Chapter 11
Eleven
Staring up at the canopy above his bed at three a.m., Rafe went over and over his interaction with Henrietta Carew.
That kissing her was singularly the most foolish thing he’d ever done in his life was without question, but quite frankly, that wasn’t his real quandary.
No, the biggest issue with the whole bacon-brained business was that he didn’t regret it.
Not even for one second. And that scared the living daylights out of him.
For the first time in his life, Rafe was actually imagining having a home. Not simply a place to leave his few belongings, but somewhere he belonged, with… God help him… a family waiting for him.
How the hell did it happen? When had it happened?
He thought back to the few days he spent at Blackmore.
The chaotic, boisterous, joyous family gathering that had captivated him against his will.
Watching them all together had prompted a longing so painful he’d immediately pushed it deep down inside – instead, behaving like an arrogant fool.
Since then, he’d struggled to summon the unemotional, aloof side of him that always settled over him like a shroud when he was on a mission. And he was nearly always on an assignment of some kind…
Before meeting Henrietta, Rafe had considered women merely as a means of gaining information, well aware that most found him attractive.
In his experience, there were two types of ladies.
Young, genteel innocents who thrilled at the hidden danger they sensed in him but were content to flirt within the safety of their gilded cages, and those who were older, wiser and wanted to experience firsthand the thrill of that hidden danger.
Both were equally useful in his line of work.
But Henrietta was of neither type. That she’d been sheltered he had no doubt, but despite her incorrigible wit, there was no guile to her at all.
Experience told him the attraction between them was mutual, but she hadn’t tried to flirt with him.
Perhaps it was due to the serious nature of their current situation, but in all honesty, he suspected it had simply never occurred to her to do so.
When he’d spotted her being accosted by the drunken thug, Raphael had wanted to kill the bastard. His ability to operate dispassionately in every and all situations had deserted him entirely.
And therein lay his biggest dilemma. Somehow, he had to put his burgeoning feelings for Henrietta aside and deal with the problem at hand.
If he failed to reinstate Tristan and put an end to the Revisionists once and for all, Raphael feared he would never be free of all the subterfuge and secrets.
Indeed, there was one particular secret he hadn’t yet shared, and when his duplicity finally came out – as it was certain to do, he was almost certain that Henrietta would want nothing more to do with him…
Naturally, Henrietta said nothing about the day’s unexpected turn of events.
In actual fact, she didn’t even mention she’d been out of the house, and if she was quiet over dinner, well, in truth, so was everyone else.
Looking round the table, she suspected the reality of what they were about to do was uppermost in everyone’s mind.
Even the bickering between her grandfather and Dougal was confined to the occasional kick under the table.
Once everyone had retired to their respective bedchambers, she’d been tempted to confide in Roseanna, but in truth her feelings about the Frenchman were confused.
The sensations she’d felt when he kissed her were like nothing she’d ever experienced before, so instead, she spent the entire night tossing and turning until Rosie had grumpily questioned whether the bed had bugs.
Raphael had asked her to wait until after the current situation was resolved, but Henrietta knew very well that it might never be solved at all. What would happen then? Would he walk away?
Would he be allowed to walk away? He was undoubtedly the keeper of a multitude of secrets. Could someone like that ever have a normal life?
Henri didn’t have any of the answers, nor would she any time soon. Whether she wished it or no, her only option was to watch as she’d been asked to do and let things run their course and when it was over, pick up the pieces…
‘I have to say I am disappointed in you, Sir.’
Reverend Shackleford looked over at his curate in surprise. ‘What the deuce are you mumbling on about Percy?’ he asked.
The three of them were the first to board the Faith and Fortune, having arrived bright and early for two reasons.
Firstly, Finn had spent the entire previous day ingratiating himself with the crew, and naturally they wished to take advantage of the excellent relationship the boy had cultivated.
Secondly, and arguably more importantly, one more second in the bed with Percy and Finn could well have resulted one or both of them leaving the room through the window…
What made it worse was the knowledge that Dougal had his own bedchamber.
‘I brought my son to Torquay under false pretences,’ Percy continued firmly.
The Reverend sputtered in indignation. ‘You can’t deny the lad’s been having a wonderful time,’ he went on, waving towards Finn, who was running up and down the deck under the benevolent eye of the crew, being chased by Flossy.
