Redeeming the Rogue (37 page)

Rafferty pretended to comply. He stepped to the side as if trying to hide the location of the billfold while he set his feet. Just as the clod was anticipating a fat purse, Rafferty threw a quick punch with his left that knocked the wind out of the brute’s chest. As he tried to suck air, Rafe delivered a brutal punch with his right to the clod’s jaw. Blood splattered, and he went down like a felled tree to the hushed audience in the bar. Rafe turned and checked behind him, but no one attempted to take the bruiser’s place. Pity that. He stepped over him to leave the establishment. To his surprise, the hansom that had delivered him still waited outside.

“I didn’t think you’d stay long,” the driver said with a cackle, “but I’m surprised to see you walk out.”

Rafferty directed the driver to the legation and climbed into the relative safety of the cab. He couldn’t deny it. He’d changed from the man he was in London, and he could name the pert, elegant lady responsible. Now the question presented itself—was it for the better or for the worse?

WELCOME BACK, SIR.”

Evans didn’t comment on the bloodstains on Rafferty’s gloves or the unwashed scent of Finnegans that seemed to saturate his clothes even in the brief time he was there, though Rafferty suspected he’d noticed. “Your wife and brother are currently dining in the breakfast room.”

He hadn’t time to change, and frankly, he didn’t care to. He still mourned the loss of the person he used to be and wasn’t ready to wash it away just yet.

“Rafferty!” Arianne rushed toward him the moment he appeared in the doorway. She was a vision, so elegant, so clean, and so very different from the women of his former existence. His groin tightened. He anticipated her revulsion when she got close enough to smell the remnants of Finnegans. Perhaps then she’d change her mind about “negotiating.”

“I was worried when—” She picked up his hand. “What is this?” Wide eyes searched his. “Is this blood?”

“Relax, darlin’. It’s nothing to worry about.” He pulled off the gloves, tossed them on the sideboard, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. In case she hadn’t gotten a good enough whiff, he walked her back to the table. “There was a small altercation at the establishment I visited.” He grinned as he sat. “They were so enthralled with my diplomatic skills they were hesitant to let me go.”

“Bloody hell, Rafferty,” William said. “You were serious about fighting. I’m glad I didn’t take you up on it.”

Ben set a plate before him and winked, while another server poured the wine. Rafferty supposed it was Ben’s way of congratulating him on the fight while conforming to Arianne’s instructions on proper server etiquette. Smart boy to learn the art of compromise at such an early age.

Arianne signaled to Ben, then motioned him to bend low enough that she could whisper in his ear. Once that was accomplished, Ben left the room.

“We were just discussing Arianne’s skill on the piano,” Bedford said.

Rafferty gazed at her. “I didn’t realize you could play.” He sipped his wine. “What a lovely surprise.”

“I’m not very good. I’ve been so busy getting the gardens ready, I’ve been too preoccupied to practice.”

“You should play for us after dinner,” William said. “I’m sure Rafferty would enjoy that.”

“No,” she said, emphatically. “I believe Rafferty has other plans.”

“I do?”

“Yes, but we’ll discuss it later . . . privately.”

Her tone suggested there would be no further discussion about those plans at the dinner table, which suited him just fine. They hadn’t resolved their disagreement from this afternoon, and he certainly didn’t want any more of Bedford’s advice on the matter. This was something he and Arianne would have to resolve in private.

“Did you see Phineas at this establishment?” Arianne asked.

“Not that I noticed, but Phineas has a way of being unseen,” Rafe replied, spearing a piece of meat. “I do expect he’ll be here tomorrow. I thought I’d have him investigate that funeral trust that Rosalie mentioned.”

“You know, Rafferty.” William’s voice took a serious tone. “I’d be happy to assist you in this investigation in some capacity. Just because I have a title doesn’t preclude me from having a brain.”

