Chapter Thirty-eight

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Rafe tapped his fingers repeatedly against the mug of ale. His knee was bobbing up and down just as quickly as Viktor’s was. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Anton had been gone less than five minutes and Daphne hadn’t returned. It shouldn’t be taking this long. One more minute and Rafe would whip out his pistol, kill this fool, and go in search of Daphne. His fingers rested on his pistol where it remained hidden in his coat.

“Worried, Lord Captain English?” Viktor asked with a smirk. “Is your boy bad with direction?”

Rafe narrowed his eyes on the other man. He clutched the pistol. “You’ve got me confused with someone else. I’m no lord. I’m merely a working-class lad from the streets of London.”

“Your clothes are finer than mine have ever been.” Viktor expelled a stream of tobacco.

Rafe was so on edge, he actually took a drink of the foul ale. “Perhaps you should work a bit harder.”

Viktor growled at him.

“I should warn you,” Rafe said. “If this is a setup—”

“You’ll what?” Viktor asked through an evil, rotten-toothed grin.

“I’ll see you and your cohort in hell,” Rafe growled through clenched teeth. He banged his fist on the tabletop.

Viktor laughed then. It was loud and long. The sound sent chills through Rafe. When he looked up, Rafe saw the man nod nearly imperceptibly. Rafe turned his head to see a shadowy figure in the doorway.

“Was that Anton?” Rafe asked.

“No, Captain. That was another one of my comrades.”

“Where’s Anton?”

Viktor met Rafe’s stare. “By now he’s with Boris and Grey. Or should I say, your lady friend?”

Rafe jumped up from the table and spun toward the door, but the shadowy figure from the doorway was there directly behind him with a pistol half hidden in his giant meaty paw. “Sit down, Captain,” the man commanded in a Russian accent. “Don’t make a scene. Don’t worry, your cabin boy is being held somewhere safe.”

Rafe did as commanded, his mind spinning through all of the possible scenarios. His team was out there. Men he’d worked with for years. They’d been watching. They’d be following whoever had Daphne. They’d know where she was taken. But could they get to her in time before she was hurt? An icy cold sweat melted down Rafe’s back.

Once Rafe was seated again, the meaty man pulled up the chair in which Daphne had been sitting only minutes before. Rafe braced his hands against his knees. “I’ll tear you vermin limb from limb if she is hurt.”

“Ah, big threats from someone who’s in no position to be making them, Captain,” Viktor said. “Put your hands where we can see them, please.”

Rafe did as he was told, pounding his fists against the tabletop. The mugs of ale bounced. “What do you want?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“Why, you, of course, Captain English.” Viktor’s grin revealed all of his rotten, yellowed teeth. “Or should I say, Captain Cavendish?”

Rafe clenched his jaw. Damn them. This entire thing had been a setup. He’d been too anxious to get the letters. Too emotionally involved to see it for what it was.

“No more games. I repeat, what do you want?” Rafe slammed an open palm on the tabletop.

“We’ve got your lady friend,” Viktor said. “And if you want her back, you’ll turn yourself over so the men who pay us can finish what they started in France. It seems they want your head, Captain.”

Rafe concentrated on his breathing. He slowly clenched and unclenched his fist. He wanted to wring their bloody necks right now, but if his team hadn’t been able to follow Daphne for some reason, these two idiots might be the only people who knew where she was. “Why didn’t you just let me go with you to the alley if it was me you are after?”

“And let you take a few of us with you? I don’t think so, Captain. We much prefer you compliant. Taking that bit of fluff you had dressed up like a boy was the one way we knew we could keep you sane and us safe,” Viktor said.

The man with the pistol kept his mouth closed. His eyes were trained on Rafe. Viktor was obviously the leader of this pack, though they’d made it out to seem as if Anton had been before.

Rafe clenched his jaw so tightly it popped. “If I go with you, you’ll release her?”

“Yes.”

Rafe stared at them out of the narrow slits his eyes had become. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You don’t, but what choice do you have? All I can tell you is that the men who employ us aren’t interested in the girl. They want you. ”

Now that was believable. Especially since they didn’t seem to realize that Daphne was a member of the aristocracy. At least that much remained a secret. Rafe stood. “Let’s go.”

These vermin were right for once.

His life for Daphne’s?

There was no choice.