d apparently dredged out of the water or retrieved from the hold. There was a crude bull’s-eye painted on it.