Rafe glanced at his supposed brother-in-law. Had he underestimated the man’s usefulness because of his title? He had to admit he’d been prejudiced against Arianne when they first met because of hers. She’d proven that his assumptions about her were unfounded. Hadn’t she found Rosalie in the midst of all her legation duties? She’d taken in Ben and the boys without complaint and worked with them so they might find useful employment. She’d handled many of the diplomatic responsibilities so he’d have time to do his investigations. Quite frankly she’d surprised him, and maybe her brother would do the same.

“I think I might have something you could do,” Rafferty said. Bedford set his fork down and leaned forward. “My talented wife made an observation today.” He smiled over at Arianne, who looked wary. “She asked Rosalie about references. Don’t you see? Everyone who works at the legation must have had references. Arianne and I have reason to believe that there is a spy in our midst. I would like you to secure the letters of reference for the staff and look at them for some sort of discrepancy. You and Arianne would have a much better appreciation of what it takes to obtain such positions. Arianne has her hands full with other responsibilities at the moment, so I’m going to leave it to you, Bedford, to ferret out the spy. Whoever it is, they won’t see it coming from you.”

William nodded. “I can do this. I will do this. I won’t let you down.”

“I’m counting on you,” Rafferty said. “I can vouch for Benjamin. If you need someone to work from the inside, Ben is your man.”

William settled back, looking quite pleased with himself. “It’s good to have a challenge. Something to occupy one’s mind beyond reading the morning papers. Franny will be impressed with all I know now about American politics. Did you know that the major political parties have divisions within them? They have some colorful names. There’s a group called the Half-Breeds. I thought it was a reference to some mingling with American Indians, but it’s not. It’s about reform to stop giving political jobs to political supporters. I suppose politics are the same the world over. We have the similar arguments in England.”

“You met one of the Half-Breeds, William,” Arianne said. “Do you recall Mr. Blaine? I understand he originally planned to run in the Republican Party for the position of presidency against a supporter of another faction called the Stalwarts. It was all explained to us on the ship coming over. Neither of the two men could earn enough support to represent the Republican Party, so Mr. Garfield was brought into the fray as a compromise.”

“Compromise,” Bedford said. “It’s the backbone of politics. So was this Garfield a man of the Half-Breeds or Stalwarts?”

“Neither, but he did put Mr. Blaine, a Half-Breed, in his cabinet, and selected a Stalwart, Mr. Arthur, as his vice president. We met Mr. Arthur at the Executive Mansion. He seemed a nice enough gentleman,” Arianne said.

“He’s Irish,” Rafferty added. “Or rather his father is.” There was something else mentioned in that discussion on the ship about Arthur that intrigued him at the time. What was it?

“Well, gentlemen.” Arianne stood, causing Rafferty and William to rise as well. “The evening grows late. If you will excuse me.” She crossed to Rafferty and accepted his kiss on her cheek.

Rafferty watched her skirts sway as she exited the room. He wondered at her serenity, given their earlier argument. Perhaps she’d seen his point.

“Even though I was initially frustrated that Arianne’s actions were forcing me to leave my wife and son for an interval,” Bedford said, “I must admit I’m glad to have spent the time getting to know her better, and you, of course. You surprised me, Rafferty. You’re not at all the man I thought you would be.”

Rafferty’s expression must have warned he was on thin ice. William hastened to continue. “I was afraid Arianne would follow her inclination toward weak men. You see, she witnessed the old Duke’s brutality toward our mother more than the rest of us. I believe to avoid placing herself in our mother’s position, she chose unworthy candidates for her affection.”

Having seen the Baron, Rafferty could attest to Bedford’s observation.

“When she saw the blood on your hands just now,” Bedford said, “I was afraid she would remember some of the violence she’d witnessed as a child. She handled it well, I thought.” He startled, as if wakened from a reverie, and smiled. “So you see, you were a complete surprise to me. She chose well. Perhaps better than I could have for her.” Bedford stood. “I believe I’ll forgo the cigars tonight. Good night, Rafferty.”

