"Oh, this feels so nefarious," Sylvie whispered to him as he let her into his house from the rear entrance. "I feel as though I am in some penny novel with all this creeping about."

Raphael did not respond but did a quick scan of his surroundings, making sure no one could see. The last thing he needed was to get caught sneaking Sylvie into his bachelor accommodations at night by a gossiping neighbor. It would be a quick trip to the church for both of them.

Why his heart leapt in his chest at the thought was something he was not too keen on examining too closely.

He put his hand at the small of her back and propelled her inward, feeling strangely protective of her. Well, surely not strange. He was responsible for her and Jane now, it was only natural that he felt the need to shield them against any harm. He frowned as her bones poked him.

She needed to eat more. He would speak to the cook at the townhouse about it.

"Do you have a hidden dungeon?" She asked as she allowed him to remove her cloak. Rafe grimaced at how thin and worn it was but bit his tongue from making an irritable comment. Fortunately, the new ones he had ordered had arrived while they had been away. Now, he only needed to force them on her, which was going to be a tedious argument. Proud little bird, if only she would let him spoil her without feeling beholden to him. She had tried to pay him back for the boarding fare at the inn, of all the preposterous things.

"No hidden dungeon," he chuckled. "Just a false panel on my office wall."

As they approached his office she paused, her eyebrows raised in a very governess-like chiding manner.

"Mayhap you ought to ensure that there are no nude women about this time."

"You will never forget that one, will you?" He sighed tiredly and led her into the office where he sat her down before removing the panel and revealing the actual wall where he had tacked up all the evidence he had collected.

"Never," she grinned at him and sat down on the chair he'd pulled out for her. Would this damn itch to kiss her ever fade? Likely not, now that he had seen her fall apart so completely on his fingers. Heard her hitches of pleasure, her quiet gasps of his name. God, he was getting hard just thinking about it.

Stop it.

He had other agendas tonight.

"Before we begin I need you to understand completely that whatever is said or shown to you in this room cannot be divulged to anyone. If I had my way, I would tell you nothing at all, but I despise lying to you. More to the fact, I have incredible difficulty lying to you, you ask too many questions. And you think too much. Not a very desirable trait in a woman, you know? God knows you make things very difficult for me, anyway." She scowled at him, her nose bunching up so he flicked it to let her know he was jesting before he gave into the fool temptation to start kissing her again. He pushed her glasses up her nose and continued, "So, the next best course of action is to involve you. To a very limited degree."

"Well I'm hardly rushing off to the Times with the news, Raphael, I am not an imbecile. Nor am I going to take up the mantle of detective with my limited capabilities."

"No," he agreed softly, his gut twisting with apprehension, his every instinct wanting to protect her from the ugly business of Thomas' death. "No, you are no fool."

"Raphael, I am no swooning miss. I can take it. Perhaps, I may even be able to help. Tell me everything."

God damn it, those eyes of two bewitching colors, so clear and sincere. He felt pinned, trapped, helpless to deny her. The rebellion in his heart grew stronger each day, those stirrings coming with more and more frequency and each time it took more and more effort to quell them.

"Thomas and I belonged to an organization that was established during the war on the Continent known as The Collective. It was made up of a number of specialists; spies, code breakers, interrogators who were willing to cross boundaries that would turn an average soldier's stomach, assassins, you get the idea. I was recruited initially in an off-field position, helping create codes for safe communication and trying to decipher intercepted missives from our enemies. Though officially I was supposed to be with the embassy in Belgium, truthfully I went wherever I was needed; Italy, Spain, Portugal."

"In the weeks leading up to Waterloo, we received information that a French regiment was transporting weapons to the front line. We relayed the information to the nearest brigade under the command of Brigadier Felix Benjamin," he paused, waiting for a reaction in case she recognized the name but she remained focused and expectant. "The Brigadier made plans to ambush them, Thomas was supposed to relay those plans to our agents in the enemy camp so that they could ensure things ran smoothly from their end. But somehow, when Thomas reached the contact point, he was not greeted by our operatives, but by French soldiers."

She slid her eyes closed as if physically hurt by the information. Rafe's hands itched to hold her, soothe her. Tell her that she had no place in this dark world. But he had promised her the truth and so he would give it to her.

"Someone betrayed you," she said gravely as he nodded in confirmation. "Someone on the inside. Someone who must have been privy to confidential information."

