Chapter Thirty

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Today I’m going to teach you how to shoot, Daphne,” Rafe announced the next morning after Daphne had finished her breakfast and was making the bunk. There wasn’t much to do while they awaited the Russians’ inspection of their cargo. They had to remain on the ship in case the Russians paid a visit, and Rafe was convinced they were being watched as well. They had to appear completely at ease, playing the role of a crew anchored in harbor.

Daphne whirled around to face Rafe. “I don’t particularly care to learn how to shoot. I intended to spend the afternoon practicing my knife throwing.”

“There will be time for that later. I’ve been considering it and I think it’s important for you to learn how to shoot as well.”

Daphne wrinkled her nose. She’d never much cared for pistols. Her father and Donald had gone shooting often. She followed them on occasion to watch and she remembered it being loud and smoky. Not a particularly pleasant way to spend the day if you asked her. But if Rafe thought it was important that she learn, she wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity for a lesson. Not to mention, spending a bit more time in his company was not an unpleasant thought.

Daphne followed Rafe up to the deck to the far side of the ship where no other ships were moored off the starboard side. There was nothing ahead of them but open water, a perfectly safe place for shooting practice. He had set up a makeshift target using an old piece of flotsam he’d apparently dredged out of the water or retrieved from the hold. There was a crude bull’s-eye painted on it.

She glanced at the bull’s-eye and then back at Rafe. “You did this, for me?” She pointed at herself.

His characteristic grin appeared on his face. “How else do you expect to learn to shoot?”

Daphne bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too wide.

Just as he had the day before, Rafe showed her how to stand, how to angle her hand, and how to hold the pistol. They stood together on the bow of the ship and shot off into the water, using the horizon as their guide. Rafe had two pistols and was obliged to stop and reload them each time they were used.

Twenty minutes later, Rafe declared, “You’re much better at throwing knives than shooting pistols.”

“I told you. I don’t like pistols,” Daphne said, squinting. “They’re far too loud and a bit unpredictable.”

“I must say, with two older brothers, I’d have thought they’d have taught you before now. I must speak to Swifdon about it when we return.”

Daphne laughed and shook her head. “Julian did try to teach me when I was much younger, but I quickly tired of it. He and Donald used to have a bit of brandy and challenge each other to shooting matches.”

“That hardly sounds safe.”

“It wasn’t. They were young lads when they did it. If Father had known, he would have beaten the tar out of both of them. Father taught Donald to shoot like a gentleman.”

“He didn’t teach Julian?” Rafe asked, his brow furrowed.

Daphne looked down at the deck and shook her head.

Rafe stepped closer to her and lowered his voice so the members of the crew who were on deck couldn’t hear. “I understand. My father never taught me anything useful.” Rafe cleared his throat. “At any rate, only a fool would drink and use pistols.”

Daphne would have loved to hear more about Rafe’s father. He never talked about his family. But he’d already changed the subject.

“I agree,” she said with a laugh. “I shall endeavor not to drink spirits when I’m practicing my shot.”

“Or when you’re practicing your knife throwing, either,” he added with a wink that made Daphne’s belly flip.

“Good plan,” she said. “I have to be honest. Until the other night when you told me you didn’t drink while working, I thought you couldn’t control your drinking.”

Rafe looked up from reloading one of the pistols. “I know that, Daphne.”

She pushed the tip of one of her boots along the wood-planked deck. “Why didn’t you tell me it’s not true?”

He raised both brows. “And ruin your bad opinion of me?”

She met his eyes. “Be serious.”

Rafe rammed the shot into the muzzle of the gun. “My father drank, to excess. He became angry and unreasonable when he drank. I vowed years ago that I would never follow suit.”

Daphne watched his profile solemnly. “I can’t imagine you ever being angry or unreasonable.”

Rafe shrugged. “My mother always said I didn’t take after my father, in temperament at least. Good thing, that. But still. I refuse to allow alcohol to control me.”

“Are you like your father at all?”

“No, I’m not, but—”

“But what?”

“I’m not like my father in any way that I can help. Mother always said I have his eyes. Other than that, I made my life a study of being the opposite of him.”

“How so?”

“He left us, when I was twelve. I haven’t seen him since.”

Daphne gasped. “That’s awful.”

“The man wasn’t responsible a day in his life. He was discharged from the army. He stole things, begged, got tossed in gaol a time or two. I was always ashamed of him.”

Daphne took an unconscious step toward him. “But you’re nothing like that, Rafe.”

He slid the hammer back on the pistol and handed it to her carefully. “On purpose. I vowed to live a life I could be proud of. A life in service to my country and fellow man.” He lowered his voice again. “I joined the army as soon as I could. I didn’t have parents to buy me a commission like Claringdon or Swifdon. I had to work my way up.”

She whispered, too. “And you became an officer? A spy?”

“Yes. After many years. My superior officers saw the potential in me. I was always good at talking myself out of any situation. I was stealthy, fast, blended in, got away quickly. Perfect spy material.”

Daphne swallowed. “And brave, Rafe. You’re uncommonly brave.”

“I don’t think of myself that way. I only think of doing my duty.”

“Did you always want to be a spy?”

“Yes. I think so. I didn’t know the word for it but I knew I had the ability to be in the military and do special work.”

“You are quite good at it, Rafe.”

Rafe ran a hand over his face. “Tell that to Donald.”

Daphne shook her head. “No. Certainly not. Donald’s death wasn’t your fault. You must know that.”

He rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead. He moved closer to her again and kept his voice low. “Enough about me. What about you? What did you always want to be when you were a little girl?”

Daphne aimed the pistol at the bull’s-eye. The air seemed to suspend in her lungs. No one had asked her such a question before. It was popularly assumed that all young women of the ton wanted to marry well and produce offspring. No one ever asked them what they wanted to do. She took the shot and, like all the others, it winged off into the ocean, coming nowhere near the bull’s-eye. “I should have known when I practiced archery with Jane at Julian’s wedding party that I was no good at shooting things.”

Rafe took the pistol from her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not certain I know how to answer it.”

“Have I confused you?” Rafe laughed.

“A bit,” she admitted sheepishly. “I’ve just never been… No one’s ever asked me such a question.”

Rafe concentrated on reloading the pistol again. He shook powder into the muzzle. “That’s a shame.”

Daphne lifted her chin. “It is a shame, isn’t it?”

He looked up at her and nodded.

She lifted her chin. “I do have an answer, though.”

He met her eyes. “What is it?”

“You must promise not to laugh.”

“I would never laugh at you.”

She swallowed and glanced out at the horizon. “I always wanted to be a pirate.”

Rafe’s eyebrow quirked. “A pirate?”

“Yes. A pirate. I read about a lady pirate once. Well, she was more of a privateer, I suppose. I wouldn’t want to actually break the law. But adventures on the high seas, sun, and wind and rain, and… freedom. It always sounded so wonderful to me.”

Rafe shook his head. His brow furrowed. “You surprise me, Grey.”

“Do I?” She rubbed the bottom of her boot along the deck. “You expected me to say something about embroidery or charities?”

“Perhaps.”

“That is mighty boring, Cap’n,” she said in her best Thomas Grey voice, doffing her cap.

“Agreed,” he answered. “For I, too, always longed for adventure.”