Page 36 of The Spy Who Loved Her
How naïve she had been. In the same way that a sun-starved flower stretched toward a shaft of light, so, too, did she stretch toward the warmth of Rafe’s consideration, his kind regard. A dangerous man, she thought, as she let her fingers drift over the pillow. Not to her, he’d said—but that had been a lie, even if he hadn’t known it.
The danger was in the risk of forming a one-sided attachment to another man who might not return her affections.
∞∞∞
Rafe peered through the tiny gap between the curtains at the window of his study, looking down onto the street below. There across the street stood a man in a dark coat, who seemed to be doing his damnedest to make himself inconspicuous.
It had become a habit, in the long years of his employment, to make careful note of his surroundings in order to pinpoint any changes from the usual. Such as people who followed a bit too closely, dogging his steps for too long a time for such a thing to be a coincidence alone. People whose paths ought to have diverged from his own at some point. People who did not belong there outside his house, struggling to hide behind the too-thin trunk of a tree.
Naturally he had made note of the man who had shared Emma’s mostly-empty street with him when he had left just before dawn. It would have been impossible not to, given that there were so few people about. The mere presence of the man hadn’t been concerning in and of itself, since it was hardly a crime to be up and about at that hour.
What had been noteworthy was that the man had followed him. At a discreet distance, of course, with his head bent toward the ground and the brim of his hat largely obscuring his face. But the man had followed him straight to his home in Soho, where he had set himself up across the street, half-concealed behind a tree.
A troubling new situation. And since he was reasonably certain that Chris had not set the man upon him the only thing to do for it at this juncture wasnothing. He’d been careful not to give any obvious signs that he was aware of the fellow’s presence. He could only continue to behave as if he was unaware he was being observed, and in the meantime attempt to determine to whom the man reported.
From his vantage point near the window, Rafe saw Dannyboy scurrying toward the steps below, saw the man waiting across the street watch the lad as he approached the door.
Damn. Well, perhaps he could make use of this complication in some small fashion, at least.
Within moments, there was the pound of small footsteps upon the stairs,and Dannyboy came careening into the room. “Got somethin’ fer me today?” the boy asked, his hand still clutching at the door handle.
“I do,” Rafe said, as he strode back toward his desk. “But tell me first—did you see the man across the street when you arrived?”
“What, the gent wiv the fancy hat? Standin’ like ‘e were waitin’ fer someone?”
Good; the boy was more observant than he’d hoped. “That’s the one. I suspect he’s spying upon me, and I require your assistance to throw him off my trail.”
“Why’s ‘e spyin’ on ye?” Dannyboy asked, his brow puckering with a curious frown.
Impossible to say for certain, but he had his suspicions. But with Dannyboy’s assistance, he could bait a trap for the fellow who had followed him and either confirm or deny them.
He said, “I’ll not bore you with the details. Are you up for a bit of trickery? Do you think you can pull one over on that gent out front?”
Dannyboy offered a gap-toothed grin, delighted with the prospect. “What do I got to do?”
Rafe pulled out his chair and settled into it to scrawl out a couple of notes. “You recall the man who first sent you to me,” he said. “You know how to find him again?”
“Course I do,” Dannyboy said, rocking on his heels. “Lives in a big ‘ouse in Mayfair. Got a shiny black door and a brass knocker what looks like a lion’s head.”
“Good.” Rafe blew upon the note to set the ink, folded it up, and handed it to the boy. “I need you to deliver to this to him. Keep it close and safe, somewhere it can’t be pickpocketed, and make certain you aren’t followed.”
“Got it.” Dannyboy dropped to the ground, pulled off his boot, and tucked the note into the toe. “’Ow’s that?” he asked, as he shoved his foot back within it.
“Perfect,” Rafe said. “You give itonlyto him, you understand.” He scratched out a second note, folded it into quarters, and held it out. “Thisnote,” he said, as he held it out to the boy, “is how you’re going to help me. When you leave here, I want you to stand on the steps and to be very obvious about putting it in your pocket.”
Dannyboy’s brows rose toward his hairline. “Ye want the gent to see it?”
“I do. Moreover, I want to see if he takes it. So you’ll put it in your pocket, and pretend you haven’t seen him. If he pickpockets you, let him doso without indicating you’ve noticed. When he’s out of sight—when you’re certain he’s gone—deliver the other note. It is imperative that the gent outside doesn’t know he’s being misled,” Rafe said. “Can you handle that, do you think?”
“Sure I can,” Dannyboy said. “Ye want I should tell ye if the gent takes the note?”
“Tell the man I’m sending you to,” Rafe said. “He’ll pass word along. And, Dannyboy—from now on, you come in through the kitchen in the back. Do your best not to be seen.” He fished in his pocket for his purse and retrieved a few coins to toss to the boy. “When you’re done, go and get yourself some breakfast.”
“Fanks, guv.” Dannyboy nipped out of Rafe’s study, and Rafe went to the window once more to watch. From his vantage point he could not see Dannyboy upon the steps, but he watched the man across the street stand up straighter, instantly alert. Within moments, the man had retreated down the street, ostensibly to follow after the boy.
When the man did not reappear after several long minutes, Rafe collapsed back into his chair with a weary sigh. He had got rid of the man, yes—but in the doing, he had learned a troubling new bit of information.
Chapter Twelve