"The Collective, as with any military organization, had a hierarchy. We had our low-level agents and at the highest levels we had a group of highly skilled individuals whose actual identities were not common knowledge, they only went by codenames. A regular operative would never even lay eyes on most of the upper echelon. Similarly, most regular operatives would not have access to information regarding Thomas' mission. Our suspects are among these individuals," he gestured to the wall where he had dedicated a section to each of his colleagues. "The Viper, The Widow, and The Doctor. All members that have been in The Collective longer than Thomas, all members of the higher order. After the war, The Collective was officially disbanded, however, they are active still, now under the Home Office, though their existence cannot be found on any document or record. Not in the same number, obviously. Only the most skilled members were retained, even of those many retired following the war."

She assessed the wall, understanding dawning in her eyes as she said, "The books that unlocked the chamber in Thomas' study, they were hints. But there were two more, weren't they?"

Rafe nodded, a small smile playing on his mouth.

Astute little thing.

"Yes, they referred to myself and Major Fitzgerald, whom you met that day."

"Why is he not a suspect?"

"He was not in Belgium when Thomas was captured. And as I said, Thomas and The Major barely ever interacted, their ranks within The Collective too far apart. The Widow and The Doctor similarly had minimal interaction with Thomas, and even lesser motive. That is why my prime suspect is the operative known as The Viper. He was Thomas' direct superior and they did not get along. He was the one supposed to be contacting our agents, not Thomas, but he was conveniently indisposed so Thomas had to go in his stead. And then, after everything had happened, he refused to rescue Thomas. Then he refused me the use of his men to do it myself because it was too big of a risk," Rafe lips twisted into a sneer of self-recrimination. "Thomas had been trying to prove that the traitor had been inside The Collective for years. I carried out my own investigation, naturally, but clearly, I did not look deep enough. I still do not know why The Viper did it, but all evidence points his way. This is what Thomas had been trying to find evidence for, and he must have found it for why else would he have been killed? So particularly, so meticulously? In a way that The Viper is well versed in?"

"Raphael," she said on a shaky breath, getting up slowly and stepping toward him.

"And now, he has conveniently been missing while Thomas was killed. He has the skill, the finesse, the training to have pulled it off-"

Sylvie's hands settled on his shoulders a second before her mouth pressed against his. His body relaxed as his eyes closed and he allowed himself to surrender to the sensation. It was not at all like the hungry, desperate kisses they had shared at the inn; it was soft, reverent, and somehow forlorn. She kissed him as if her heart was broken and then he felt moisture along his cheeks. He pulled back gently to see two tears escape down her eyes.

"Sylvie," he crooned comfortingly, "I will get to the bottom of it, don't you worry. Thomas will get his justice."

She shook her head and wiped her eyes.

"You went after Thomas. That is how you were captured."

Rafe went still for a moment, grappling with how to answer. He wanted to lie. But even more than that, he wanted to tell her the truth.

"Well really, that's hardly anything to weep over," he bumped her nose affectionately as the rebellion took yet another attempt at overthrowing the rule of logic over his sentiments. He aimed for a flippant reply, "Occupational hazard, I assure you."

"They tortured you," she protested, stroking the breaks along his fingers. "They hurt you."

"Sylvie, it is the way of things," he pressed his lips to her forehead when he realized she trembled, as she raised her eyes to his, he saw that they were ablaze. She trembled with rage. For him. His beautiful little elven queen looked prepared to go to battle. It opened a chasm of yearning in him so deep that it frightened him, but he was helpless to look away. "Do not imagine that we have not done the same and worse to enemies that we found."

"How long?" She demanded. "How long did they have you?"

"A little over a month. After Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, they were able to rescue me. I recovered partly in Belgium and then with a specialist in Switzerland."

"That is why you did not return until a year after the war was over," she sensed his hesitation so she twined her hands with his and squeezed. The motion was reassurance and demand, all in one. "Tell me. I want to know everything."

"Yes," his breathing hitched as she took his hands. "I had to relearn how to use my hands, I had to rebuild my strength. They broke my fingers again so that they could set them properly, which in itself took a long two months. I...I was barely human the first month. I could not eat. I could not sleep. I could barely talk. If I dozed off, I would be trapped in the nightmares. They kept me sedated for a time, while they treated the injuries on my back. Many of the wounds were infected. Festering. I am glad I do not remember it."

Sylvie stared at him for several long moments before taking a deep breath. What had those keen eyes of hers seen?

