The Devilish Mr. Danvers: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (17 page)

Rafe was losing control. Or perhaps he’d lost control already. He couldn’t think. And he couldn’t have slowed down if he’d wanted to. He had the buttons at the back of her gown unfastened and her stays unlaced before he thought about the consequences. And then, once he thought about them, he no longer cared. This moment was the only thing that mattered in the world.

With a tug, her heavy breasts spilled out of her dress and into his hands. Her flesh was milky smooth, perfect and warm, the ruched flesh of her nipples velvety soft. He brushed his thumbs across them at the same time.

Breathless, Hedley lifted away from the kiss. She stared down at his hands on her breasts and then into his eyes. At the same time, her hips ground down on his turgid erection.

“Rafe . . . ”
His name left her lips on a gasp.

Unable to resist the invitation, he opened his mouth and drew on that taut peak. She moaned and bucked against him. The violent trembling of her legs told him that her pleasure was building. The untutored motions of her hips drove him mad with need and frustration all at once. He shouldn’t be this close to losing control. Yet if she continued, he wouldn’t hesitate to rip open the fall of his breeches and thrust inside her blessed heat.

Shifting his hold, he settled her once more on the opposite seat and gained some distance. He was about to tell her that they should stop. But then he looked at those beseechingly drowsy cornflower blue eyes and that dewy, swollen mouth, and somehow he found himself kneeling in front of her.

He kissed her again, lingering and drinking in all of her sweetness. He couldn’t stop touching and caressing her. The skin of her inner thigh, just above her stockings, was as soft as her breasts. Was she even softer elsewhere? He needed to know. He couldn’t resist.

She was
. The further he ventured, the more enthralled he became. Brushing against those silken curls, he found her deliciously wet. “You’re drenched for me, sweeting.”

He stroked her, abandoning finesse for simple carnal desire. Her body quaked and arched toward his hand. “Please, Rafe.”

That plea undid him. She needed to find release. He wanted her to have everything and more. Ravenous, he forged a path of heated kisses over her breasts, nipping at her flesh. Lower, he circled the tender bud with his thumb as he slipped his finger inside her tight sheath. She shuddered. And so did he.

“Sweeting, I can’t resist . . . ” Shifting back on his heels, he lifted her skirts, revealing those pale golden curls, damp and glistening. Her sweet scent filled his nostrils. It wasn’t possible, but her fragrance reminded him of the color pink—sweet, musky, and soft. “Let me taste you.”

Her
yes
turned into a gasp as he dipped his head and feasted on her, drinking her warm nectar. Hedley’s fingers twined in his hair. Sliding forward, she arched against his mouth. She was so unreserved and honest. Even with her pleasure, she didn’t know how to be deceitful. And he genuinely loved that about her. He’d never known anyone like her. And no woman could ever taste as sweet.

He was lost in devouring her. Her moans turned to cries and pleas. Her breathing was fast and shallow. Her hips rocked against the flicks and suckling of his tongue. And when she came apart, he’d never known such bliss.

He didn’t stop laving her, loving her with his mouth, until she was spent and her breathing evened. Then, wanting to prove that he would give her everything, unreservedly, he rose up and opened the fall of his breeches. His flesh was heavy, hot, and near bursting. And she was so wet and ready.

He slid the engorged tip down her folds and positioned himself at her core, barely able to resist thrusting inside.

Hedley spread her knees wider and reached forward to caress his cheek. Her gaze held his, a tender smile on her lips. “I love you.”

Rafe stilled.

The words brought back a semblance of reality. Not because he was shocked that she would say them. He already knew she felt more for him than mere friendship.

No, the reason that reality suddenly intruded on a perfect moment was because he’d almost repeated those words back to her.

I love you, sweeting
. . . The words were there, waiting.

But if he truly loved her, how could he rob her of her innocence and then send her off to marry another?

The simple answer was, he couldn’t.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“N
o,” Rafe said again as he buttoned her dress. “You don’t love me.”

Perturbed, Hedley fisted her hands. “Will you stop saying that?”

