Taming Rafe (14 page)

“Felicity taught me to waltz,” May put in excitedly. “May we have a waltz?”

“Several of them, my dear.”

Rafe and May strolled off hand in hand, plotting over whom they would invite and which villager’s wife made the best sweet tarts. Felicity leaned back against the table. He was definitely up to something—though destroying the stable in order to keep himself in the house
was
the most likely explanation.

He’d told her he wanted to do more than kiss her, and the idea didn’t shock her nearly as much as she’d expected. Whatever prospects for marriage and family she’d once had were speedily diminishing, and as May constantly pointed out, Rafael Bancroft was absolutely smashing. She’d been on her own for so long. Besides, if it kept him here…

She shook herself and turned to retrieve the sack of peaches. He’d likely been intimate with enough women that it wouldn’t be enough to convince him to remain, and she would be the one to pay any penalty. He was also capable of breaking her heart, for undoubtedly she would do something stupid like fall for him. Felicity dumped out the fruit, and
a pair of brightly colored hair ribbons fluttered onto the table.

She lifted one, holding its blue coolness against her cheek. It was entirely too late for wariness. She’d fallen for him already.

“That damned bastard!”

The Earl of Deerhurst slammed the neatly ironed issue of the
London Times
onto his dining room table. He glared at the small, discreet ad up in one corner toward the back of the paper, and then ripped it free. He tore it in half, and continued ripping until nothing remained but the word “quaint,” still attached to the rest of the page. He pulled it free and shredded that, as well.

Rafael Bancroft was making the task of regaining Deerhurst more difficult, and reducing any chance of keeping his father’s stupid blunder a secret. If Forton Hall exchanged hands in the traditional manner, through damned nosy solicitors, the bookish louts would swiftly discover the amended clause that included ownership of Deerhurst. It was only because that idiot Nigel had made a private sale to his so-called friend that that particular complication had gone unnoticed. Mrs. Denwortle was already clucking to everyone about Bancroft’s attention to estate business. And according to the shredded advertisement, he’d already hired at least one solicitor.

“Fitzroy!” he yelled.

A moment later the butler appeared. “Yes, my lord?”

“Clean up this mess. And have Taft meet me in my bedchamber. I’ve a soiree to dress for.”

Bancroft hadn’t explicitly invited him to the soiree, but practically everyone else in the county
would be attending, and he had no intention of being excluded. Felicity would be there.

She’d always had something of a
tendre
for him, and if he couldn’t persuade her to marry him, at least he could convince her that Forton Hall would be better off in his hands than in those of that arrogant London dandy. And if that failed—well, there was always bloodshed. Deerhurst smiled. That would certainly turn everyone’s attention away from rotting old Forton Hall and its deed.

Rafe bit into an apple and wiped his chin with his sleeve. “So how many cattle do I have?”

Felicity pulled one of the ledgers from the stack of papers covering the dining room table. He didn’t know why she’d chosen today to make him sit and go through the accounts with her, but any time spent with Lis was all right with him. And though he would never have suspected it, some of this twaddle was actually interesting.

“Last year,” she said, indicating a line on one of the pages, “we had thirty-six.”

“So I have thirty-six.” He took another bite of apple. His minstrels should be wandering by anytime now. Pleasant as the morning had been, he needed to get moving.

“Will you pay attention?” Lis snapped, glaring at him. “Cows have calves.”

“Thank you for the biology lesson,” he said dryly, startled by the venom in her tone. “I’m rather new to this keeping accounts business. You’ll have to be patient with me.”

With a sigh, Felicity sat in the chair beside him. “I’m sorry,” she said in a calmer voice. “My brother absolutely refused to pay any attention to the estate, and you were wearing a rather distracted look just now.”

He grinned. “Just thinking of you.”

“Do try to concentrate on the cattle, will you?”

Resolutely Rafe returned his attention to the disheveled spread of papers before him. She smelled like lavender, though, and he had to keep fighting the desire to lean toward her to smell her hair. If this kept up, he was never going to learn a thing about estate management—not that it mattered, if he sold the place. Rafe shook himself.
When
he sold the place. He had no choice. And it was what he wanted, anyway.

He jumped when her fingers brushed his temple, moving a strand of his tawny hair aside so she could see his scar. Rafe pretended to keep reading, though he might have been holding a newspaper written in Chinese for all he saw. Gently her fingers traced the length of the old wound. Generally he hated being touched there, but at Lis’s caress he only closed his eyes and shivered a little. It would be all right, as long as she didn’t begin cooing over his bravery, like the London ladies loved to do.

“Just how did you manage to get stuck in the face with a bayonet?” she asked, her voice slightly unsteady.

