Redeeming the Rogue (34 page)

“We weren’t really,” he said, crooking a finger beneath the sensitive underside of her chin. His eyes swept her face. She had the impression he was searching for her approval, or perhaps forgiveness. She melted a bit. Rafferty soothed an errant strand of hair back beneath her straw chapeau with a gentle touch that lingered. “The night guard wouldn’t believe anyone would inspect coffins without first being intoxicated.”

William huffed. “Well, that certainly explains it.”

Her jaw softened and her cheeks lifted. Rafferty. He always managed to make her smile in the most dire of circumstances.

He turned to Phineas. “Are you joining us in Washington?”

“I’ve got another idea that I want to try.” Phineas peeled off a sideburn, then wiped the remaining residue with a cloth from his sack. “I think I’ll stay awhile longer.”

“Be careful,” Rafferty said, his voice stern. Phineas just nodded.

 

THEY TOOK A HACKNEY TO THE TRAIN STATION AND settled into one of the parlor cars, but as the route was a popular one, the explanation of coffins had to wait. They found three padded chairs in a line by the windows. Arianne sat between the two men. Immediately, Rafferty reached across the arm of the chair to lace his bare hand with her gloved one. From the glances of the other passengers, she could tell they thought she and Rafferty were an odd match. She with her fashionable traveling dress of patterned satinet, him with a drab waistcoat that would have been suitable for a chimney sweep. She with the posture trained by years in the best finishing schools, him slumped in the parlor chair in the relaxed manner of a man who hadn’t slept. She could even sense William’s disapproval, though he tried to hide it behind a copy of a discarded newspaper.

What the passengers couldn’t see were all the things she and Rafferty had in common. The lack of a stable home, a devout loyalty to country and family, a determination to do whatever was necessary to solve a murder and capture a killer. A soft snore issued from his lips. William glanced over in disgust and rattled his papers some more before folding them and tossing them aside.

“Anne, I have to say something. I try not to be judgmental, but I think you could have found someone far more appropriate than this man. If indeed you are married, why him?”

She looked at Rafferty, seeing all his wonderful qualities. “Because he needed me.”

William just shook his head. “That’s not enough for a marriage.”

Perhaps, but it was a start. Even Lord Henderson had recognized that Rafferty would need her assistance. He slept peacefully while holding her hand.
Touch me
, he had said. It almost seemed that it was her touch right now that enabled him to sleep in a moving railcar full of people. She thought of how he had comforted her two nights ago, how he had held her while she slept. How he had coaxed out her shame about the Baron and dismissed it as unnecessary for further anguish. Her affection for him was based upon more than the fact that he needed her. She needed him as well.

 

BY THE TIME THEY ARRIVED BACK AT THE LEGATION, THEY needed to change for dinner. Arianne noted that she had missed some calls, which she would have to return in the days ahead, and some acceptances had already arrived for the garden party. If only their progress on the murder was moving as quickly.

Rafferty explained at dinner that Mr. Blaine had expressed concern over the abundance of coffins bound for Ireland accumulating in the ports. He had gone to investigate and was surprised himself at the volume.

“I don’t think one needs to actually open a coffin to count their number,” William grumbled.

“I was more concerned that they might not be what they seemed. We managed to check three before the guard found us.”

“And?” William asked.

“And they contained what you might expect. But we weren’t able to do a thorough search.”

“I believe Mrs. Summers would remind us that this is not a fit conversation for a dinner table,” Arianne said. “I propose we discuss something else. Have I told you about my plans for the garden?”

Her diversion carried them through dessert. Believing Rafferty was still in need of a decent night’s rest, she excused herself early from the dinner table, certain he would follow. She went upstairs and with Kathleen’s assistance, stepped out of the numerous layers of clothing and slipped into her plain linen nightgown. She wished she had something nicer, but she hadn’t anticipated anyone seeing her in such dishabille when she packed in London.

Kathleen removed Arianne’s hairpins and pulled a boar’s bristle brush through her tresses.

“Lady Arianne, may I ask you a question?” Kathleen asked.

Arianne nodded absently. Her mind was more interested in the sort of negotiation she might arrange with Rafferty that evening. She was determined to move beyond the kisses and hugs he freely shared.

“I share a room upstairs with two of the Irish maids. One of them is a friend of a maid who used to be employed here. She’s heard me talk about how kind you are and how smart. The friend left the legation several weeks ago, but she has a problem. She needs to talk to someone, and I was wondering if you could help.”

The story sounded familiar, but maids tended to come and go from one household to the next. Most likely the girl was needing a reference. “What’s the friend’s name?” she asked.

“It’s Rosie,” Kathleen answered. “Rosalie Murray.”

RAFFERTY COULDN’T KEEP A SMILE FROM CREEPING across his face. He poured whiskey into two glasses and handed one to William. He never thought he’d be keeping company with aristocrats, much less a duke.

“You’re grinning like a Cheshire cat,” William harrumphed, accepting the glass. “You remind me of my brother.”

“The artist? I should like to meet him someday,” Rafferty replied. Which was rather unlikely, as Arianne had made it clear that this marriage was a sham and held no promise of a lasting commitment.

“So now that my sister has gone, what exactly were you looking for in those coffins?”

They had moved to the study, which was more private than the breakfast room. Still, Rafferty looked to the door. They hadn’t determined who in the household was to be Eva’s contact. In fact, it was one of the reasons he’d asked Ben to exchange his seaman’s rags for those of a footman. The boy had a talent for ferreting out information, a result from his years in the net.

Rafferty selected a chair in close proximity to the Duke so as to keep his voice low. “As I mentioned before, I was alerted to the increase in the shipment of coffins. All the coffins are bound for Irish ports, and all are shipping from New York and Baltimore.”