She’d never seen a man move faster than Rafe when he’d exited the carriage a few moments ago. He’d instantly righted his clothing. Although when she turned around to face him now, there was still a rather pronounced bulge beneath the fall of his breeches. A very intriguing one that she’d felt against her own flesh briefly. Until she’d said those words that seemed to have damned her into listening to Rafe refute it over and over again.

“I’m merely the first man you’ve encountered since you came to live here.” Without meeting her gaze, he reached past her and into the carriage to retrieve his coat.

She swallowed down the tears that threatened and focused on her irritation instead. “Actually, the first man I encountered was Mr. Tims. Am I in love with him too?”

Seeing there was a great deal of dust on his coat, she assisted by patting his shoulders, somehow resisting the urge to put force behind her efforts as if to knock sense into him.

Rafe adjusted his cuffs. “What about Montwood?”

“We are not—
absolutely not
—returning to that conversation.” Standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, she glared at him until he met her gaze. “Are you trying to tell me that I don’t know my own mind? Or perhaps you’re saying that I couldn’t because I’ve spent so much of my life as the family lunatic?”

His dark eyes turned warm and tender as he reached out and caressed her cheek. Then, on an exhale, he let his hand fall to his side. “I’m saying that you are innocent, and I’ve introduced you to a great deal more than I should have. The kind of emotion that you’re talking about takes time. It doesn’t happen like this.”

But it does.
It has
.

Was that fear she saw in his expression? She wasn’t certain. This look—his furrowed brow, the tender but almost pained apprehension in his eyes—was new to her.

She moved forward to twine her arms around his neck and fit her body to his. Yet he shook his head and took a step back. She tried to swallow down this rejection as well. And tried not to remember how she
hadn’t
seen him shy away from the laundress in the marketplace.

“Why do you want to talk me out of loving you? It does you no harm,” she asked, her voice raspy with stemmed emotion. “Or is it because there are scores of others you’d rather have?”

“Not you, Hedley—”

A high-pitched laugh sliced through the air between them, cutting off Rafe’s words. The sound was far away and yet still too close. It came from somewhere outside. The unmistakable cackle could only come from one person—Ursa.

Rafe and Hedley turned toward the vacant doorway of the carriage house. That sickeningly familiar laugh filled Hedley with dread. Her sister had returned. There was no telling what news she brought in so short an absence.

Stepping outside, the sun shone brightly, high above them. It was afternoon now, yet when they’d stepped inside it had still been morning. Two or more hours had passed. Yet now, it seemed so fleeting. And in that time, so much had changed, but not everything for the better.

Leaving one problem behind and heading into another, Hedley followed the path toward the rear of Greyson Park.

Rafe placed a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Don’t rush in when you have no notion of what you’ll find.”

“I’m not afraid anymore,” she said and looked pointedly into his gaze. “Not of anything.”

He didn’t respond, but she heard him all the same.
Not you, Hedley
. He’d said those words with such vehemence that she’d realized he would rather have
anyone else
admit to loving him.

What had seemed like a perfectly natural progression of love and desire moments ago, now—after Rafe’s rejection—made her wonder if she’d imagined more between them than was actually possible. At least for him. Essentially, he was telling her that he wasn’t in love with her. Then again, how could he love the sister of the woman who’d left him at the altar? How could he love the woman who stood in his way of owning Greyson Park?

The simple—the
sane
—answer was that he couldn’t.

She was, after all, a Sinclair and a reputed lunatic, kept locked away for her own good. And he’d been with her in the carriage solely to help her. Foolishly, she’d believed down in her very soul that there had been more between them.

Not you, Hedley
.

Just then, Mr. Tims rushed through the kitchen doorway. For the first time, she felt a little conspicuous about her appearance. Looking down, she wondered if the wrinkles in her dress were indicative of what she’d done with Rafe in the carriage, or if they looked like perfectly innocent wrinkles. Was there such a thing as a
wanton
wrinkle? If there were, she was certain to have them all over her.

Out of breath and hunched over, the caretaker stopped in front of Hedley and Rafe. “I tried to stop them. Couldn’t find you.”

