The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(72)
Rafe nodded. “I am.”
Upton inclined his head and took a drink. “Not much work for a spy during times of peace. Is this your last mission?”
Rafe contemplated the amber liquid in his glass. “You know why I’m going.”
Upton turned the glass around and around in his hand. “To find the men who killed Donald Swift?”
Rafe took a sip. “That’s right.”
Upton narrowed his eyes on Rafe. “You told me once I should take my own advice.”
Rafe furrowed his brow. “I said that? When?”
Upton continued to turn the glass in his hand. “Last spring. When I told you how guilty I was over Harold Langford’s death. You said you knew how I felt.”
Rafe managed a half shrug. “I don’t recall.”
“I do.” Upton’s voice held an edge to it that hadn’t been there before.
Rafe tipped back his head and took another drink. “And what was my brilliant advice?”
“I told you that you shouldn’t blame yourself about Donald’s death and you told me that perhaps I should take my own advice.”
“I said that?” Rafe shook his head. “I’m an idiot.”
“Funny. I thought it was quite wise.” Upton finally took a sip of his own drink.
Rafe scrubbed his free hand through his hair. “I’m not wise. There’s nothing wise about me.”
Upton set down the glass and braced his forearms against the back of the chair. “Yes. I assure you, there is. I know you have your score to settle but I want you to remember something.”
Rafe barely glanced up. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“Don’t allow guilt over Swifdon’s death to haunt you.”
Rafe gave the future earl a half-smile. “Ah, so you’ve come to return the favor, have you? Give me my own advice? Remind me of my wise words?”
Upton stood and bowed. “That’s precisely why I’ve come. Well, that and another reason.”
Rafe looked at him quizzically. “Which is?”
“I know when I see a man trying to drown his sorrows over a lady by drinking too much.”
Rafe snorted. “You do, do you?”
“Yes, I do, and I thought I’d also give you a bit of advice I learned the hard way.”
Rafe raised his brows and looked up at the man who stood next to him. “Which is?”
“Don’t let the woman you love slip through your fingers because you’re being too damned stubborn to admit you love her.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Rafe was lying in his bunk in the captain’s cabin of the True Love, tossing a coin in the air and catching it. He’d removed his boots and loosened his cravat. One knee was bent, the other leg straight. He stared unseeing at the wooden ceiling. Again and again he tossed the coin and caught it in the same hand. It was a reflex at this point. His mind was long gone, turning in circles exactly like the dropping coin. Tomorrow morning, he and the crew would set sail for France. The letters he’d secured from the Russian spies told him everything he needed to know about the location of the men he was after in France.
He should have been concentrating on the mission, but instead Upton’s words were steadily haunting him. “Don’t let the woman you love slip through your fingers.” What did Upton know about it? How did Upton know about it? Was it that damn obvious that Rafe had feelings for Daphne? He tossed the coin again and caught it solidly in his palm. Damn it. He wasn’t allowing Daphne to slip through his fingers. He’d never had her. She’d made it clear that not only did she not believe him about whoever the hell that blond woman had been, but she also had a list of a bunch of titled gentlemen from which she had already picked another husband. Rafe hadn’t pressed her on naming the chap because he couldn’t stand to know, if he was being honest. It would only cause that awful sick feeling in his middle to return. The same feeling he’d had when he’d met Edmund Fitzwell. Regardless, Daphne couldn’t have been more clear that Rafe was not a suitable candidate for the position. Perhaps ironic, given that he currently was her husband, but that didn’t matter. He’d give her her bloody annulment. He’d already sent a letter to his contact at the Home Office to get the thing started, quietly. And if his unsuitability wasn’t enough, he’d nearly allowed her to be raped and killed on his watch. No. He was absolutely no good for Daphne Swift, regardless of how he might feel about her. He could offer her nothing but mediocrity and danger. He couldn’t believe after what she’d been through at the hands of the Russians that she’d offered to go with him to France. But there was no possible way he’d risk her life again. No. The rest of this mission he had to complete. Alone.
He tossed the coin again. Upton’s words still rankled. Besides, Rafe’s situation wasn’t exactly like Upton’s. Upton had been wounded in Spain. His friend Harold Langford had taken a second bullet meant for Upton and lost his life. That had been Langford’s choice. Rafe was a captain in His Majesty’s army, sworn to protect Donald Swift with his own life. He’d failed. The two incidents were nothing alike.
Not only that but if Julian Swift found Rafe before the French did, he’d no doubt beat Rafe to a bloody pulp himself. Daphne had surely informed her brother of her near escape from the Russians. Rafe had promised to keep every hair on her head safe and she’d already had the makings of a large bruise on her face when he’d taken her home. Apparently, one of those filthy bastards had struck her. If he wasn’t already dead, Rafe would have gone back and finished the job. He would make the rest of them pay, too.