The Devilish Mr. Danvers: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (16 page)

“Practice,” he said with a cocky shrug of shoulder, but his expression was not as aloof. He seemed to study her for a moment before he gestured to the table littered with shards of glass. Reaching out, he scooped up a handful and sifted it though his fingers. “And the color comes from these pieces of
frit
.”

Ah, so that was where his horse came by his peculiar name. She was learning so much about Rafe. It made it even more difficult to remember that—for him—she was only a means to an end.

Before she could forget again, she took a step back until she could feel the breeze coming through the door. “I will write this Lord Fitzherbert and explain how my family never knew of this artifact, and that—through marriage many years ago—the estate changed hands without anyone the wiser. That way—”

“It won’t work,” he interrupted with a solemn shake of his head.

“You sir, are no optimist.” Of course it would work. She owned Greyson Park and would be seen as an authority on the property.

“When I spoke of my discovery to Lord Fitzherbert, he made it clear that he wouldn’t validate any finding of mine unless the ‘journey’ of the artifact was documented by a member of the Society. Besides, I cannot remove the
treasure
without damaging it. I’ve already tried.” He removed his gloves and raked a hand through his hair. “And last, they would need to validate your ownership. From there, they would inquire about the young Sinclair woman who had never been presented in society—whose name is not listed in
Debrett’s
—and then discover the stipulations of your inheritance.”

Oh. Perhaps it wasn’t as simple as she thought. “And it would only be a matter of time before they assumed that reason for my absence in society is because I am considered . . . the family lunatic.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve never believed it for an instant.”

“I know.” She offered a wan smile. “I appreciate that you did not judge me on circumstance. Now, if only I could find a member of your Society who would do the same. But perhaps the only way would be to meet one of them in person and prove that I am of sound mind.”

Rafe stepped forward and took her hand. “They are in London, Hedley. They have refused my numerous invitations to travel here.”

Thus the reasons he’d schemed to get her to marry Montwood.

She wasn’t about to give up Greyson Park and return to a locked attic room. There was, however, one thing she could do. Hedley squeezed his hand in return and then slipped free. She’d made up her mind.

“I will go to London and speak to them myself,” she said. It was the only way. Then, feeling suddenly lightheaded, she placed her hand on the doorframe. “First, I’d like you to help me face my fear of carriages.”

His presence had helped her with her first encounter with Frit, after all. Now—especially after what had happened moments ago—she was much surer of herself. Facing one fear had given her confidence. She was ready to face the rest.

“No. Absolutely not. I will not allow you to put yourself through an ordeal,” Rafe said, adamant.

Hiding her disappointment, she turned to the door but hesitated. “This fear has plagued me for most of my life. I plan my days around avoidance so that I will not be caught in that icy grip—that prison that has crippled me and made me an outcast.” She glanced over her shoulder once more before leaving. “Don’t you see? Until recently, I never imagined I would have the strength to face it. If I don’t . . . then it will be an ongoing ordeal.”

And just like that, her mind was made up.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I
f Rafe wouldn’t help her, then Hedley would do it on her own. The carriage house at Greyson Park had intimidated her long enough. Each time she had to bring wood in for the fire, it was there, taunting her with nightmarish memories. She wanted to banish those for good.

A shiver assaulted her as she gained the path between the two estates, making her misstep.

Trailing her all the while, Rafe suddenly reached out and steadied her by taking her arm. “You are not going to do this for me, Hedley. There is another way.”

“What way?” she challenged, already knowing the answer. Slipping her arm free of him, she continued her hike. Greyson Park lay just ahead, through the copse of trees.

“Once the wager is won, I will . . . ” His words trailed off into the void of alternative ideas between them. He released an oath under his breath. “I will think of something.”

Hedley ducked beneath a low budding branch. Unfortunately, part of it caught in her hair. Her pins came loose. When she straightened, the thick plait fell, the length of it resting down the center of her back, all the way to her hips.

Lucifer’s talons!
She grumbled as she pulled a twig free of a tangle. “No. It is up to me. Unless I marry Montwood, there is no other way. And you and I both know that he would wait until he’d won the wager first. And I doubt you want to wait another year. Besides, I would prefer to go to my potential future husband as a complete person, not one who freezes in terror every time a horse and carriage is near.”

Rafe growled and brushed her hands aside, assisting her. “Why do you insist on mentioning Montwood in that context?”

“I don’t believe I’m
insisting
. Merely remarking. You were, after all, the one who put the idea into my head.” It served him right to believe that she was in earnest. “You never once encouraged my association with anyone other than Montwood. You could have chosen a local merchant instead. Although, I admit, I certainly wasn’t entranced by Mr. Lynch the way you were by the laundress.”

When the gentle movements of his fingers stopped, she turned.

Holding the weight of her braid in his grasp, Rafe grinned at her and gave her a playful tug that drew her closer to him. “You’re jealous.”

