The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(69)

“And that was for me!” Rafe shouted at the hulk’s quivering mass, viciously kicking him in the side.

“Rafe,” Daphne cried, tears pooling in her eyes. She was still shaking so hard her teeth clacked.

Rafe fell to his knees beside her, his hands skimming her neck, her chest, her legs. “Daphne, are you all right? Have you been stabbed?”

“No, no,” she sobbed.

“You’re covered in blood.” Rafe enveloped her in his arms, cradling her head against his chest. “Did they hurt you? Did they—?”

“I’m fine. Just … frightened.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Rafe, how did they know? How did they find out? The barmaid told them I was female but … how did they know my name?”

Rafe didn’t let her go. He stroked her head. “I don’t know. They must have done some investigating after they discovered you weren’t a boy. I can only imagine they paid enough money to the right person.”

Daphne shuddered. It truly didn’t matter how they found out. All that mattered was that she was safe. And Rafe was safe. “How did you find me?” she whispered against his chest.

“Those two idiots, Anton and Viktor, offered your life for mine.”

Daphne gasped. She pulled back away from him slightly and cupped her blood-streaked hand over her mouth.

“I agreed of course and they brought me here. In shackles.”

Daphne eyed him up and down. He clearly wasn’t wearing any shackles on his wrists or his ankles. Her brow furrowed. “How did you escape?”

Rafe’s infamous grin lit up his face. “You and I didn’t quite make it to that lesson, but unfortunately for them, escaping shackles is one of my specialties.”

Daphne had to smile at that. “Did you … are they dead?”

“No. Though not because I didn’t want to kill them with my bare hands. The crew took them. They followed me here. They were unable to find where you’d been taken because they’d been watching the door to the tavern, not the alley, but when Viktor brought me out of the inn, they followed us.”

Daphne shuddered at the thought of how close she’d come to rape and death. Thank God Viktor had brought Rafe here.

“What will happen to them?” she asked, while Rafe removed his coat and covered her shaking limbs.

“They’ll both be tried for murder and espionage. And I’ve got the letters that will lead me to the men who hired them in France.”

Daphne pressed a hand to her belly. “That’s wonderful, Rafe. It’s just what you wanted. Now we can go to France and find the other men and—”

Rafe’s face turned to a mask of stone. “We aren’t going anywhere, Daphne.”

“But you’ll need me. I speak Russian. You said yourself that Gabriel often speaks it to keep you from knowing what he’s saying. I can help you.”

Rafe shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. I’ve already put your life in danger twice. I won’t risk it again. I’m taking the True Love and the crew and sailing for France without you.”

Anger bubbled in Daphne’s chest but she knew Rafe’s mind was made up. He refused to admit he needed her. He refused to admit he needed anyone. There was no arguing with him at a time like this. This was it. He was going to leave her. It was over. She should have known it would end like this.

Rafe held out a hand. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE




Back in Julian’s town house in Mayfair, Daphne sat on her bed turning the tiny replica of the True Love over and over in her hands. She traced the little mast with her fingertip, remembering how many knives she’d thrown near that towering piece of wood. She sighed. She’d been home for three days and it was raining, again.

She’d already told Delilah all the details she could in exchange for the girl’s silence. She’d even included the harrowing bit. She hadn’t told her all of the details, of course. She’d left out the part about Rafe nearly making love to her. It had been a feat, coming up with a believable story to tell Mother about why she had a large bruise across her cheek, but somehow she’d managed to convince her that she’d tripped down the stairs at Lucy Hunt’s country house and Lucy—that dear—had made a show of profusely apologizing for the clumsiness of her servants who had obviously polished the wood on the stairs with far too much aplomb.

Julian, however, had taken a bit of convincing. The moment he’d seen the bluish-black bruise, he’d been prepared to storm from the house to kill someone. It had taken both Daphne and Cass a considerable amount of time to convince him to sit down and breathe. Of course, Daphne hadn’t told him the truth of exactly how she’d got the bruise. No need to worry her brother further. The damage was already done. But she knew Julian suspected it had been more than an accident, as she’d informed him. Thankfully, once he realized she had no intention of telling him, he’d stopped asking questions. Apparently, a reputation for stubbornness was good for something.

Daphne stared out of the window into the dripping rain. The afternoon was so dull. Delilah had gone to take a nap. Mother had offered to play cards with her but Daphne had politely refused.

She wanted to practice throwing her knife. She found herself repeatedly touching her ankle to see if the knife was in her boot. She wasn’t wearing a boot and she certainly wasn’t carrying a knife. Not to mention her mother might have an apoplectic fit if she saw her daughter out in the gardens hurling knives at trees.