The Devilish Mr. Danvers: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (13 page)

He cleared his throat and withdrew his errant hand. “I still plan to take Greyson Park.”

“I still won’t let you.”

Neither of their threats came out with any vehemence. Instead, the words were hushed, like whispered vows.

“One battle at a time, sweeting.” Rafe exhaled and gripped the side of the bench when he caught himself leaning toward her. This was killing him. “Now, place the tip of your tongue between your teeth, just behind your lips, and then try to blow out this candle.”

Her sweet breath brushed over the tip of his finger once more, but no whistle came forth. Her brow furrowed in frustration. She raked her teeth over her top lip in a way that made him salivate. “I need to see you do it.”

He’d like to tell her what
he
needed, but it was probably wiser to whistle instead. He decided on the cotillion, adding his own trilling notes. Again, he earned one of her radiant smiles, and it warmed him far more than it should have done.

“Ah, I see. You whistle like you kiss. Your lips form a pout while your tongue lies in wait. It’s much easier to understand now.” She studied his mouth. Her lids blinked drowsily. A soft blush colored her cheeks. “But perhaps, a young woman in society should not make such a reference.”

“Perhaps not.”

Hedley licked her lips. “Even though we are at war, do you think we could—”

A throat cleared in the doorway.

Damn
. Now, those words were bound to haunt him for the remainder of the day.
“Do you think we could . . . ”
continue the whistling lesson in your bedchamber? Study breathing techniques by removing all of our clothes?
Yes. We could. Absolutely. For hours
.

“Forgive me. Am I interrupting a lesson?”

With a low growl, Rafe looked over his shoulder to see Montwood lift his dark eyebrows in curiosity. Then, the blackguard strolled into the room, clearly glad to interrupt.

“Rafe was teaching me how to whistle,” Hedley said as innocently as if she truly believed that was all he was doing.

By the skeptical quirk of his mouth, Montwood knew better. “I’ll bet.”

Rafe stood, stepping behind Hedley to the opposite side of the piano in order to hide the evidence of the aroused state she’d put him in.

“Do you think we could . . . ”

Making an attempting of appearing unflustered, he gestured with a wave of his hand to the empty place on the bench beside her. “She’d never before played the piano until this morning and ended up revealing a natural affinity for music. Do you know that she hummed the music you played last night, note for note, after only hearing it once?”

Whatever mockery Montwood had planned for Rafe disappeared as his blatant interest alighted on Hedley. “This I would like to hear.”

She pulled her upper lip between her teeth, not realizing what it did to Rafe. Then without waiting longer than a deep breath, she played those first notes again.

Montwood became enthralled by Hedley, quickly guiding her to the next notes.

Rafe could only stand there for so long, watching his friend’s appreciation for Hedley grow. The satisfaction he’d anticipated was absent. In the end, however, he knew it would come to him.

As he left the room, Rafe reminded himself once again that this was what he wanted.

H
edley spent the next two hours beside Montwood, learning the piano. He never once laid his hand on her knee. Nor did she want him to. She didn’t feel an overwhelming need to be as close as possible as she had with Rafe. Then again, she didn’t feel uncomfortable near Montwood or repelled by him either. He emitted a pleasant sort of warmth but not one that she wanted to wrap around her. Yet she did feel as if they’d known each other for much longer than a single day.

“Your thoughts are no longer on the music,” Montwood said, facing her. “Ruminating over Danvers?”

Her shoulders were starting to stiffen from the position she held, and she lowered her hands in her lap. “No, actually I was thinking about how strange it is to feel as if I already know you.”

“I feel it, too. You’re . . .
familiar
to me.” He nodded sagely, continuing to play.

She attempted to mimic the quick work of his ring finger to the black key.

Noticing her struggle, he lifted his hand to the top of the piano and spread his fingers wide. Then, one by one, he lifted each finger. “This is a good exercise to practice wherever you are.”

She pressed her hands to the top and mimicked him. Or tried to. She could barely lift her ring finger. Never before had she noticed how little strength that finger possessed. It was as if an unseen weight pressed down on it. Concentrating, she managed an almost imperceptible jump and found herself breathing heavily from the effort.