"You will make him pay," she held his gaze as she raised his crooked fingers to her lips, the tenderness in the motion as she kissed each crack was a stark contrast to the retribution that burned in her eyes. Her lovely, breathtaking, unique eyes. "Whoever did this to you and Thomas, you will find him. And then, you will tear him to shreds. You will repay him for every scar on your back, every second your hands hurt you while you recovered. You will repay him tenfold. Were it so that I had the power to do it myself, but alas you shall have to take my vengeance for me."

Lust hit him then, so strong it made his knees weak. That promise of violence, that ownership in her voice. It made the dark, ruined parts of him croon in delight because she accepted him despite what she had learned. She was not disgusted by what he had endured, nor by the things he had done or the lows to which he had sunk. She had not run away, revolted and aghast, she was still here, she was holding him still. She wished she had the power to avenge him.

By God, she was perfect.

"That is not all Sylvie," he stepped away from her before he let go of all his principles and laid her down on the rug before the fire and claimed her for himself. "I found a note inside the hidden chamber in Thomas' study. It said that Jane would know where to find the evidence."

"I'll speak to her again to see if Thomas told her anything, but she does not recall much from that day," Sylvie grimaced and moved away to examine the wall.

"Alright, that is probably a good idea," he pulled up the list of names he had jotted down from the documents in Thomas' home. "Now, I need you to tell me if any of these names mean anything to you. Aside from Brigadier Benjamin, they were also in the same battalion from the time he was a lieutenant colonel until he was transferred to another post. They were all people Thomas was interested in."

She nodded, still examining the wall.

"Captain Alexander Coldly, Lieutenant Michael Mitcham, Captain Weston Windsor, Lieutenant Fitzgerald Dresden, Major Walter Frey, Captain William Banter, Lieutenant Phillip Forge."

She shook her head at each one, but Rafe was not surprised; it had been a long shot in any case. Most of these people had perished when Rafe and Sylvie had not become adults. He set about reorganizing the files he had taken when Sylvie's alarmed voice rang out in the room.

"Raphael! This man, I've seen him," she was ashen, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she pointed to the sketch of The Viper he had pinned on his wall. "It took me a moment for he had a beard when I saw him. But the scars! H-he was at the inn."

Raphael felt his heart stop beating and his blood run cold.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. He had somewhat dark skin, Indian perhaps, or maybe Italian. And the scars, and those eyes. It was him. I am certain."

That motherfucker had been at the inn. That motherfucker had been close enough to let Sylvie spot him. If Rafe hadn't gotten there in time.......

But he had. Sylvie and Jane were safe and they would stay safe.

He needed to speak to the Major. Immediately.

Get both of their men on the ground to ferret The Viper out from whichever hole he was hiding in.

"I must go now, Sylvie. Let me take you home," Raphael led her out of the office, his mind working with a lethal focus on how he would hunt that son of a bitch down.

"This is not my cloak," Sylvie frowned at the thick, black, woolen piece he was throwing around her shoulders.

"Yes, it is," he insisted. He did not have time for this argument right now.

"Raphael, I do not know which one of your mistresses left this here, but I do not own anything as fine as this."

"Yes you do," he fasted the cloak and pulled the hood up around her head. "You own seven, in fact, all in varying styles and colors. I got them for you because you, apparently, have a wish to catch a chill. I, however, share no such ambitions and insist you take them and dress appropriately for the weather."

"Raphael, I already have a perfectly serviceable cloak."

"Hah! I am going to throw that ratty old thing into the fire, the only way it is keeping anyone adequately warm is as kindling!"

"I cannot afford-!"

He grasped her by the shoulders and ruthlessly crushed her mouth under his. He was getting idiotically comfortable with kissing her all willy-nilly. He needed to stop that. Just not this minute.

"Stop arguing with me, you dratted woman! I know you spend whatever money you can spare on Jane's comforts and needs, so let me take care of yours! I swear if you talk about paying me back one more time, I will put you over my knee, give you a sound thrashing then buy you the most lavish set of gowns money can buy, understood?"

She flushed crimson but nodded.

"Now, you're also not going to protest to the pelisses and the gloves."

"The pelisses?! Gloves?!"

"That sounded like a protest to me," he infused a good deal of warning in his tone before stealing one more kiss. "I may have gone a little overboard, I grant you. But I have no time to argue. Murder to solve, traitor to catch, and whatnot. You have no choice but to accept."

He propelled her outdoors and into the waiting carriage, though there was still an outraged air about her she acquiesced readily enough.

It must truly be the height of foolishness, but he adored it when she was mad at him too.