“Even in England we’re aware of the high Irish immigration to those cities. Why the concern about a desire to return to one’s native soil as a final resting place?”

“It wouldn’t be a concern if the numbers weren’t disproportionately high and consistent in quantity. I think something else is hidden in the boxes marked as coffins and smuggled back to Ireland.”

William narrowed his gaze, studying Rafferty a moment. “I think I might have misjudged you, sir. Perhaps Lord Henderson hasn’t completely lost his mind after all.” He leaned forward. “So what do you believe is being smuggled, currency?”

“It’s a possibility. I think the size of the boxes works well for guns, rifles, gunpowder . . .”

“Bloody hell, you say.” William’s jaw hung open. It must be a family trait, Rafferty thought, remembering Arianne’s reaction to him the first night they met. “Is it the Fenians? Are they gearing up for an out-and-out war?”

“I have my suspicions as to the man responsible,” Rafferty said, a cold determination settling into his gut. “He won’t escape me this time, but there’s something else afoot. If I’m correct, the smuggling has been going on for some time; it’s only increased in volume these last months. Lord Weston had stumbled upon something that is being planned in this country, and it cost him his life.”

“Here? What purpose could the Fenians have in staging something in America?” He laughed and sipped his drink. “It’s the guns, I’ll warrant. Weston learned about the guns.”

Rafferty wasn’t about to argue. It would serve no purpose. Lord Henderson had sent him, not the Duke, to America to unravel the mystery. No, the Duke had come to America to hunt down the ruffian who stole his deflowered sister from the safety of the Duke’s London town house. He squinted at William. Did he know about the Baron’s cruel punishment of Arianne? Taking her innocence because she hadn’t the bloodline he’d imagined? He doubted Arianne had said anything to her brothers. She’d been too mired in humiliation for that.

Rafferty finished his drink and set the crystal on the table. “Well, Your Grace . . .” Interesting that Arianne despised the use of “Lady,” while her brother by his very manner demanded the proper salutation for his title, yet his bloodline was as “tainted” as hers. “It has been a tiring day.” He stood. “You’re welcome to stay and enjoy the whiskey, of course, but I fear I must retire.”

“Rafferty.” The Duke tilted his head up toward him. “I believe you’re a man of honor.” He swirled the liquid in his glass as if he were stirring a pot. “I’ll admit I wasn’t convinced at first. But as a man of honor, I presume you will do the proper thing by my sister, if you haven’t already. Still, I’d like to hear it from your lips. The two of you are married, correct?”

Rafferty twisted the ring on his finger. “I don’t know why you’d believe otherwise.”

“I asked my sister earlier why she married you. She said you needed her. Now, I’m not certain that is true, but I’m going to ask you the same question. What made you choose my sister?”

The answer was easy. “Because she needs me.”

 

SHE WAS SITTING IN THE BED WITH ALL THE GAS LAMPS lit. He could only conclude she wanted to talk. If it had been any other night, he wouldn’t mind, but tonight he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept well two nights ago, as his mind had been too full planning a suitable revenge for the Baron. Last night, Phineas and he had waited till after midnight to commence their harbor expedition. The little sleep he’d found in the jail cell and on the train had not met his body’s needs. His eyelids were fighting to stay open, and Arianne wanted to talk.

He doused the nearest lamp. “I’m so exhausted, darlin’. I’m anxious to hear of all the things that happened while I was away.” He turned down another. “Can you tell me about it in the morning?” He shrugged out of his jacket and walked into the closet to put it on a peg.

“Did you see the flowers in the vase?” she asked. “It’s the bouquet you sent me.”

Oh yes. He remembered seeing the flower vendor at the harbor, selling bouquets to arriving and departing passengers alike. After their long ocean voyage, he thought her little trunk of fragrance concoctions must be running low. She’d appreciate the colors and the fragrances of the blossoms more than most. He slipped off his shoes and placed them together in the closet.

“The flowers each have a message. Do you know what they say?”

He was afraid of this. Phineas hadn’t been around to instruct him on the flowers’ meanings. He’d selected based purely on what seemed to suit his Arianne. He removed the cuff links from his shirt and remained in the small closet to avoid proving his ignorance.

“The calla lilies are lovely,” she said. “They stand for feminine beauty.”

He smiled. He’d picked correctly on that one, then. He started to unbutton his shirt.

“The tall spiked flowers mean ready armed.” She laughed at that. “I suppose that’s another way of saying you’ll protect me.”

“That I will,” he said, too quietly for her ears.

“This little purple flower is a way of asking if I will go with you.” She paused. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

He frowned, not sure at all if he knew the answer, but then he hadn’t realized he was asking the question.

“The white tuberose means dangerous beauty. It’s a funeral flower. I suppose you were influenced by that nasty coffin business.”

“It has an exotic sweet scent that reminded me of you,” he called out to her. Although he had to admit, given that her brother had already sworn to kill him, they were both involved in a dangerous game. The flower was more applicable than he had imagined.

“This light green flower is interesting. It—”

“—is the color of your dress that drew me to your side the night we met,” he loudly replied. Enough of this flower-meaning nonsense.

“They’re beautiful, Rafferty. I want to thank you for your thoughtfulness.” He put his shirt on a peg and began to remove his trousers. “I thought perhaps . . . you might like to negotiate.”

Negotiate? He tossed his trousers in a heap on the floor and stepped into the bedroom in his drawers. “Negotiate what?”

“You have something that I want, and you need me to express my gratitude.” Her eyes smoldered in the dimmed light. Her gaze slipped down the length of him like one of the evening delights working the harbor. “Compromise and negotiation,” she said. “They’re the keystones of diplomatic communication.”