“Ah, there you are, Hedley,” Calliope said from the doorway, arm in arm with her husband. The pair of them possessed a rosy glow and bright eyes, as if both were suffering the same affliction.

Hedley wondered if that was what love felt like—an illness that one doesn’t mind catching. After all, both Calliope and Everhart appeared to endure it quite well. Thinking of Rafe, she wondered if the contagion was already inside her.

“Good morning. Montwood was just now teaching me the piano.” She played a few notes of a melody that her tutor had deemed
rudimentary
but which she’d found rather charming.

Calliope gasped. “That is delightful. I didn’t know you played.”

“Neither did I.” Hedley beamed with untapped pleasure.

“Our new friend had this locked inside, and all the while none of us even knew. Not even her.” Montwood’s expression darkened for a single instant before he masked it with a charming smile.

Quite abruptly, Hedley’s borrowed boots gave her feet a little pinch. A reminder that she didn’t truly fit in with her new friends. They’d all had full lives up until this point, while she was stumbling around like a newborn foal.

“I find that the later the talent is discovered and developed, the higher chance of success,” Everhart said in the easy manner he possessed. There wasn’t an ounce of pity in either his expression or his tone. And for that, Hedley was immensely grateful.

“And what latent talent have you discovered?” Montwood asked with a cheeky grin. “An affinity for making wagers and then losing them in record time?”

Everhart bit down on a smile, flashing his teeth.

“He has an affinity for being the best husband on earth,” Calliope offered, a wealth of pride ringing in her tone. “Far better than you lot will ever be.”

Montwood tsked as he lifted his hand, his index finger ticking back and forth like a metronome. “You cannot issue a new wager until the old one has concluded. And in a year’s time, the only one you’ll have to wager with will be Danvers, because I will be the sole winner.”

“
Au contraire
, my friend,” Everhart interrupted, gazing down adoringly at Calliope. “Thus far, I am the sole winner.”

Calliope slipped her arms around Everhart’s waist, lifting up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, my love, for proving my point.”

“What was the wager you won?” Hedley asked Everhart. Absently, she recalled Calliope mentioning something last evening about a wager between the gentlemen, but they were distracted before she could finish.

“It was a wager between three bachelors who’d vowed never to marry,” Montwood answered instead. “And quite obviously, Everhart lost.”

Calliope narrowed her eyes, but teasingly, at Montwood.

Hedley frowned, thinking about how this very house had changed hands. “I hope you are not saying that you forced a marriage upon Everhart and Calliope solely to win a wager.”

“Sadly, I cannot take credit.” Montwood dramatized a sigh. “The truth is, Everhart tightened his own noose willingly, and rather quickly, too.”

“Which leaves only you and Danvers, pitted against one another,” Everhart said with a grin.

Hedley looked from one man to the other, dread pressing on her as if she were beneath the piano instead of beside it.

“Everhart wants to ensure we are all married by year’s end so he won’t have to pay out ten thousand pounds,” Montwood explained, studying her carefully, as if he was waiting for her understanding. “Of course, Danvers and I are plotting against each other as well, which will leave a single victor all the spoils.”

Hedley caught on too quickly. “Pitted against each other. That means Rafe is attempting to marry you off . . . ”
To me
, she thought but couldn’t say the words aloud. A sharp stab of anger and hurt pierced her. She was being used.

“If it’s any consolation, he has chosen his bait quite well,” Montwood said, his voice quiet and sincere.

Hedley rose from the piano bench.

She met Calliope’s distressed gaze. “I’m certain Montwood is wrong,” her friend said. “I’m sorry Montwood, but I don’t believe Danvers is capable of such a scheme. He wouldn’t use Hedley that way.”

Montwood didn’t reply. Both he, and now Hedley, knew better.

“Mr. Danvers has already declared that he would do anything to secure Greyson Park,” Hedley offered, her voice surprisingly calm. Especially when she felt capable of murder at the moment. “Where do you suppose I might find him?”

R
afe watched Frit roaming the meadow beyond the stable yard and felt a pang of envy. His horse had a simple existence. The stallion’s day consisted of life’s basic pleasures—food, a clean stall, exercise, and a rubdown. He wasn’t forcing himself to stay out of doors in order for a ludicrous plot to form. He didn’t have this raw, twisted knot in his stomach at the thought of Montwood and Hedley
together
. He wasn’t plagued by jealousy. No, Frit was simply happy to nibble on new grass shoots.

