Page 51 of A Perilous Passion

“Please, I beg you, don’t deny a wounded man such an uplifting tonic,” Rafe implored her. “You’re a poor nurse if you don’t understand that your patient needs to be kept in good spirits.”

“And you’re an unconscionable flirt,” she said stiffly, patting her gown modestly into place. “I can’t imagine you saying such a thing to Mama or Aunt Flora.”

“Heaven forfend!” A wicked smile worked at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose a kiss would be out of the question?”

“Rafe! How much brandy have you had? Or perhaps it’s the nostrum that’s sent your thoughts down this road. This is neither the time nor the place for such improper suggestions. You’re hurt and need to be calm.”

“I disagree. Alone with you in a bedchamber, in the dead of night, is the perfect place and time.”

The man was truly incorrigible. “Only a few short hours ago,” she said, “you forbade me to have anything to do with you because it was too dangerous. It seems I can’t take your word for anything.”

“Yes, you can. Forgive me—I forgot myself. But be in no doubt about your attractions. I’m not merely flattering you when I say how desirable you are, how I long to taste you again.”

She blinked. This was not what she needed to hear. Not with her vivid imagination already working overtime. “Rafe, do I have to throw a ewer of cold water over you?”

Or herself?

He rolled his gaze up to the ceiling and murmured, “Mayhap you should. I fear I’m my own worst enemy. Let’s find something neutral to talk about, to take my mind off your considerable charms.”

Thankfully, a question had been gnawing away at her for hours. His answer should provide a solid distraction. “Perhaps you’d like to explain why you’ve taken to robbing folk on the highway?”

He smiled. “A ruse, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. I needed to deter people from being on the heath, so no innocent bystander would be harmed if I, or the militia, had to shoot down the free traders. I’d also hoped to deter the smugglers, but a single bandit on the road means nothing to such determined villains.”

“I suppose not,” she mused.

“Disguising myself as a high toby was another way of concealing my identity. If the free traders knew the Earl of Beckport was after them, my friends, my family, and even my servants would be in peril of reprisal. It would have made me vulnerable. I’d have no way to earn back the respect of Society.”

She leaned forward and said earnestly, “After all you’ve already done? You are more than worthy of anyone’s respect.”

“Ah, but have I achieved anything?” he asked. “All I’ve done is fail to stop a spy and a cargo of contraband, and fail to prevent a soldier’s death. Then to cap it all, I took a ball in the leg, and possibly alerted the traitor that his plot has been discovered.”

“Not if Culverdale believes he’s been attacked by a common highwayman.”

“But how will he interpret the behavior of yourself and your maid?”

She wrinkled her brow. “Maybe he’ll think we were in collusion, to act as a distraction.”

He said firmly, “I won’t have him think you’re my accomplices. God knows what he might do to you.”

It was an alarming thought she didn’t want to explore. “I’ve every confidence you’ll have him hanged before he can harm us,” she said. “Besides, I don’t think he knew who I was. When we danced at Dorchester I was masked, and in the coach, we gave him false names.”

A rich, throaty laugh erupted from Rafe, sending delicious shivers up her spine. “Clearly, I’ve underestimated you. Had we more spies with your skills, Napoleon wouldn’t stand a chance. I apologize for not recognizing your true worth.”

She felt a wash of embarrassed pride. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

“Not at all. I’m quite certain Culverdale was aiming at my head. If it weren’t for your prompt action, I’d be lying dead in Fox Wood with my brains blown out. And if you hadn’t identified him as the likely ringleader, I was planning to use myself as bait to draw the fellow out. Which, had things not gone to plan, might have resulted in me languishing in some cellar being tortured.”

The horrible image this presented made her blanch and swallow hard. With trembling hand, she helped herself to a glass of Rafe’s water. “Well, I’m glad you avoided that terrible fate.”

“As am I. I owe you much, Miss Charlotte Allston,” he murmured.

His dark eyes watched her from the bed, scrutinizing every movement. She suddenly felt intensely aware of her inappropriately intimate attire: her bare feet, her hair loosely plaited down her back, her nakedness beneath her nightgown.

He’d thrust her away at their last meeting, trying to deny the mutual attraction that had exploded like a mortar shell between them. But his intense gaze now belied those actions.

“Stop staring at me,” she ordered briskly.

“I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”