The heat of a blush rose to her cheeks. She hoped that beneath the shadowed canopy of branches that he wouldn’t notice. “Only as jealous as you are of Montwood—which is to say not one whit.”

His devilish grin spread as he toyed with her braid, brushing the end over the pad of his thumb. “You have a great deal of hair.”

“Which is the reason I keep it pinned. It tends to get in the way. Now, I’d like to find my pins before I can face this next task.” Of course, she knew that pinning her hair up again wouldn’t erase her fear, but it was a way of giving her another moment before forging ahead.

Slowly, Rafe shook his head. “I like it this way.”

She swallowed and felt her stomach dip low. It settled deep down inside her and made her aware of every inch of space between them. With a single step, her body would touch his. She knew what it felt like to have nothing but layers of clothes between them, and she yearned to be that close again. Yet an even stronger yearning pulsed within her to have nothing between them. Not clothing. Not doubt. Not Greyson Park.

She let out a breath and silently told her stomach to return to its proper place.

Most likely, Rafe was stalling as well, solely as a means of helping her avoid what she must do. Or . . . he simply didn’t want to help her at all.

She took a step back and watched her braid slide through his palm. “I can do this on my own. It was thoughtless of me to ask you when you have so much at stake as well.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he said with quiet sincerity.

Hedley looked down to see his hand open. Most of her pins lay across his palm. Taking that as his readiness to leave her, she took them. “Thank you.”

Turning away, she walked across the courtyard toward the carriage house. To keep her mind occupied, she busied herself with pinning her plait in place.

“Hedley, stop.”

She saw him stride up beside her, but she was almost to the door. And if she stopped now, she might never return. “I need to do this, Rafe. I need to stop the fear from controlling my life. I want to live free of this burden. I will do it alone and—”

“No. You’ve done enough on your own.” He stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to lean on me. I want to give you my strength.”

Those words went directly to her heart. She was powerless against them and against the overwhelming surge of love that filled her. “My hands are shaking.”

He reached down and settled her hands against this chest. Since he’d only donned a coat while leaving the cottage, she could feel the warmth of his body through the linen of his shirt. “Just keep your hands on me. Keep your gaze on mine, like before with Frit. Don’t look away.”

“I won’t,” she promised. She suddenly felt that she could face anything.

Rafe opened the door. The hinges groaned with the movement, like a bellowed warning. Dank, musty air escaped on a cold breeze. Hedley shivered. She knew there was a carriage inside because she’d seen it before. At the time, all she could do was stand in the doorway and experience the terror she’d felt as a child, unable to look away for what had seemed like an eternity.

Now, it was different. She wasn’t facing this alone.

“We can turn back any time . . . ”

She was already shaking her head before he finished. “I’m ready to conquer this.” Surprisingly, her voice didn’t quaver. Rafe had helped her discover her inner strength.

Then carefully, as if she were one of his delicate glass creations, he guided her through the door, backing her into the carriage house.

“It’s dark in here,” she whispered.

“Let your eyes adjust. There’s enough light. And I’m here.”

Yes, he was here. And close, too. She breathed in deeply to fill her lungs with the comforting scent of him. To her, he smelled like home—freshly cut logs and a fire in the hearth. He warmed her from the inside out.

Rafe held her gaze, his never wavering. “Just a few more steps, sweeting.”

He was right. There was plenty of light in here. She could see the severity in his expression, one that told her if she had even a tiny bubble of panic, he would whisk her out of here faster than she could blink. Knowing that made her fear seem far away—a haunting memory but nothing more. The way it should have been all this time.

Their muted footsteps on the stone floor landed in perfect syncopation. The rhythm reminded her of the slow, meandering tune she’d learned on the piano. It made her wonder if this was what it would be like to dance with Rafe. Beneath her hands, his heart quickened as if he were imagining something similar while staring down into her face.

She let her hands drift down to the firm ridges of his abdomen. The shape of him fascinated her. Her fingertips traced the horizontal valleys, starting at the top of his stomach and working her way down, bit by bit. When she reached the one nearest the waist of his breeches, his flesh rippled. He let out a rush of air against her lips.

Rafe stopped walking. His grasp tightened around her shoulders as he drew her marginally closer. “Sweeting, you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Hearing the rawness of his voice, she hesitated. “I’m touching you.”

“Because you’re afraid?”

“No, because you feel good. Different. I like touching you,” she admitted, flattening her hands over him. He was entrancingly solid, so unlike her. She’d seen this part of him without clothes. She wondered what he would feel like beneath his shirt, too. Would his skin be smooth? Would that black hair on his chest and abdomen feel silken or coarse?

Marveling at these things, she moved her hands upward to his chest. When he drew in a sharp breath, she hesitated again. “Should I stop?”

“Absolutely not.” He shifted closer, his boots sliding against the outside of her shoes until her knees were between his.

She lifted her face, automatically tilting it to the side when she saw his gaze dip to her mouth. “Should I kiss you?”