Swallowing down a sudden rise of shyness, she made an absent gesture to Rafe and hoped that his clothes were in order—though she dare not look directly at the fall of his breeches for fear of drawing attention. “Mr. Danvers was kind enough to escort me back from Fallow Hall.”

“Your sister and her husband are here, making a mess of things,” Mr. Tims said, apparently not concerned that Rafe had escorted her and that she had wanton wrinkles on her dress. Likely, he didn’t imagine Rafe could love her either.

Hedley pushed aside those maudlin thoughts and focused on the matter at hand. Ursa and Mr. Cole were here and
making a mess
of Greyson Park. Knowing her sister, the path of destruction would be great.

Turning to Rafe, she met his gaze with surprising calm. “Thank you for your generosity, sir. I must bid you
good day
as I have family matters to attend.”

Rafe gave her a hard look before he addressed Mr. Tims. “What has happened?”

“They arrived not long ago, but Mr. Cole brought a maul the size of his head,” the caretaker said, mopping his brow with a red kerchief. “They bashed in the cellar door and searched every inch, looking for that treasure. I tried to stop them before they made more holes than Greyson Park can stand. There was an awful groaning of the house when they left the cellar. Now, they’ve worked their way up to the main floor, but the rest won’t be long, I’m sure. Miss, I warn you, it’s a frightful sight.”

Hedley ran past Mr. Tims and rushed in through the kitchen doorway but stopped at the edge. A sob escaped her before she could stifle it. Her kettle and the rest of her cups were smashed on the floor, the chest of tea crushed. The larder door had been broken. It hung awkwardly by a single iron hinge.

“I’m going to kill that bastard,” Rafe said from behind her. “Hedley, go to Fallow Hall, and I’ll see to this.”

“No.
I
will see to it. This is my home . . . for the time being.” At least, she hoped it was. However, there was no telling what Ursa had discovered. Hedley might very well be homeless this instant.

Rafe stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the destruction. Lifting his hand, he tilted her chin up until she looked at him. “No matter what you might think, we are in this together. I won’t let you face this—or anything—alone.”

A beautiful sentiment, but they both knew the truth.

Before she allowed her heart to turn slushy, she reminded herself that the only reason he said this was because of her promise to go to London on his behalf. This was about Greyson Park and his legacy. Nothing more.

A crash sounded from deeper in the house. Without a word between them, Hedley and Rafe took the steps in tandem until they stood in the archway of the parlor.

Hedley covered her mouth with her hand. The fireplace mantel lay in ruins on the floor. The hearth was missing a few stones. Her stiff-backed chairs lay in broken pieces on the floor. The sofa she’d painstakingly stuffed with new straw and reupholstered was now listed to one side, the curved wooden legs missing. And the low table was nothing more than a heaping pile of splinters.

Ursa clapped with glee as Mr. Cole reared back, prepared to take another swing.

Rafe charged in and grabbed the handle of the iron-headed maul. As it arched over Mr. Cole’s head, Rafe ripped it from his grasp. “Destroy one more thing, Cole, or even knock a loose pebble with the toe of your boot, and this hammer will find your head.”

“That belongs to me,” Cole barked, shoving Rafe with his barrel chest. “Whoever you are, you have no rights here.”

Rafe shoved back. “I have every right!”

“That is where you are wrong, Mr. Danvers,” Ursa spat.

Mr. Cole folded his arms over his chest and smirked. “Danvers, eh? I’ve heard about you. Say, you’d better put down that hammer before you hurt yourself.”

“Be careful, darling.” Ursa smiled and sauntered over to slip her arm through her husband’s. “The mad have difficulty understanding reason. You may be forced to prove your point by humiliating him.”

Hammer in hand, Rafe strode across the room to stand beside Hedley. “This is your sister’s home. You’ve no right to destroy it.”

Ursa didn’t even bother to look at her. “That simple creature standing there has not reached her majority and therefore is still beneath her family’s care. Greyson Park, whatever is left of it, also belongs to the Sinclairs. Which is my family, Mr. Danvers, not yours. And not your concern.”

