Redeeming the Rogue (19 page)

Her eyes slipped over Rafferty’s muscular form, his broad back, the confidence of his movements. A delicious sort of appreciation washed over her and settled in her belly. A lady shouldn’t enjoy such an exhibition of brute strength. But she couldn’t deny that in this instance, she did. Unlike his opponent, Rafferty fought in his shirt and braces. She found herself wishing he weren’t such a man of decorum.

“Why are they fighting?” she shouted to Phineas.

“Why else? Boredom and ignorance.” He pointed to Rafferty’s opponent. “The big bloke there is new to the
Rose
. He insinuated that Rafferty was a traitor, so Rafferty punched him.”

Phineas’s tone suggested Rafferty had no other choice. She watched the two of them grapple as if in some strange primitive dance. The oaf threw a punch that missed its intended target but caught Rafferty’s shoulder. Rafferty landed a punch with much greater effect.

“Why would anyone call Rafferty a traitor?” she asked. Perhaps this was the ignorance to which Phineas had alluded.

Phineas glanced at her askance. “You really don’t understand the emotional pull of home rule, do you?” he added as cheers accompanied another of Rafferty’s punches.

“I know that home rule is the term some use for an independent Ireland.”

Phineas nodded. “England hasn’t granted that independence, so England is often viewed as the enemy by the Irish. Rafferty works for England. So the Irish—” His sentence was interrupted by more cheers.

“Call him a traitor,” Arianne finished. How ridiculous. Anyone who knew Rafferty would know of his love of Ireland. “I suppose that’s what you meant by ignorance,” she yelled over the noise of the crowd.

Phineas shook his head. “I meant that anyone who challenges Rafferty to a fistfight is a bloody fool.” Then he smiled. “But the other is true as well.”

As if to punctuate that observation, Rafferty’s fist connected to the larger man’s jaw with a bone-to-bone crunch. The oaf staggered for a moment, then crumpled to the ground. The crowd swarmed into the center of the circle, reaching to pat Rafferty on the back. On the far side of the circle, Mr. Barings exchanged money with another man. They weren’t the only ones.

Many of Rafferty’s exuberant well-wishers, she noted, were gawky older boys and young men—reminding her of those boys on the dock. They surrounded him, reaching out to pat his back or shake his hand. As Rafferty moved, so did his followers.

Someone dumped a pail of water onto the “bloody fool.” The man sat up and shook his head like a dog in the rain. Rafferty reached a hand down and helped him up. They shook hands, though she wondered if the oaf was fully aware of his actions. Then Rafferty turned toward Phineas and froze.

His gaze searched hers. He raised his arm to wipe the blood and sweat of battle on his sleeve, all the while jostled by his supporters.

She wasn’t sure what she should do. She didn’t truly condone fighting in such a brawlish manner. Certainly it wasn’t the sort of thing in which a diplomat should indulge. But at the same time, she was proud of him, gladdened by his success. He’d stood up for himself and didn’t allow the oaf to besmirch his name. In hindsight, she wished she would’ve done something similar for herself when the Baron made her out to be a fool. Her lips slipped into a smile. Good for Rafferty.

His lips hesitantly turned up as well. Soon she could see his dimple flash even as he was jostled by the well-wishers. Then, Eva stepped from the crowd. She rushed to Rafferty, brushing a moistened handkerchief against his injuries.

It wouldn’t surprise me if the two are taking their married roles seriously
. Mrs. Summers’s words struck at Arianne’s heart as she watched Eva’s ministrations. The woman certainly didn’t look ill as Kathleen had reported that morning. Eva hadn’t dressed in a fashionable day dress. Her long hair lifted loose in the breeze, she didn’t wear a hat, nor did she carry a parasol. She had none of the required accoutrements for the role she had deigned to play, yet she had Rafferty’s full attention as she dabbed the cloth near the corner of his lip. Instantly, Arianne realized she didn’t fit here, in this gathering. She had not been invited nor particularly wanted.