R
afe shuddered. While it was wonderful that Hedley wasn’t quaking in fear and that she appeared to be handling this with aplomb, having her hands on him had brought him to an urgent state of arousal. He was thick and heavy with need already.

“If you kiss me and continue to touch me,” he warned on a stuttered breath, “then I will start kissing and touching you too, and I’m not certain I will be able to stop.”

Without guile or any coy game, she looked at him directly. “I’m not certain I would want you to stop.”

He closed his eyes. She didn’t know what she was saying, he reminded himself. However, telling that to a certain part of his anatomy proved futile. He wanted her with a desperation he’d never experienced, not even during his first sexual encounter. Apparently, experience and age counted for little. This desire was more than wanting to lose himself inside of her—although there was plenty of that—it was
needing
to be part of her. To be one with her. And connected in a way that he knew would change him forever. Hell, he was already changed. Forever.

“The voice of reason is telling me that you don’t know what you’re saying. You cannot. You are an innocent.” He loosened his grip on her shoulders and trailed down to her wrists, prepared to step away. The feel of her hands was driving him mad. So then, why wasn’t he stepping away?

“Believe what you like. I know what I’m saying.” Hedley shuffled closer. Her lips were temptingly close. “For now, however, I’m ready to step inside of a carriage.”

He hesitated. “You do realize that you are already facing your fear by merely standing here.”

“I know,” she said softly.

Rafe let out a deep breath. The decision was Hedley’s, and yet . . . “If you show the slightest bit of terror”—he cupped her face—“I’m dragging you out of there.”

“Agreed,” she said quickly, tilting up on her toes to press her lips against his. “But not a moment before.”

His knees went weak. She was going to kill him.

The carriage was on supports. Two large beams served as braces where the wheels would have been. Since it was a landau, there was still a step up, and Rafe went in ahead of her to make sure it was safe. Other than a layer of dust over the floor and cushions and a few missing buttons from the tufted red upholstery, it was in decent condition.

He peered out of the carriage door to where Hedley stood, her arms folded over the other as if she were warming them. Her gaze drifted to the carriage. “This is much larger than the one we were in that day,” she said.

“Mr. Tims told me that this once belonged to the previous owner of Fallow Hall and that he’d attempted to hide it from debt collectors.”

“Surely it is sturdy enough for two passengers.”

“Aye.” He’d never spoken a more ominous word in his life. Shrugging out of his coat, he draped it over the seat.

Refusing to listen to any more inner warnings, Rafe extended his hand. Hedley reached out but hesitated at the last moment. He did not press her, or lower his hand. She held his gaze as if drawing strength from it. Then gradually, she slipped her hand into his. Lifting her skirts out of the way, she climbed inside and settled herself on his coat. Her fingers clenched tighter around his as she took in her surroundings.

After a while, she looked at him again. The light from the open door to the carriage house barely caught the glistening of tears in her eyes. “Thank you. I needed this more than you’ll ever know.”

“One battle at a time,” he said, repeating the words she’d once said to him.

“A quiet victory but no less potent.” She released a slow breath.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. He thought of that day he’d found her standing by the road. So much had changed since then. Not only in her, but in him as well. He never wanted to see that terror claim her again. Yet she was right. Facing her fears was helping her move forward, and he was honored that she’d chosen him.

“Rafe,” she said after a moment. “I need a new memory from inside a carriage. Can I kiss you now?”

He couldn’t deny her. Perched on the opposite seat, his legs spread to flank hers on either side. Seeing her rake her top lip with her teeth sent a fresh surge of blood to his groin. He’d wanted to kiss her since . . . well, since shortly following their last kiss.

Holding her hand, he pulled her to the edge of her seat as well. The action caused her skirts to bunch in her lap and sent his mind on a foray into erotic journeys this kiss could take. However, he brushed those aside and did his best to think of a proper, chaste kiss.

Then her mouth touched his. Only her mouth. Yet in that instant, he forgot all about being chaste. He dove in. His hands drew her closer—one at the base of her neck and the other at her waist. Those berry-stained lips offered him their sweetness even as her hands reached out with purpose. She made a sound—a hungry, needy whimper—that drove him over the edge. He had no chance of withdrawing now.

He wanted more. All of her. Everything. Her tongue tangled with his in a sensuous slide that teased and invited him deeper. He pulled Hedley closer, nearly unseating her in the process. Catching her against him, he leaned back against the squabs, letting her take control. Minutes rolled by. Perhaps even hours. Her lush body draped over his, her hands in his hair, her mouth losing inhibitions by the second. She twirled her tongue around his and flicked the underside before suckling the very tip. Rafe nearly convulsed.

Taking hold of her hips, he drew her skirts up so that she could straddle him. On a groan, he arched off the seat and rocked against her.

“Mmm . . . ” she purred, murmuring her approval. Her kisses turned more urgent. Before he even realized that her hands were no longer in his hair, he felt her pull his shirt free of his breeches. And then her hands were on his flesh. She made another sound of assent as she caressed his abdomen and chest.