A little cooing might have been nice
. “I fell on it.”

The caress stopped. “You
fell
on it?”

Reluctantly he opened his eyes again and faced her. “Did you want to hear the ‘heroic Rafe Bancroft’ version known to most of London, or the ‘stupid lucky sot’ version, as my brother calls it?”

Her lips curved in a slow smile. “The true version, if you please.”

He was curiously pleased at her choice. “I was roaring away at full charge in the middle of the cavalry, and neither my horse nor I saw a lovely little troop trench right in front of us. The nag tried
to stop, and I was thrown headfirst into it and onto a very startled French soldier, and knocked my skull on his bayonet. The horse fell in on top of both of us, broke my leg, and snapped the poor fellow’s neck.”

“Good God,” she whispered. “You were more than lucky.”

At least she hadn’t laughed. “Yes, I know. I’ve been reminded of that on a regular basis.”

Hesitantly she traced the scar again. “You could have broken your neck, or lost an eye.”

Rafe swallowed. “I thought I
had
lost it, at first. Had blood in both eyes, in my ear, up my nose, in my mouth…” He stopped talking as her cheeks paled. “Sorry,” he murmured. “It does sound rather appalling, doesn’t it?”

Lis shook her head. “Not appalling. Terrifying.”

“Others were wounded far more badly, but I was the only one who got carried to Wellington’s tent and tended by his personal physician.”

She looked at him. “Would you rather they’d left you in the trench to die? You don’t seem the vainglorious, self-destructive sort, Rafe.”

“Oh, no. I was quite happy to be the Duke of Highbarrow’s son that day.”

“So what’s your complaint?”

If he’d ever thought Felicity some empty-headed society chit, that question would have forever dispelled the notion. “Complaint?”

“I assume you used your father’s name to get you to Waterloo, and it was your father’s influence that got you tended when you were wounded. It all balances out, I would say.”

For a long moment he stared at her, torn between amusement at her practicality and annoyance at her bluntness. “Ouch,” he said finally.

“Oh, please,” she said, humor touching her
voice. “You can’t tell me someone who appreciates irony as much as you do hasn’t considered that.”

“Of course I have. But when I’m trying to impress a beautiful lady with my brave feats, she’s not supposed to throw the truth back in my face like that.”

“Then you shouldn’t have told me the truth in the first place.” Her expression grew more serious, and her warm fingers brushed his temple again. “Why did you tell me the true version?” she asked softly, her dark eyes meeting his.

“Because you asked me to,” he replied in the same tone, unable to deny even her smallest request.

She leaned closer, and he half closed his eyes, anticipating her kiss. Lis hesitated, their lips a breath apart, then turned to face the papers on the table again. “We had eight calves last summer, and two more this spring. On the counter side, I’ve sold four head over the past year to pay the bills.”

“Kiss me,” he ordered, trying to decide whether to laugh at her stubborn practicality or drag her under the table and tear all her clothes off.

She smiled, looking at him from beneath her long, black lashes. “Tell me how many cattle you own.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“Yes.”

“Forty-two.” He slipped his arm around her waist.

“Yes, but—”

He wasn’t about to be tricked out of a kiss, and he pulled her forward and closed her mouth with his. Felicity’s arms swept up around his neck, and he thrilled in the knowledge that she couldn’t resist him any more than he could resist her.

Now that he’d started kissing her, he didn’t want to stop. Slowly he pushed her back, until they were lying across three of the dining room chairs. He shifted to nibble at her earlobe and the line of her jaw, reveling in the taste and scent of her.

As she ran her hands up and down his back, he slipped one of the clips out of her hair, wanting to see it loose again around her shoulders and to bury his face in the cool lavender darkness. Kissing her hungrily, he pulled loose the other clip and let her long hair tumble down.

“Rafe,” she murmured silkily against his mouth.

“Hm?” Damn, she felt good. Painfully hard, he swept a hand down to her hips to pull her closer against him.

She took an unsteady breath. “Rafe, don’t forget that you have…four cows…with calf,” she managed shakily.

“What?” Fuzzily he lifted his head to look down at her. “I’m trying to make love to you, and you’re talking about cows?”

“It’s important,” she protested, her hands still twisted tightly into the back of his shirt. She lifted herself toward him and flicked her tongue along his jaw.

“Jesus,” he muttered, trying to maintain his glare and a shred of his composure. “Do you want to make love, or talk about farm animals?”

Her dark eyes focused on his lips; then she blinked. “Did you hire me for kissing, or for accounting?”