Then again, if Frit’s stall were next to a wide-eyed mare that had turned his world completely upside down, he wouldn’t be out in the meadow, leaving Montwood’s stallion, Quicksilver, alone with her.

Rafe blew out a frustrated breath. Marrying Hedley off to Montwood
was
the perfect plan. Wasn’t it?

And Montwood already seemed taken with her, and she him.

Damn it all
.

Rafe pushed away from the tree, whistled for Frit, and walked toward the stables, knowing his horse would follow.

Rounding the corner, he never expected to see Hedley coming straight for him. Instantly, he held out his hand. “Hedley, stop.” It was a harsh command but one meant to protect her.

Looking over his shoulder and past a hedgerow, he saw Frit trotting across the meadow. Quickly, he whistled the halt command. However, since he’d never made such an order without being on Frit’s back, he wasn’t certain the horse would understand.

“You warned me time and again, Rafe Danvers.” Paying no heed, Hedley strode forward, her hands balled into fists, her teeth clenched. “But I never once imagined that you would use
me
as the coin to purchase Greyson Park.”

Rafe shook his head and extended his arms, palms facing her. “Now isn’t the time for this—”

“If you want Montwood to marry in order for you to win your wager, then you will have to look for another convenient neighbor.”

“Hedley, stop—”

“No. You will not stop me. I’m tired of being invisible. All my life I have been nothing.” She stood toe-to-toe with him, hurt and anger flashing in her eyes. “Does my existence mean so little to you? In the end, when your plot doesn’t work, will you try to lock me away as well?”

He recoiled. “You’re comparing me to your family?”

“Right now there is little difference. You act as if I mean nothing to you.”

“I have been honest—”

She scoffed and threw her hands in the air.

“All right, not
entirely
honest,” he amended. “But I was up front about my pursuit of Greyson Park from the beginning.”

Hedley opened her mouth to respond and then suddenly went silent. Her eyes rounded in terror. The color drained from her cheeks, and her lips parted.

Rafe reached for her automatically, taking her by the shoulders. “Look at me, Hedley.” Then, when she didn’t respond, he tried again. “Sweeting, look at me. Yes. That’s right. Only me. Keep your eyes on mine. Good.”

Beneath his hands, her body trembled. She emitted no heat, and she wasn’t breathing.

“It’s only Frit. You’ve met him before. You know he won’t hurt you. He’s trained by the sound of my whistle, remember?”

She kept her gaze locked on his, and it seemed to take an eternity for his words to filter through. But when they did, her head moved in an almost imperceptible nod.

“Take a breath, sweeting.”

She did.

He took a breath too. “Good. You’re doing splendidly. Now, lift your hands and place them on my chest. I’m going to pull you closer to warm you.”

The rhythmic plod of Frit’s slow gait came closer.

“Rafe . . . ” she rasped.

“Just keep looking at me. I won’t let anything happen.” When he wasn’t met with a look of reassurance, he thought of an idea. “I’ll prove it. Frit knows a special trick. When I whistle, he’ll kneel down on one foreleg and bow to you.”

Without delay, he whistled. From the corner of his eye, he saw Frit’s head dip and heard him whicker with pride. “See? He listens quite well.”

For an instant, she nodded and started to relax. But then Frit stood and drew closer, nudging Rafe’s shoulder.

“What is he doing? Why is he coming closer?”

Damn. Rafe had forgotten the apple. But his horse had not. “I have an apple in my pocket, and he knows he deserves a treat for listening to my commands. All I need to do is reach inside and—”

She shook her head. “Don’t let go of me, Rafe.”

“I won’t.” He pulled her closer. He would pull her inside of him and keep her safe for the rest of her days if he could. “If you reach into my pocket, you can simply drop it, and then Frit will roam over to the stables to find a drink of water.”

Slowly, she lowered her hands from his chest and moved them down until she found the fruit in the pocket of his coat. Unfortunately, Frit had found it as well. Eager for his treat, he dipped his head to take it from her hand.