Being the outsider, the misfit, was not unfamiliar. She knew the tightening of the throat and heaviness in her stomach from the holidays she stayed at school because her father didn’t want her home. That sense of dismissal was revisited when so many men avoided her simply on the basis of that ridiculous nickname. She was the intruder, the one that didn’t belong, just as she had been for most of her life. The one others carefully walked around, afraid to touch . . . afraid to love . . . afraid to marry.

Phineas turned to collect a wager and didn’t notice as she joined the dissolving crowd. No one missed her as she walked away. No one noticed the straightened spine or her rapid blinking to keep tears at bay. Mrs. Summers was wrong. Arianne knew she’d be perfectly content in her country sanctuary away from the people who would hurt her by exclusion, gossip, and rejection. She didn’t require their presence any more than they requested hers. Once she delivered Rafferty and his actress to their Washington destination, she’d book a ticket on the largest steamer she could find and retire to the country where she wasn’t constantly confronted with all that she was not.

 

RAFFERTY TURNED HIS HEAD TO SEE ARIANNE, BUT SHE was gone. Part of his victory elation drained out of him. Where did she go? He had expected her to be disappointed that once again he hadn’t lived up to her diplomatic standards. He had failed her. But then she smiled, almost as if she was proud of his victory. What a moment that had been . . . and now . . . was gone.

The crowd dispersed as the men returned to their stations. Rafferty thanked Eva for her attentiveness, then accepted the congratulations of Mr. Barings, who appeared by her side. That done, he made his way to where Phineas counted his winnings before anyone else could intervene.

“I’m pleased to see that you made a profit on my fists,” Rafferty observed.

“I’m not a foolish man, Rafferty. I take advantage when I can.” Phineas shook the hand of the man who had just paid him.

“Lady Arianne was here. Where did she go?”

“Go?” Phineas glanced around the deck. “She can’t be far.” He smiled at Rafferty. “It’s a small ship.”

Rafferty cursed beneath his breath. Phineas was of no help. “I can’t go running after her. Not smelling and looking like this.” Rafferty checked the starboard side for the seductive swish of skirts beneath a lacy parasol. Finding none, he turned back to Phineas. “Did Kelly have supporters?”

“Only the foolish ones that believe size is all that matters,” Phineas said. “Every dog has supporters when money rides on the outcome.”

Rafferty nodded, hesitant to ask the question for which he was afraid of the answer.

“She was worried about you,” Phineas said, his voice lowered. “I could see it in her eyes . . . and indignant that someone would challenge your loyalty.”

“Indignant?”

Phineas nodded. “If I hadn’t stopped her, she would have taken Kelly on herself. She pointed that parasol like a military general.”

The image of Arianne as a general made him smile. She would preside over the battle as she had over an eleven-course meal. That the very proper sister of a duke was willing to do battle to defend his name lessened the recurring sting of accusation. But that didn’t explain why she left.

“What about Eva?” Rafferty asked.

“I didn’t see her until the fight was over. Do you still think she’s the lady in green?”

“It would make the most sense.” Rafferty pushed his hair back. He had to admit, even if Arianne did butcher his hair, the cut was more comfortable on a warm day such as this. Glancing down the main deck again, he wondered why he felt the need to find her. He’d see her in an hour or so for another of those blasted lessons, when she would criticize something about his clothes, his manner. Perhaps this time she’d criticize the way he held his fists, his fighting stance. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

“Go,” Phineas said. “Wash up for your diplomat lessons. I’ll ask around to see if anyone wanted your blood for more than the shillings a wager would bring. Maybe that will lead to the lady in green.”

So Rafferty returned to his cabin for a quick wash and a change of shirt. However, when he reported to the saloon, Mrs. Summers was there alone.

“Lady Arianne is not feeling well,” she said, her eyes narrowed in accusation. “She asked that I take her place.”

Eva arrived, dressed in one of Arianne’s reworked day dresses.

