Redeeming the Rogue (41 page)

“No!” Arianne gasped.

Rafferty refused to look at her. If he did, he couldn’t say what needed to be said to free her from a life tied to a no-account Irishman. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “No one would need to know what transpired here. I’m certain her charms would appeal to someone more worthy than me.”

Bedford straightened, considering. “Until this is resolved, she sleeps alone.”

“Agreed.” He nodded. “I’ll take Phineas’s room.”

“No,” Bedford said. “You’ll share mine. There’re two beds. I won’t trust you otherwise.”

“Fine. I’ll only stay tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be gone,” Rafferty said, determined.

“Then you’re returning to London.” Bedford nodded. “I’ll engage an excellent solicitor for you. It’s the least we can do.”

“I’m not going back to London until I’ve found the one responsible for all this,” Rafferty said.

“But Lord Henderson—”

“Lord Henderson’s cable was a warning to find the guilty party and unravel the mystery. He knows I won’t go back to England until I find the one responsible. That’s why he chose me for this position.”

He couldn’t avoid her any longer. He steeled himself and turned to Arianne. Tears glistened in her eyes. He fought the urge to pull her into his arms and reassure her that everything would be all right. Because it wouldn’t, not for him. Nothing would ever be right again, now that he’d known the love of his life and had to watch her go.

“You’re free now, darlin’. Now that your brother knows the truth, he can help find you someone more suitable.” He tried to smile for her benefit. “Someone fancy and fine. Someone who knows all the right dances and the proper names of all those forks.” He ran this thumb tenderly along her jawline, over her lower lip. “Someone worthy of Lady Arianne.”

“What if I don’t want to be free?” she asked, her voice thin and wispy. She must suffer the same constriction in her throat as he.

“You don’t want to be tied to someone who’s been branded a traitor.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Consider your options.”

He left the study to drag himself upstairs and find a place to rest his aching ribs. Bedford’s voice stopped him. “What are you going to do?”

Rafferty braced his hands on the banisters that ran on either side of the staircase. His head hung from the sheer weariness of it all. “Whatever is necessary to clear my name.”

“Where will Phineas find you?” Arianne asked.

He glanced over his shoulder to find her face. Clever girl. His lips lifted, but he knew it couldn’t have reached his eyes. Those days of unrestrained joy and contentment, of light and warmth—those days spent with Arianne—had all passed behind him. “I’ll be at the harbor. He’ll know how to find me.”

 

WILLIAM WAITED TILL RAFFERTY HAD CLIMBED THE stairs. “There’s no reason for us to stay in Washington.” He guided his sister back to the study. “Rafferty said it himself. You’re free, Arianne. No one really knows what happened here.”

“I’m not leaving,” Arianne said defiantly. “In deference to you, William, I’ll abide by your decision regarding sleeping arrangements, but I’m not leaving Washington. Not while Rafferty is still here.”

William poured himself a drink from the decanter. “Who was it?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he elaborated. “You said Rafferty didn’t ruin you. Who did?”

“Baron Von Dieter,” she replied. “I met him when I stayed at the embassy in Vienna.”

“This is the Baron about whom Mrs. Summers wrote?”

“Yes.” She averted her gaze.

His eyes narrowed. “Did he force himself on you?”

“No.”

“Then why did you give yourself away like that?” William asked, perplexed.

“I thought I loved him, and I thought he loved me.” Strange that she could now discuss this topic as if from a distance. Rafferty had done that for her. He made her face what happened and understand in a way she couldn’t before. “Karl said this would prove my devotion to him. I thought that by granting him liberties, he would be tied to me. That we would become officially engaged.” She smiled at her naïveté. She could see now that she was desperate not to be alone. “I was wrong about all of it.”

“I’d say you were wrong.” William’s face began to flush once more. “Once we’re back in England, I’ll pay a visit to this baron. He’ll propose to you or I’ll—”

“I don’t wish to marry him, William,” Arianne said quickly. “He’s engaged to someone else, and I’m glad of it. Looking back, I think he was only interested in me because he felt I had a superior bloodline, like the horses you breed in your stables. When I thought we were to be engaged, I told him the truth about our father, our real father. I believe he came that night to punish me, to make me unsuitable for the gentry.” It was so clear now.

“I’ll still pay a visit to him,” William grumbled. “Then we’ll see what value he places on bloodline once he’s been gelded.”

She smiled. “You sound like Rafferty, William. You know, in some ways you two are very much alike. It’s true what he said about marriage. He has asked me and I’ve refused. He did insist on marriage first, but I followed your advice and seduced him.” Warm heat at the memory of Rafferty in the tub flushed her cheeks. She snapped open a fan. “This weather is merciless.”

William studied her quietly for a few minutes. “I think you were right to refuse Mr. Rafferty.”

“You do?” Her jaw dropped.

“A sister to a duke should be able to do much better than an Irish traitor for a husband,” William said calmly.

“He’s not a traitor.” Anger seized her. “How can you say that? Do you not know him at all?”

“He hasn’t a title.”

“A title does not make a man. Look at the Baron; he had a title. He didn’t have character, but he had a title.”

“Rafferty hasn’t any property, no skills to speak of . . .” He ticked off his arguments on his fingers.

“He has the
Irish Rose
. He has skills. How could you think otherwise?” She was flabbergasted. Were they talking of the same man? “Why, Lord Henderson wouldn’t have sent him if he didn’t trust Rafferty’s skills.”

“Yes,” William mused as if her words were insignificant. “I can think of several men with nice estates who are looking for a wife to raise their brats and perhaps give them more. They’ll overlook your altered state because you come with property. You won’t mind if they’re considerably older than you, will you, Anne? Those are the least finicky of the bunch when it comes to virginal wives. It’s not as if you’re interested in love.”

