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I could write to you, while we’re both away.
As flattered as she had been by the suggestion, it sounded even more absurd in the light of day. But then, neither of them had been thinking very clearly last night. Their scorching kisses had nearly turned her brain to mush. Perhaps Mr. Davies––Rafe—had been similarly affected. But he was still right on one account: a fierce attraction drew them to one another. Just the memory of his lean, muscular form pressing against hers set off a fierce burst of heat that tore through her body. Sylvia sat back in her chair and her restless hands began to shuffle the papers before her, but the effort was useless. Her mind remained stubbornly fixated on Rafe. It had been years since she’d had any type of virtue worth saving, but perhaps she could enjoy a little tryst. He wouldn’t want anything more than that. No doubt the man knew how to be discreet. And she could keep her secrets.
What had Lady Taylor-Smyth alluded to yesterday? Sylvia had barely been able to make out the words over the din of the crowd, but the woman had obviously made some suggestive remark about him. Rafe had looked quite aggrieved afterward, and Sylvia burned with anger on his behalf even while a part of her insisted that it was ridiculous to feel sympathy for a man like him. He couldn’t help the circumstances of his birth, but as far as she could tell he was busy indulging in the worst sort of excesses of his class.Thatshould matter.Thatshould make her immune to his advances. And yet she knew just what it felt like to have people make ghastly assumptions based on your sexual history. As if you lacked all agency. As if there were nothing more to you besides what you did in bed. It had been an incredibly demeaning experience. Why should Rafe feel any differently?
Though he hid it well, Sylvia suspected he was remarkably sensitive. She couldn’t forget the tenderness in his gaze or the emotion in his voice when he spoke of his past. And he had seemed genuinely shocked when she apologized for gossiping about him and denounced his siblings. Had no one ever said such things to him before?
Another wave of heat rolled through her at the thought of his lips on hers, so smooth and commanding. It had been undeniably thrilling to see how affected he was by her. To know that this madness was not hers alone. But it was also not born of mere physical desire. This was something that ran deeper. Something that seemed to surprise him as much as it did her. And something that could prove dangerous for them both, if left unchecked.
After whiling away the rest of the morning at the keys, Sylvia let out a sigh and gathered her papers. She had accomplished enough for today, and Mrs. Crawford would want to hear of her progress. As she made her way back to her room, her thoughts were so lost in Rafe’s kisses that she almost didn’t notice the envelope on the floor. Someone had slipped it under her door while she had been out. At first Sylvia was merely confused. Letters were delivered by the footmen to their suite once a day, and the only person who sent her mail was Georgiana. But as she bent down to pick it up, fear seized her. She turned the envelope over in her trembling hands. The front and back were both blank. Sylvia swallowed and put her papers down. Then checked to make sure the suite was still empty before closing her bedroom door. She moved toward the window and took a breath, then opened the envelope:
I have received word that you completed the first part of your task. Now you must deliver it to me. If my instructions are not followed, a telegram will be sent to the Viscount Arlington detailing everything mentioned in my first letter. Once again, I urge you NOT to read the contents of the envelope. It contains sensitive government information that could make you liable for treason. Simply deliver it to the coordinates below by tomorrow night. I will have further use for you once you return to London and can report on the viscount’s business dealings.
The blood pounded in Sylvia’s ears. Tomorrow night a fancy dress ball was being held at the castle. Guests would be attending from miles around. Whoever was blackmailing her clearly had eyes here. Sylvia’s stomach turned. It could be anyone. She read the letter again and memorized the coordinates. She would have to return to the library. There were maps of the property there. Hopefully this place wasn’t too far away. Another thought suddenly gripped her: What if her mysterious blackmailer was there waiting for her? And what if Bernard was behind it?
No, you fool. He would never have anything to do with you. Especially now.
The highly respectable and undoubtably ambitious Bernard Hughes was in the middle of his first term as MP, likely already planning his reelection campaign, and his wife was with child. It was the life his father had expected from him. The one he had taken extraordinary measures to ensure. The one that could not include Sylvia, a woman who lacked the dowry or social standing needed to make up for her unconventional views. But whoever was behind these letters knew things about her that very few could. And her former love was among them.
Sylvia let out a sigh as a heavy weight seemed to press on her shoulders. She ripped up the letter and tossed it in the hearth, watching as the flames licked the edge of the papers, slowly curling them inward before they burned. If only her past could be reduced to ash so easily.
***
Rafe arrived at a handsome town house in the respectable Hillhead neighborhood of Glasgow shortly after noon. Henry’s sister, Agatha, had married a doctor last year, and Rafe knew it had taken a great weight off his shoulders. For years Henry had been the sole provider of both his mother and sister after his father, also a captain in the Royal Navy, died young.
A fresh-faced maid with bright copper hair answered the door and showed him into a small but charming parlor. “Can I get you anything while you wait, sir?” the girl asked shyly.
“No, thank you.”
Her green eyes lingered on him until Rafe raised an eyebrow. She flushed and then bobbed a quick curtsy before fleeing the room. Rafe smiled to himself as he began to look around. It was a cozy, well-lit space, filled with furnishings clearly picked out by the lady of the house. Agatha seemed to have a particular interest in porcelain figurines of farm animals and chubby-cheeked angels.
A rustling came from down the hall, and Rafe turned to see Agatha herself enter. She shared Henry’s brown eyes and dark blond hair.
“Mr. Davies.” She smiled warmly. “It is so nice to see you again.”
“Please, Agatha. I know you’re a properly married woman now, but call me Rafe.”
She gave him an indulgent smile. “Rafe, of course.” She shut the door softly behind her and gestured to the sofa.
Rafe sat down while she took an armchair. “Allow me to offer my belated congratulations. I assume your husband is busy saving lives and helping to usher Glasgow into the modern era.”
For years Dr. Burnett had been one of the loudest voices calling for improved sanitation conditions across the city.
A delicate flush stained Agatha’s pale cheeks and she lowered her eyes demurely. “Yes. He is a remarkable man. I’m a very lucky woman.”
A thick spike of envy pierced Rafe’s chest. What must it feel like to have the admiration of another person? Of one you loved? “I’ve no doubt he considers himself lucky as well.”
“You always did know how to flatter a woman.” Agatha smiled. “Henry will be down in a moment, but I wanted to speak to you first.” She glanced at the door again and lowered her voice. “To prepare you.”
Rafe grew concerned. “What is it?” he asked gently.
Agatha shook her head and turned back to him. “I know the papers have talked about my brother’s heroic actions, but you will find him much changed. It won’t be something a man like you will be used to.”
Rafe tensed as he caught her meaning. Agatha knew Rafe had served with Henry in the navy for a time, but like so many others, she assumed his working days were far behind him. In her eyes he was a playboy far removed from the daily hardships of life—to say nothing of the horror Henry had gone through.
“I see,” Rafe said slowly. The desire to tell her the truth suddenly bubbled up through him. He wasn’t a useless rake. And he understood all too well the lasting impact intelligence work could have on a man—the constant stress, the flashbacks that came after a violent encounter, the knowledge that a simple reconnaissance mission could be your last. And he had worked with men who had been imprisoned before, albeit more briefly than the weeks Henry had endured. But Rafe was confident that he could help his friend, or at the very least provide some comfort. Dammit, he was good forsomething.
Agatha’s slight inhalation brought him back to the moment. Rafe followed her downward gaze, where the hand at his knee had turned into a tight fist. He immediately flexed it open.