“Now that you are both here, we’ll start with a review of the salutations of the various foreign heads of state by country and hierarchy. We shall begin with the Russians . . .”

“A STORM IS BREWING,” PHINEAS COMMENTED AS the lone server placed bowls of a thin soup before the diners. “It’s building in the east. Looks like we’ll be in for some rough weather.”

“A storm?”

Rafferty glanced to Arianne. Those were the first words he’d heard from her lips today. Normally she was the perfect conversationalist, engaging those around her to exchange pleasantries. But she’d kept her gaze to her plate thus far this evening, avoiding conversation. Just as she had all day by hiding in her cabin. Just as she intended to continue hiding if those fear-rounded eyes were any indication.

Captain Briggs cleared his throat. “I’m trying to avoid it by running south. The worst of it should pass behind us, but I’ve instructed the cook to serve a light meal, just in case. It’s going to be a horse race.”

Mr. Barings groaned. “Don’t speak to me of races. I’ve lost one purse already.”

“With your experience behind the wheel, I’m sure we’ll be in no danger.” Mrs. Summers smiled at Captain Briggs. Rafferty could swear that the man’s chest expanded with the compliment. Come to think of it, Briggs had been taking supper with the passengers more frequently this week.

“You shouldn’t have bet against Mr. Rafferty,” Arianne interjected, catching Rafferty’s attention.

What’s this? She was defending him? She raised her gaze to meet his.

“He was fighting for his honor,” she said. “One should take extraordinary measures to protect their honor. Once lost, it is irretrievable.”

There was such a haunted, almost desperate quality to her eyes that for a moment he thought she spoke from experience. That wouldn’t be possible. Not for Lady Upper Crust. He captured her gaze, but after a pause she glanced aside.

“While I don’t approve of the brutality of pugilism,” Mrs. Summers said, “I’m not aware of this question of honor. What precipitated the disagreement?”

“A bloody brute of a man suggested Mr. Rafferty was not a true son of Ireland,” Phineas said.

“There are those,” Rafferty said, “that believe indiscriminate bombings are the only path to independence. I am not one of them.”

“Yet you resorted to violence to protect your claim.” Mr. Barings picked up his wineglass and leaned forward. “Interesting. Don’t most disputes for independence result in a war?” Eva fidgeted beside him, a telling nervous gesture. “Perhaps your objection is not to violence but to independence itself,” Barings concluded.

The sound of silver hitting china echoed round the table. Rafferty withdrew his bandaged knuckles to his lap. “What precisely are you suggesting, sir?” he challenged.

“I’m suggesting it was wise of Lord Barnell to have you sent to America so you wouldn’t disrupt his important work back in England.”

“Lord Barnell . . . ?” Rafferty repeated. Could it be true? Could Barnell be behind Rafferty’s selection as British minister? He glanced to Arianne as if she held the truth.

“How soon will we reach America, Captain?” Eva asked with a tense smile.

“A lot depends on how much this storm blows us off course. You never know about a good storm at sea. However, I’d guess we should pull into port within two days.”

Rafferty narrowed his eyes in Barings’s direction. “Remind me, sir, what is your business in America?”

“I’ve some family there that I’ve never met. I thought I’d take time to see a bit of the countryside, possibly expand my business overseas.”

“I, for one, will be happy to have Mr. Rafferty in America,” Mr. Skylar, the shy American, spoke, diffusing some of the tension at the table. He hadn’t been to many of the dinners this week and avoided conversation when he did. “That’s why I came to dinner this evening,” Skylar said, as if reading Rafferty’s thoughts. “I wanted to congratulate you. You really put on quite a show this morning.”

“Are you a pugilist, Mr. Skylar?” Mrs. Summers asked.

Rafferty thought the question silly, as one could easily see that the man fought little more than the occasional book.

“Not really,” Skylar said, with a wince. He turned his gaze to Rafferty. “But I’d like to learn if you could show me some of your punches.”