“Stop it! I know what you’re doing,” Arianne warned. “I’m not interested in marrying for titles or property or money.”

“You weren’t interested in marrying for love or you would have accepted Rafferty’s proposal, but you didn’t,” William said, jabbing a finger in her direction. “In hindsight, I believe that was smart. I’ll have to deal with this baron, of course. Offer an incentive to keep quiet until we have you properly married. We should move quickly in case you’re carrying Rafferty’s child.”

Rafferty’s child! She hadn’t considered that. She pressed her hands to her corset in wonder. Was that possible?

“I failed you, Anne,” William said. “I see that now. I should have made arrangements for your marriage to someone worthy of a duke’s sister long before you met the Baron. Look at my marriage. It was an arranged affair and turned out wonderfully. But then you know that as you had a part in the arranging, didn’t you?” He smiled. “It’s ironic that you did such an excellent job at picking out the perfect spouse for me, and yet the absolute worst for yourself. Fortunately, I can fix all that. This time we’ll find someone suitable.”

THE FACT THAT HE WOKE WITHOUT HIS THROAT slit was a good sign, Rafferty thought, remembering poor Rosalie. Bedford had been ready to tear him apart last night, and with good reason. Arianne deserved better; now she could have it. At least he’d taught her not to fear intimacy. Given the damage the Baron had done, that was an important lesson. She’d make a fine wife for some fortunate aristocrat. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be him.

But enough of maudlin sentimentalities; he needed to focus on the task ahead. He would have to take comfort in the fact that Arianne was safe and pack all those other memories away for a small whisper of warmth in a cold, lonely future.

It was Monday, July fourth. Independence Day, they called it here. Independence from England battled for and won a little over one hundred years ago. Someday he hoped Ireland would have a similar celebration, but he hoped it would be one gained through diplomacy and not blood.

Commerce came to a halt on this holiday. No cargo was lowered into the holds of the waiting steamers moored along the harbor. There was nothing he could do for the moment. He couldn’t talk to Briggs, as he needed to know beforehand if Briggs was involved with the smuggling operation. Best to check out the cargo first and talk to him later.

Meanwhile he found a cheap hotel room to stay in. Give his ribs another day to heal. He spent the day thinking of Arianne, reliving her passion, remembering her face when he said good-bye. He hadn’t even had the luxury of a good-bye kiss; not with her brother standing there.

The papers reported that President Garfield was still alive, though suffering a great deal of pain as a team of sixteen doctors poked and prodded for the bullet. In deference to his suffering, many of the planned holiday celebrations had been canceled, except for a fireworks display at the harbor. Rafferty didn’t even bother looking out the window for a glimpse of the fireworks. It wasn’t his country, it wasn’t his holiday, and it wasn’t a time for celebration. He pulled the blanket over his ears to muffle the sound and went to sleep.

The next morning, Baltimore Harbor was bustling, loading ships, unloading others. He walked the wharf, dodging the men, ropes, and crates, searching for the
Irish Rose
. She was tucked in between two larger, more impressive tramp steamers. It was easy to see Captain Briggs would’ve had to fight for cargo given the
Rose
’s smaller holds. Much of the goods on the docks would be unsuitable for the
Rose
. Just as the railroads had pushed the mail coaches into obsolescence, so the larger liners were pushing the
Irish Rose
.

Rafe dressed for the role of a stevedore, complete with a low cap to shade his brow. His black eye wouldn’t be out of place in this company. He pushed his shoulders forward to look like he carried the world on his back and joined the line of working stiffs shouldering the coffins slated for the
Irish Rose
.

“Give me a hand here, mate,” one of the hands called to him. Rafferty complied.

“You take the back corner; I’ve got the front. Ready?” On a signal, they both lifted the box onto their shoulders. “Heavy, ain’t it? Just my luck, I get all the fat Irish.” They carried the box to an area near the ship and placed it on top of a short stack. The stacks were tied together with a stout rope then attached to the hook of the ship’s winch to raise from the dock and lower into the hold.

They went back for the next box marked for the
Irish Rose
. “Are all these going to the same place?” Rafferty asked.

“They’re all headed for Ireland. That’s all I know. Why the Irish come all the way over here to die, just to go back to Ireland, is beyond me.” With a grunt, they hoisted another and moved it to the ship.

Rafferty helped load the coffins for the next two hours. By the end of that time, his bruised ribs hurt enough to make his slouch one of necessity rather than disguise. They took a break. Rafferty spotted Liam, his workmate, a pint.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Liam said, licking the foam from his lips.

“I was working at the Washington docks but had some trouble.” He pointed to his eye. “Heard Baltimore paid better. It’s a bigger harbor, to be sure.”

Liam proceeded to tell him the ins and outs of the loading operations, warning him to check carefully to see that he got paid the right wages for the right hours. Rafferty nodded at the appropriate intervals, pretending to listen carefully.

They had worked about an hour more when the foreman announced it was quitting time. Rafferty hid his cap in a niche on the harbor, then headed for the ramp to the
Irish Rose
.

“You there! Where do you think you’re going?” the winch operator called.

“I left my cap on the last load. Can’t afford to lose another. Let me check the hold and I’ll be back.”

“Well, hurry up with you, or you’ll be spending the night with those stinking corpses.”

Which was precisely what he intended to do. Knowing the ship as he did, it was easy to hide until the hatch was replaced, plunging the cargo hold into blackness. Anticipating such an event, Rafferty had slipped a small candle and matches in his pocket. The flickering light enabled him to locate the crowbar Briggs kept on the wall for emergencies. Securing the candle with a bit of wax, Rafferty pried the top loose on the first pine box.