“You call destroying Greyson Park taking care of your family? You wouldn’t understand the meaning of it.” He turned to Hedley and said in a low whisper, “I am at your command. If you want me to throw them out, I will.”

Startled that he would ask her permission, as if he truly did see Greyson Park as hers, her heart gave into a poignant squish. “Thank you, but no. I will show them out.”

Ursa scoffed. “How dare you suggest such a thing. We don’t need to be shown out by you. I meant what I said—though you may not be able to understand it—you hold no true right over Greyson Park.”

“Then prove it. In writing. I should like to see the document that erased my inheritance,” Hedley challenged. She’d learned quite a bit in the recent weeks and had a fair understanding of the society to which her sister belonged. And that there were rules to follow. “What if the
ton
were to discover how the Sinclairs have treated a member of their own family? Think of the scandal.”

“No one even knows about you.” Ursa released a haughty laugh and dismissed Hedley with a flick of her fingers before addressing Rafe. “And if you have thoughts of interfering, you might want to abandon those as well. After all, do you imagine, even for a moment, that society would believe a Danvers over a Sinclair? Why concern yourself with such a property, for that matter? I’d never understood why you wanted this estate in the first place. But when I heard the story of treasure, I realized that it
must
be true.”

Now, Rafe laughed, a low, hollow sound as he shook his head. “You believed the story of treasure, because I’d asked to have Greyson Park as part of your dowry? You’ve given me much credence. The truth is far simpler. This estate once belonged to my family. I’d merely wanted to return it to its proper ownership.”

“All this time and at such lengths.” Ursa clucked her tongue. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Perhaps.” Rafe shrugged. “After all, how can it say much for your wits if you’ve spent any time at all believing the ravings of a Danvers? We are all quite mad, Mrs. Cole.”

That statement seemed to hit the mark. Ursa blinked. Her smug grin fell. “Are you saying . . . that there is nothing here? No treasure?”

Rafe set the hammer on the floor and rested the handle against the doorframe. “Am I so mad that I wouldn’t have absconded with it by now?”

It was almost comical to see how dejected Ursa looked in that moment. Her steadfast Mr. Cole settled an arm around her as she turned into his embrace with a sniff. “No treasure.”

Hedley stepped forward, trying not to be envious of the familiarity her sister and her husband openly shared. “That leaves the matter of Greyson Park. If it is as you say, and I am still beneath my family’s care, then who will repair the damage you have inflicted on my home?”

Ursa lifted her face—one completely devoid of tears—and narrowed her eyes. The hatred within those black pools was palpable. “We both know that the only part of you that is a true Sinclair is the ink on the register of your baptism. Greyson Park, and its inhabitant, is of no real concern to the family.”

“Unless of course you had something to gain,” Hedley replied, her voice faltering. She looked down at the toes of her red shoes, feeling invisible for the first time in weeks. She had no family. No clothes of her own. And the man she loved did not want her.

“Hmm . . . No. Not even then.” On the arm of Mr. Cole, Ursa crossed the room and swept past Hedley and Rafe. At the front door, she paused to issue one more cutting remark. “You have never been anything other than a burden to all of us. It’s a shame that you weren’t the one who died in the carriage accident that day. But I suspect you know that.”

In two strides, Rafe crossed the foyer and slammed the door closed behind them. The action made Hedley aware of the hole in the center of the door. Through it, she could see Ursa climb into her carriage and Mr. Cole follow. Gradually, the driver set off, and soon there was nothing to see, other than the ironical brightness of the sun during such a dark moment.

Returning to her, Rafe drew her against him, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her back. “What she said about the accident, pay no heed. Your sister enjoys tormenting people.”

But it was true
. Hedley allowed herself to enjoy his embrace for a minute before she pulled away and walked toward the center of the parlor. Kneeling down, she began to put the pieces of her table into one pile.

R
age scorched Rafe. The heat of it filled his stomach and chest as if he himself were a furnace hot enough to melt sand and soda ash into glass. He’d never been this furious in his life. He’d never felt such complete and utter hatred. Not even when Ursa had left him at the altar. And not even when Lord and Lady Fitzherbert had given his father the cut direct.