Rafe opened his mouth to answer, though he wasn’t certain what to say. Answering “both” would get him cracked on the head again, but it was becoming obvious that that was the truth. “Lis, I—”

“Shh!” She put a hand over his mouth, and
reached up with her other arm to coil her hair up over her shoulder.

At the same time, May’s familiar, excited tramping sounded down the hallway. “Rafe?” she called, sticking her head into the dining room. “Rafe? The musicians are here!”

She evidently couldn’t see them lying across the high-backed chairs, for a moment later she continued into the foyer, still calling out her news.

“Rafe, get off,” Felicity whispered. “You have to go host your silly soiree.”

“Silly, is it?” He sat up and pulled her up beside him. Frustrated and annoyed as he was, he also knew that if she were less complicated, he would have been much less interested. “This is my first time hosting an event, so please show a little respect.”

“Your first time?” she repeated, her face still flushed. “And your last, I suppose, since you’re selling your home.”

It was the most pointed barb she’d launched at him about Forton Hall, but he could sympathize—too much, it sometimes seemed. “That is not my fault, Lis. If I’d known—”

Her expression softening, she again put her fingers to his mouth. “I know.” Lightly she replaced her fingers with her lips, and kissed him. “I know.”

A chasm of wishes and what-ifs opened in his heart. Taking a quick, painful breath, he stood. “Let’s go destroy your stable.”

“
Your
stable, Rafe.”

“My stable.”

R
afe might never have hosted a soiree before, but he certainly had a flair for it. Of course, he also had an advantage in hosting an event the likes of which no one had ever heard.

Felicity scooped a large portion of Mrs. Denley’s cook’s lemon pie onto a plate and handed it to Bill Jennings. Beside her Mrs. Crandel tended the stewed potatoes, while her daughter Beth sliced bread for sandwiches. There were four tables, all laden with such an abundance of food and confections that she could scarcely believe it.

Even with the assistance they’d already received, part of her had been more ready to credit Rafe’s charm than general goodwill. Nigel had done little for anyone but himself, and his lack of interest in Forton Hall and their tenants had been well known and much discussed. As she looked out at the jolly, noisy crowd spread out across the stable yard and the overgrown garden, she was warmed by her neighbors’ generosity.

“Lis,” May called, running toward her with a half dozen other young girls in tow, “Rafe says the musicians won’t play any dances until after the stable is gone. He says dancing is only for the survivors.”

“That’s very cheery of him. Did he say when
they’ll be finished stringing those ropes so they can come and eat?”

“It looks more like a giant spider web than a stable,” Mrs. Crandel contributed with a smile. “I’ve never seen such a complicated-looking thing.”

May rose up on her toes. “Rafe studied engineering at Oxford and in the army,” she announced loudly. “He said we’d have a better time of it with elephants or a few cannon, but it should be smashingly loud when it comes down.”

“Elephants? My goodness.” Beth Crandel sent Rafe, standing at the top of a ladder up against the stable, an awed, doe-eyed expression. “He knows everything, doesn’t he?”

Felicity only smiled as May piped in with a testimonial of Rafe’s near godlike abilities. Just as at the Wadsworth dinner, half the ladies present had been giving him love-struck looks all afternoon, but he didn’t seem to notice. Perhaps he was used to the attention. Only the sheer amount of bustling about she’d been doing kept her from her own daydreams. This felt so right, and Rafe’s obviously delighted hosting of the event let her imagine for a few moments that she could convince him to stay at Forton. If only he could see how well liked
he
was becoming, and how happy he—they—could be here.

“Your Mr. Bancroft is going to end the day either as a hero or as a complete jackass.”

Squire Talford stood beside her, a plate of luncheon in his hands. “Yes, I know.” At the moment Rafe looked across the yard at her, and heat crept up her cheeks. She nearly dumped a slice of pie on the squire’s boots before she realized what she was doing. “At least it will be exciting, either way.”

A growing network of ropes and planks wound
up and down, in and around the stable. Rafe pulled another length of rope around a post in the loft, and dropped the free end down to Mr. Greetham. The other men seemed to think he knew what he was doing, for they arranged everything exactly as he instructed and with almost no argument.

“How much longer does he plan to stay?”

Her dream began to wilt a little at the edges. “I don’t know. Until he’s sold Forton Hall, I would imagine.”

“Have you tried to convince him not to sell it?”

She looked at him sharply, wondering if her old friend had gained the ability to read minds. “Why would I do that?” she asked briskly. “Forton is his, and he is determined to travel the world with the money it will earn him.”

“He’s doing a great deal of repair work for someone who’s only interested in a few fast quid. If he were to continue this way for another year or so, he could make double what he would get today.”

