Chapter Thirty-one

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Tonight’s lesson involves being tied up,” Rafe announced that evening after they’d said good night to the rest of the crew following dinner and retired to the captain’s cabin. He drew a long piece of rope out of the cabinet above the desk.

Daphne swallowed hard. “Pardon me?”

“I thought you wanted to learn how to be a spy,” Rafe replied.

“Oh yes. Yes, I do.” She brushed her hands across her thighs. “And… spies are often… tied up?”

“Upon occasion,” Rafe replied with his infamous wicked grin. “I was tied up in France more often than not.”

Daphne swallowed again and ducked her head. Of course. This was serious and if Rafe had something to teach her about being tied up, she was ready to learn it.

“Of course, sometimes allowing your captors to think you’re tied up is part of your strategy.”

“Did you do that?” she asked tentatively. “In France?”

“Nearly every day. I kept my hands behind my back and the rope around them, but often, I was only seconds away from being free.”

The breath caught in her throat. “What should I do?”

He motioned to the bed with his chin. “Get on the bunk, Grey. I’m going to tie you up.”

A thrill that was a mixture of fear and anticipation shot through her. “Y… yes, Captain.”

She climbed up onto the bunk and sat watching him carefully.

“Lie on your stomach.”

She did as she was told.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered.

She rested both hands, palms up, over her buttocks. Did Rafe swear under his breath?

“This may hurt a bit. I’ll try to be gentle. Of course if the French were doing it, it would hurt like hell. They aren’t careful. On purpose.”

“I understand,” she murmured into the pillow.

He wrapped the length of rope around her wrists. It scraped at the tender skin there but otherwise there was no pain.

“This is the type of knot that’s not easy to get out of,” Rafe said.

“And you’re going to show me how to get out of it?” she breathed.

“Yes,” came his sure voice. “But you’ve already failed your first lesson.”

She turned her head sharply to the side on the pillow. “What? How?”

“The first lesson of being tied up is to ensure your wrists are at an angle when they’re being tied. An astute captor will notice this but you should always try in case you’re dealing with an amateur.”

“What does the angle have to do with it?”

“If your wrists aren’t pressed together, you’ll have a better chance of tugging one free.”

Daphne pressed her cheek against the pillow. “Ah. Are you going to untie me so I can try again?”

He’d leaned over her and she felt more than saw his smile near her cheek. “Not a chance. I’m an astute captor.”

“Are you?” she whispered into the pillow. Was it getting hot in the cabin all of a sudden?

“That’s right.”

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the lesson. “What should I do next?”

“What is your instinct, Grey? Being a competent spy is often about instinct.”

“My instinct is to try to pull my wrists free from the rope.”

“The exact wrong thing to do,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Daphne frowned. “Why?”

“Because all you’ll do is chafe them and then they’ll be bloody and sore, which will make it more difficult to escape.”

“What should I do then?” she whispered, wishing she couldn’t smell his musky scent.

“That’s the trick. If you are not in imminent danger… In other words if you think your captors mean to hold you and not immediately kill you, you should remain still and wait for them to leave you alone. They usually will at some time or another.”

“And once I’m alone?”

“Look around your environment.” He pushed his arms under her and flipped her over so that she was sitting in an instant. She tried to ignore the fact that he had touched the side of her breast just a little. “Look for something that could cut the ties,” he said.

Daphne hesitated. “In here?”

“Yes.”

She carefully moved to the edge of the bunk and stood on shaking legs. “How am I supposed to get anything with my hands tied?”

He nodded. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Use your imagination.”

She glanced around the small room. The washbasin, the hammock, the door handle. Nothing that would cut a rope. Her gaze fell on the small writing desk. She tried to recall its contents. An ink pot. Some paper. There was a letter opener in there! She hurried over to the desk and stared at it, then she turned and carefully pulled open the drawer using only the touch of her fingers to guide her way. It was more difficult than she’d even guessed it would be. Being the opposite of tall didn’t help, either. She kicked out the chair and climbed up on it to sit on the top of the desk then turned again to rummage in the contents of the open drawer. It took several moments but she finally felt the handle of the letter opener and she grasped it upside down in her palm. A sheen of sweat was on her forehead and her tongue was tightly clenched between her teeth as she attempted to saw at the rope.

“This could take all night,” she breathed.

Rafe stood, folded his arms across his chest and stalked toward her. “It could indeed. Time is always of the essence. You must work as quickly as possible. And remember, your captor may come back at any time. What would you do if I walked through that door and stopped you right now?” He pulled her off the desk and into his arms, kicking the chair out of the way.

She gasped as she collided with his broad chest. “I’d—I’d—”

His breath touched her cheek. “You’d better hide the letter opener as quickly as possible, whether that means pushing it up the back of your shirt or sliding it back into the drawer as quietly as possible.”

“What letter opener?” she asked, blinking innocently.

Rafe glanced over her shoulder and looked down into her empty hands. “Your shirt?” he asked with rakish grin.

“My breeches,” she whispered.

His mouth was only mere inches from hers and the feel of his hard body pressed to hers was making her feel hot and wet in places she didn’t want to think about at the moment. His hand moved to her back and pushed down to her backside to the outline of the letter opener that she’d slid into the back of her breeches. He tucked his fingers into the top of her breeches, his knuckles brushing against her heated skin there. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. He slowly slid the device out of her breeches and held it up in front of her. “Well done, Grey.”

His face changed then. Became blank. He spun her around and quickly untied her hands. “That’s enough for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll show you how to use the angle of your wrists to get out of a knot if you must.”

Minutes later he was swinging peacefully in his hammock, while Daphne rubbed at her slightly sore wrists and replayed that moment when he’d pulled her forcefully against his chest again and again in her traitorous mind. Sleep was not going to come easily tonight.