The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(8)

CHAPTER FOUR




Daphne rounded the corner toward the drawing room just as Rafe was coming out the door. She nearly collided with his broad chest. The man smelled like pine needles and soap and—oh, something else good that she didn’t want to think about. She swallowed and shook her head. “I, er, Captain Cavendish, I mean—”

“There you are. I’d nearly given you up for dead.” His grin was unrepentant.

She took a step back and stared straight into his cravat. No good could come from staring into that handsome face. And that dimple … “I’ve just come from Julian’s study.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “And?”

Delilah’s little face peered around the far corner. “Do you mind?” Daphne pointed toward the drawing room where they would have more privacy. She waved Delilah away and frowned at the girl.

“Not at all.” Rafe pushed open the door again with one hand and gestured to her to precede him into the room.

Daphne straightened her shoulders and marched inside, trying her best to ignore his scent. This time she detected a bit of soap and leather and— Ooh, this was not helping. Not at all.

She made her way around the table in the center of the room, using it as a shield from his nearness.

Rafe eyed her with his arms crossed over his chest again. “I must say the way you ran out of here earlier, I wasn’t certain you were coming back.”

Daphne glanced down at her hands, staring at the naked ring finger. “I didn’t run.”

“Didn’t you?” She didn’t even need to look to know his brow was quirked.

She cleared her throat. No use quibbling with him. And very well, the truth was, she had run. A little. “You quite caught me by surprise.”

“I’m sure I did, but you didn’t allow me to finish what I was saying.”

Daphne tossed her hands in the air. “Finish what? Finish telling me you refuse to grant me an annulment? I’d heard quite enough. You’ve clearly lost your mind.”

“And you ran off to tell your brother on me before hearing the rest of it.” He scrubbed a hand against the back of his head. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. You seem to enjoy looking to your family to fix everything. I daresay there hasn’t been a problem in your entire life that the Swift name hasn’t solved for you.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed to slits. His words rankled. Perhaps because they contained a bit of the truth. She had run off to enlist Julian’s help and she couldn’t deny it now. Instead, she scrunched up her nose and drew in a deep breath. “Very well. I’m back. Tell me. What do you want?”

“Want?” Again with the eyebrow quirk.

She nodded, her heart beating like a rabbit’s foot in her chest. Julian had informed her that unless the groom was willing, the annulment could not possibly be done quickly or quietly. If she didn’t get Rafe to agree to this, her entire weekend, her entire engagement, let alone her entire future, the one she’d planned with Lord Fitzwell, would be ruined. She feigned nonchalance by folding her arms over her chest and pushing out her cheek with her tongue. “Yes. In exchange for the annulment. What do you want?”

“That’s more like it.” Rafe inclined his head toward her. He slowly crossed his arms over his chest. “I want you to come with me, back to the docks, on Sunday night.”

Daphne’s stomach dropped into her slippers. “Whaaat?”

“You heard me.”

“Back to the docks? Why?”

“The spy ring. The Russians. They’ve returned. I have it on the best authority that they’ll be there. And they’re bringing something I need.”

Daphne pressed her hand to her throat. She’d gone to the docks with Rafe last year and had spent nearly a fortnight there with him, posing as his cabin boy. She’d worn stockings and breeches and a loose shirt and cap and—oh, God—she’d thought that was all long over. It had been an age ago, and she’d been stupid and na?ve and that had all been before … Donald was killed.

“Even if I wanted to, Julian would never allow it.”

Rafe arched both brows this time. “As if Julian’s wishes have ever stopped you before.”

Daphne nearly growled. Rafe had a point. He always had a point. “I’m—I can’t.”

He casually crossed his booted feet at the ankles and regarded her down the length of his perfectly shaped nose. “Why can’t you?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m a respectable young lady. I’m about to become engaged to Lord Fitzwell. I cannot go gallivanting off in boy’s breeches and a cap.”

Rafe snorted. “Not so long ago, boy’s breeches and a cap didn’t bother you much. Lost your passion for adventure, have you? Besides, you can hardly become engaged when you’re married to me. Even Julian’s title can’t fix that little problem.”

Daphne turned her head away, refusing to answer. He was right about the engagement but those weren’t the words that had stung so badly, more than Daphne expected them to. A vision of Calliope Cauldwell spun through her brain. Calliope Cauldwell had spent time on a pirate ship of all places. She’d been forced to walk the plank. Had been rescued by a privateer. She’d worn boy’s breeches. Though a tricorn had been her headwear, not a cap. And Calliope Cauldwell didn’t even speak Russian. But still …