Felicity glanced at the women alongside her, but they seemed engrossed in their own conversation. “I don’t think he can afford to do any more than he’s done,” she answered in a low voice.

“Then why doesn’t he sell to Deerhurst? I heard there was an offer. In fact, everyone’s heard there’s been an offer.”

“I’m sure that’s none of my affair,” she answered, unwilling to explain further.

“Hm. Well, I think it has more to do with you than you’re willing to admit,” the squire said, holding her gaze with his kind, wise eyes.

“Charles, you’re imagining things.” She looked up to see Rafe and Mr. Greetham strolling toward them across the yard. “So, when do you go to visit Charlotte and the baby?”

“Trying to be rid of me, eh?” he chuckled. “I leave in a fortnight. They’ve asked me to stay through September, so I’ll have Deerhurst look in on Talford for me.”

“I would be happy—”

“You’ve enough to worry about, my dear,” he interrupted, turning to greet Rafe and Greetham.

“We loosened the last of the supports,” Rafe said as he came to a stop. Elizabeth Denley brought him a glass of lemonade, and he smiled at her. “A good gust of wind could knock the whole thing down, I think.”

“You picked a fine day for your affair, Rafe,” Miss Denley pointed out, batting her lashes at him. “It’s been ages since I’ve had such a good time.”

“My pleasure, Elizabeth.”

Just as Felicity was beginning to consider dropping a pie on Elizabeth’s gown, Mrs. Denley called her daughter back over to tend the lemonade. “My, Rafe, are you acquainted with everyone in east Cheshire?” she asked, when the squire and Mr. Greetham left to discuss barley.

“Nearly, I think. Why?”

She sliced another wedge of pie. “It just seems a great deal of effort to go to when you’ve no intention of staying.”

Rafe looked at her, then glanced away at May and her gathering of young followers. “Your sister is the belle of our destruction party. I only hope she’s not teaching the rest of those girls the tea kettle maneuver.”

So—he didn’t want to discuss the possibility of staying. She had no right to ask him to do so, however much she craved being in his warm, sure embrace. The longer he stayed, the worse it would be for her and for May, anyway. In six weeks or six
months, she wasn’t certain she would be able to watch him leave.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said hesitantly. “If you’re only prolonging your stay here in order to give me time to find a position, it’s not necessary. I can manage.” She smiled, trying to keep the expression brave and sincere. “As Nigel says, I always do.”

He kicked a stone from under his boot. “Are you suggesting I toddle back to London and leave the two of you alone here—or God knows where—until I return to hand over the estate and forget about you completely?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Nigel did.”

“I’m not Nigel.” He gently tilted her chin up with his long fingers until she had to look him in the eye. “I don’t abandon people. And certainly not ladies I regard…as fondly as I do you and May.”

“But you don’t stay anywhere, either, do you?” she whispered, and ducked away from his embrace. Turning, she nearly slammed into James Burlough. “Beg pardon, my lord!”

“No need, Felicity.” Deerhurst made a show of leaning close beside her to examine the various pies at her table. “I see the sweetest lady is in charge of the sweetest treats.”

“Thank you, James,” she said, grateful for the distraction, because from the look on Rafe’s face, he was ready for an argument. “Would you care for a slice?”

His blue eyes met hers warmly as he smiled. “Indeed, I would.”

“You’ve arrived just in time for dinner, Deerhurst,” Rafe added graciously, though to Felicity his tone sounded like that of a cat inviting a mouse to tea. “You’d best move to the front of the line.
The rest of us have worked up quite an appetite.”

The insult was barely veiled, and Felicity sent Rafe a warning glance. She had no intention of allowing a brawl in the stable yard. Rafe was avoiding her gaze, though, and the earl appeared not to notice any abuse as he accepted a generous portion of peach pie.

“Indeed. The stable looks…most interesting. I applaud your efforts at whatever it is you’re doing.”

“My thanks. perhaps you’ll gain a better understanding once you’ve seen the results.” Rafe set down his glass, put two fingers to his mouth, and whistled. Turning to face his guests, he said in a carrying voice, “Since our most illustrious guest has arrived, it’s time for the main event: Let’s pull down the stable!”

As the crowd cheered and gathered round, Felicity’s heart began to pound. “Rafe,” she hissed urgently. Men were so stupid sometimes.

He edged closer. “Yes?”

“James will have everyone laughing at you if this doesn’t work.”

His gaze touched hers. “It
will
work. Thank you for your vote of confidence.”

“I—”

He clapped his hands. “Now. Might we have two gentlemen on each of the ropes we’ve staked out around the stable? And where’s Miss May?”

“Here!” she crowed, running up to him.

He moved aside a few of the pies and lifted her up onto the table. “When May counts three, everyone pull—hard and until I say to stop.”

