The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(64)

“They did,” Viktor said. He turned to stare at Daphne. Daphne pretended she didn’t even notice. Well done.

“And do you have the agreed-upon payment?” Rafe asked.

“Da,” Anton said.

Rafe arched a brow. “Where is it?”

“We left them in a bundle, in a cart, in the alley. We didn’t want to bring attention to ourselves hauling them in here. Too many eyes watching, you know?” Viktor said, still eyeing Daphne on occasion. He spat another wad of tobacco juice in a wide arc onto the ground.

Rafe narrowed his eyes on Viktor. In a cart in the alley? What was his game? “You wish me to accompany you to the alley?” Rafe asked. He made a move to stand but Anton stopped him with a hand in the air. “No.”

“No?” Rafe’s eyes narrowed further.

“We’ll go get them. We wanted to make sure we weren’t being watched first.”

Rafe clenched his fist. They were up to something. “Being watched? That’s preposterous. Go get them.”

The barmaid walked past just then, holding a large tray full of ale tankards high in the air. She tripped near Grey’s table, sending the tankards toppling and their contents spilling all over Daphne.

Daphne jumped up and pulled her shirt from her chest, clearly desperate to keep the fabric from becoming transparent.

“Oh me God. I’m so sorry, guv,” the barmaid cried. “I’ve ruined yer clothes. Let me take ye in the back and fetch ye a new shirt. One of the boys will have one.”

Daphne’s gaze snapped to Rafe’s. He touched the corner of his left eye. The signal for no.

“I’ll be all right,” Daphne said in her best Grey accent. “No need ta worry. It’s not the first mug o’ ale I’ve ’ad dumped on me and won’t be the last, I’m certain.”

Pride swelled in Rafe’s chest. Daphne was playing her part perfectly. Though he could tell she was rattled.

The Russians laughed. “I think the maid likes your little friend,” Anton said to Rafe, poking Viktor in the chest with his elbow.

Daphne tried to sit back down but the barmaid wouldn’t let her. The woman kept trying to usher Daphne to the back. “Just come with me. I’ll have ye fixed up in a trice. If ye don’t want a new shirt at least let me get ye a towel.”

Rafe touched his eye again. This was hardly the time to allow a tavern barmaid’s flirtation to compromise their plans.

“Come on. Just a towel, guv. It’s the least I can do after me mistake,” the barmaid insisted.

Anton and Viktor both guffawed.

“Go on, boy. You’re not afraid of a woman, are you?” Anton said.

“Or perhaps it’s your master who keeps you here? Afraid to leave him, are you?” Viktor smirked at Rafe. “I think you’re bit too close with the lad, English.”

Rafe cursed under his breath. He had no choice but to let Daphne go. If he pressed it too far, they would no doubt turn suspicious and then the entire mission would be in danger of being aborted. They’d worked too hard and come too far. Rafe rubbed his right eye this time, the signal for yes. He could only hope Daphne returned quickly. Daphne’s eyes met Rafe’s and he saw the fear and hesitation in their gray depths. But he also saw her determination. She lifted her chin and gave him a barely perceptible nod. He knew from her face what her mouth could not say. She could handle this.

“Go on, Grey,” he prompted, before turning his attention back to the Russians. “While he’s gone, I’ll wait for you to get the letters.”

Anton and Viktor nodded and stood, heading for the door. “We’ll be right back, Captain.”

“No,” Rafe said, pulling back his coat to reveal one of his pistols. “One of you will be right back. The other is staying with me.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN




Daphne allowed the barmaid to escort her to the back of the tavern. The woman fussed over her like a momma bird with her baby. She clasped her arm through Daphne’s. The stench of sweat and ale wafted off her like perfume. A steady stream of apologies tumbled from her rouged lips as she ushered Daphne into a tiny room at the back of the establishment.

“I don’t know wot came over me,” she said in her overly loud voice. “I ain’t never been so clumsy. Jimmy’s sure ta take those tankards out o’ me pay.”

Daphne was barely listening. She was worried about leaving Rafe alone to wait for the letters. Something was going on. She’d seen the look in Rafe’s eyes. He was suspicious. And so was she. Leaving the letters in the alley hadn’t been part of the original plan. She racked her brain. Had either of the Russians said anything on the True Love last night that she hadn’t remembered? Anything that could be interpreted as them having cottoned on? No. There was nothing. Or damn it. Had she missed it because her head had been fuzzy?

The barmaid quickly produced a towel of questionable cleanliness and tossed it to Daphne, who used it to blot the remaining ale from her cap and forehead and dry her shirt as best she could. She needed to get out of there as quickly as possible and back to the table.

“Obliged,” she said, tipping her cap and moving around the barmaid.

“Wot’s yer hurry, guv?” the barmaid said, plunking her hands on her hips.