Rafferty sat back in his chair, listening to the world settle around him. Could Arianne have refused his proposal because she was afraid of his temper? He’d never hit a woman; the thought was repugnant to him. But it did explain her choice of that milksop baron.

Accusing her of licentious behavior was most likely not the best way to handle the situation. Bedford had been correct inasmuch as he should have gone to her to explain his concerns in a less accusatory fashion. He needed to show her that he was not volatile, that he could control his temper and, hopefully, his lust as well. For that, he might as well start tonight.

 

HAD HE NOT BEEN CONCENTRATING SO HEAVILY ON how to explain his concerns to Arianne in a controlled manner—and praying at the same time that she’d be asleep and thus spare him from a difficult conversation—he might have noticed that the light beneath the bedroom door shifted in a manner not conducive to gas lamps and the air had become infused with exotic floral notes. He opened the door to a room illuminated by flickering candles, on the mantel, on the writing desk, even on the floor by the paneled screen. Everything wavered in a soft, sensuous dance of light and shadow, including Arianne, who rose when he entered the room. She wore a fine lawn night rail, so sparse in decoration as to be common, but so thin as to render suggestions of the riches beneath, even in the candlelight.

“I had a warm bath drawn for you,” she said. “Let me help you undress.”

“Arianne—” he started to protest, but she silenced him with a finger on his lips.

“I want to do this,” she said.

She stood before him, unfastening the buttons on his vest.

“About this afternoon . . .”

“Let’s not argue tonight, Rafferty.” She stepped closer, then slid her arms up his shirt to his shoulders, pushing the fabric of both jacket and vest with the back of her hands to let them fall on the floor behind him. He pressed his cheek briefly against her scented hair, inhaling the rich, sensuous notes of patchouli and luscious florals.

“Oh darlin’, I’m sorry.” He wasn’t certain what he was sorry for, but he had a compelling need to apologize. His John Henry expressed its desire to make an appearance and make amends as well, based on the urgency in his groin.

Her talented fingers made quick work of his shirt buttons while he removed his cuff fasteners behind her back. His shirt soon joined the growing collection on the floor. He started to unfasten the buttons on his trousers, but she pushed his hands aside.

“Let me,” she murmured. She finished the buttons and untied the string of his drawers.

“Touch me, Rafferty. I want to know it’s you beside me in the dark.” Her hands slipped inside his drawers at the hip, leaving him little option but to grasp her upper arms. Suddenly, she sank to one knee, tugging his clothes with her.

Sweet Jesus! His bobbing cock strained at the same level as her sweet lips. His fingers had progressed up her body as she slid down, and they now lingered on her head. He fought the urge to pull her face toward his cock, knowing that might scare her.

She removed his shoes and socks, just as he had done for her before, then kissed his upper thigh. His cock jumped, begging for attention most likely. So she gave him some. She ran the pads of her fingertips up his shaft. Then rising from her knee, she cupped him in her hand. Lord, if she was planning to lead him around by the cock, he’d happily follow. But she released him to tug at his hand. She led him to the tub and watched him step in.

He sank into the warm, scented water, feeling it rise and surround him. She knelt beside him and, soap in hand, smoothed it over his chest, across his shoulders, along his arms . . .

“Why are you doing this, love?” he asked, somewhat uncomfortable in their reversed roles.

She soaked a sponge in the water, following the same path as before. Droplets of the water splashed on her night rail, rendering visible what was before suggested. “I think you were right, Rafferty. I understand if I’ve been a disappointment to you.”

“Not a disappointment,” he protested.

She bade him to sit up so she could wash his back. Thus he couldn’t see her face. He could just listen to her voice. “I know you’re not like the Baron. You’re a better man than him, more kind, more honest. I’m . . . used goods, but I love you, Rafferty. I can understand if you don’t want—”