“When should I count?” May asked excitedly.

“I’ll signal you. Loud and clear, all right?”

She saluted. “Aye, Captain.”

Rafe set off with Greetham to one of the ropes
anchored at the near side of the stable. Another dozen ropes fanned out from the stable like a great Maypole.
Please let this work
, Felicity prayed silently as the men took up their ropes and the women tittered excitedly and pulled their children clear of the building.

It took several minutes for everyone to position themselves to Rafe’s satisfaction; then he waved at May.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “One!”

Deerhurst folded his arms. “Ridiculous display.”

“Two!”

“Oh, dear,” Felicity murmured, fighting the urge to cover her eyes or turn her back.

“
Three!
”

In near perfect unison the ropes pulled tight around the perimeter of the stable.

And nothing else happened.

With all her might, Felicity willed the structure to fall.

Twenty-six men continued to haul on the thirteen ropes, their muscles straining.

The stable shuddered, groaned, and shuddered again. The sound of lumber creaking echoed from inside. Then, all at once and with a great cracking roar, the building gave a half twist and collapsed on itself. Hay and dust and pieces of lumber rose into the air, billowed outward, and slowly settled again.

“Hurray!” May yelled.

The laughter, yelling, and delighted applause of Forton Hall’s neighbors drowned out the rest of her cheer. Davey Ludlow, a proprietor of the Childe of Hale inn, produced a keg of ale and honored Rafe with the first frothing mug.

Protecting his drink from the abundance of back-pounding congratulations, Rafe made his way back to the dessert table. “Not as impressive as the fall of Rome, I’ll admit,” he said, grinning cheekily, “but a fair imitation.”

May leaped off the table at him, and he caught her against his chest with his free arm. “That was smashing!” she said at high volume, and planted a sound kiss on his cheek. “What else can we tear down?”

He spun her around in the air and set her on her feet. “I’ve just retired from demolition, sweetling.”

“Well, you’ve gone out with a bang.” Felicity smiled. “Well done.”

His eyes danced in the afternoon sunlight. “Thank you, my lady.”

Deerhurst nodded. “Congratulations. Didn’t think you’d pull it off.” He took a bite of pie. “Of course, you’ve lowered the value of the property by as much as a fifth. Buyers tend to want an estate with a stable, I believe.”

Rafe’s smile faded again. Clenching his fist, he strode toward the earl. Before they could meet, Felicity moved between them. “Might I?” she asked, gesturing at the mug of ale.

Wordlessly Rafe handed it to her, his eyes reluctantly shifting from Deerhurst to her as she took a long swallow. “Oh, my,” she sputtered, handing the drink back. “I have to admit, that rickety old thing is one part of Forton I won’t miss. Good riddance to it.” She boldly wrapped her fingers around Rafe’s arm. “I’d like a closer look,” she announced.

“My pleasure.”

She practically had to drag him away from the table, but as they neared the pile of rubble, she felt
the tensed muscles of his arm relax a little. She leaned closer, reveling in the tall, warm strength of him.

“Not very subtle,” he said, glancing down at her. “Which of us were you trying to protect?”

“My pies,” she answered promptly, wishing he weren’t quite so astute.

“Then you should have escorted them away from that bloated dung heap.”

“Rafe! Be fair.”

He stopped, turning to face her. Behind him the setting sun turned the windblown ends of his wheat-colored hair to copper. She wanted to curl her fingers into his hair, to be swept into his arms for a hundred breathless kisses.

“Be fair about what?”

“Lord Deerhurst made you a ridiculously generous offer for Forton Hall, and you turned him down. You can’t expect him not to be annoyed and frustrated with you.”

“He didn’t seem annoyed with you, and you’ve turned him down several times, I believe.”

She flushed. “That’s different. Men always take business more seriously than romance.”

“You obviously haven’t been pursued by the right men.” He smiled roguishly at her and offered his arm again. “Shall we?”

Felicity stifled a yearning sigh. She’d finally
found
the right man; he simply wasn’t asking the right questions. But she wasn’t about to begin another argument—not when she had him all to herself for the first time in hours. “Were you really so certain your rope trick would work?”

He nodded. “I’ve always been fascinated with engineering and architecture.” He paused. “Lis, did Nigel ever try to sell Forton to Lord Deerhurst?
Or did his lordship ever offer to purchase it before now?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Not that I’m aware of,” she answered. “Nigel constantly whined about going to London, but I think he liked the prestige of being an estate owner—until it got in the way of his having fun.”

“Hm,” Rafe said noncommittally, and she liked him even more for not seconding her poor opinion of her brother.