‘You asked me to come to Torquay because you were concerned about Dougal’s immortal soul,’ Percy insisted.
‘Well, that’s not qu…’ Augustus Shackleford, only to stop as Percy held up his hand. ‘You said you thought he was possessed.’
‘Well, I…’
‘…That you thought Finn might well benefit from coming face to face with the forces of evil.’
Reverend Shackleford winced.
‘Now, I’ll be the first to admit that Dougal Galbraith could make even a saint’s entry into heaven uncertain,’ Percy went on sternly, ‘but I think we both know he is not possessed, Sir.’
‘I don’t think the forces of evil would give him house room,’ the Reverend muttered under his breath.
At the curate’s sharp look, he gave a sigh and nodded.
‘You’re right, Percy, lad. Though I’m not proud of it, I can’t deny I’ve been tempted to violence on more than one occasion when dealing with Dougal.
However, I have to admit there’s been no evidence to suggest that old Nick has any particular interest in the bampot’s soul – and I can’t say I blame him… ’
‘Then, why did you ask me to come?’ Percy quizzed him crossly. ‘I had to leave the parish in old Tom’s hands, and the last time he took over, he had half the congregation stocking up for the Second Coming.
‘I assume that you had no idea that Finn might be asked to investigate a traitor when you sent the missive?’ The curate’s voice had turned from cross to suspicious, and with a small cough, the Reverend looked round at the mention of the word traitor.
‘Keep your voice down, Percy, lad. We don’t know who might be eavesdropping. ’
‘Well, did you?’ the curate repeated.
‘Absolutely not,’ Augustus Shackleford retorted, now using his best fire and brimstone voice. ‘That was entirely the Froggy’s idea.’ He tucked his crossed fingers inside his cassock and stared at the curate innocently.
Percy narrowed his eyes. He’d spent so many years with the Reverend, he knew exactly when the old reprobate was pitching the gammon.
‘I think…’ the clergyman went on, only to pause as Finn came running up. ‘Ah jus’ seen one o’ the sailors leavin’ the ship,’ he hissed, pointing to a shadowy figure walking down the gangplank.
‘Tare an’hounds, the others aren’t here yet,’ the Reverend grumbled. ‘If he’s our traitor, ain’t he supposed to wait until his absence is not likely to be noticed?’
‘Ah dinnae think anyone explained that tae ‘im,’ Finn shrugged, ‘an naeboddie be watchin’ anyways. Shall ah gaun tell the Captain?’
‘Has he told the crew about the change in destination?’ Reverend Shackleford asked, watching the sailor’s progress down the wharf.
‘Ah dinnae kenn,’ Finn answered, running along the deck to keep the man in sight.
‘Thunder an’ turf,’ the Reverend grumbled. ‘Why does every conspiracy we come across have to be so deuced complicated?’ He shook his head in disgust as Finn began hopping up and down in nervous excitement, looking for all the world as though he was about to enter a boxing ring.
Augustus Shackleford ground his teeth in annoyance, unsure what to do. In the end, Finn made the decision for him. Shaking his head in frustration, the boy turned and ran towards the gangplank, Flossy at his heels.
‘Fiend seize it,’ Percy muttered in a rare display of temper. Then, by unspoken mutual consent, the two men lifted their cassocks and took off after the boy.
As they hurried along the wharf, the first carriage was arriving carrying Roan, Gabriel, Faith and Hope. Seeing the two clergymen heading towards them, Roan commanded the driver to stop and leaned out of the window.
‘What’s happened?’ he demanded as the two clergymen came up alongside.
‘I reckon our bloke’s legged it,’ Augustus Shackleford wheezed as Percy ran on ahead. ‘Finn’s on his tail.’
‘Please don’t do anything foolish, Father,’ Faith called worriedly, leaning round her husband.
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ the Reverend groaned, leaning against the side of the carriage. ‘By the time I get there, it’ll likely be all over bar the deuced shouting.’
‘I think one of us should accompany you,’ Gabriel announced, leaning forward to open the door.
Reverend Shackleford shook his head. ‘Finn’s headstrong, but the lad’s not bird-witted. Just tell the Froggy.’ And with that, he took off again.
‘Damnation,’ Hope muttered. ‘Finn might not be bird-witted, but I can’t say the same about Father.’