The Devilish Mr. Danvers: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (19 page)

Still, Hedley refused to give up. In the very least, someone would hear her calling out. Someone would notice her.

She didn’t want to be invisible again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

R
afe whistled down the stairs, his steps light. It had taken the better part of the day, but he’d managed to finish the gift for Hedley. He hoped she liked it. More than that, he hoped she loved it . . . and loved him still.

Giving the cask a pat for good luck, he strolled into the map room for a drink before dinner. Montwood was already at the sideboard, pouring three glasses, and Boris lay in front of the fire.

“What tune is that?” Montwood asked, turning to hand him a whiskey. His jaw was no longer swollen, but a faint purplish bruise lingered.

Rafe lowered the cask to the table and took the drink with a shrug. “Just a random melody.”

The cardsharp studied him. “You’re inordinately happy for someone who is about to lose a wager.”

And so he was, Rafe thought with a grin.

“Did I hear mention of someone losing the wager?” Everhart asked from the doorway, escorting his bride on his arm. “Do you see, my love, these matters tend to sort themselves out.”

“I never doubted it for a moment.” Calliope beamed, her gaze alighting on Rafe and then down to the box on the table. She let out a pleased gasp. “It’s Hedley’s cask. I’m so glad you purchased it. That horrible Mr. Lynch refused to give her a mere crown she’d asked for it, but only gave her half.”

“I paid considerably more, though I would not wish her to know.” Rafe kept his voice down and looked past Calliope and Everhart toward the doorway. “Where is she, by the way?”

Calliope gave him an odd look. “At Greyson Park, I imagine.”

“No, that is not possible.” He shook his head, lowering the glass to the table. They were teasing him, surely. But as he looked around, he saw no mockery. “She is supposed to be here. Did she not pay a call?”

“No,” Calliope said. “Valentine made no mention of her arrival when we saw him a moment ago.”

It did not make sense. Hedley should be here. “Mr. Tims said she’d come here.”

“Is something the matter?”

“Her sister and brother-in-law destroyed much of Greyson Park today. The house is unsafe. Are you saying that she never came here?” Panic surged through his heart, yet he felt sluggish and weighted. Rafe headed for the door, though he felt as if he were walking through waist-high mud.
Please, don’t let it be true
.

Calliope clutched his arm. “She did not. Where do you think she could be?”

“The house.”

“If Greyson Park is unsafe,” Montwood said from beside him, “then we must hurry.”

Boris let out a yawp and leapt to his feet. He was out the door before any of them. Everhart called out instructions to Valentine. Montwood headed for the stables for Quicksilver and Frit. Rafe started running.

The mire of dread within him gave way to terror and added an urgency to his strides that he’d never known before. Rafe raced across the acreage that separated their estates.

He whistled for Frit. By the time he was halfway there, his horse was beside him. Taking hold of his mane, he leapt onto his back. Montwood was a close second.

“Everhart and Calliope are bringing a carriage, just in case!” Montwood shouted.

By now, they all knew of Hedley’s fear, so the
just in case
would mean that they expected the direst of circumstances. Or perhaps they were hoping against it, as he was. They all loved Hedley. In such a short time she’d become part of their small family.

Greyson Park was dark. No smoke came from the chimney. The final glimmering light of day had disappeared beneath the horizon, leaving a faint purplish glow. He leapt off Frit and rushed to the door, kicking it open.

“Hedley!” He waited in the foyer for any answer. Any sound. But there was no response, only the creaking and groaning of the house. From what he could see, the small bench in the foyer was now broken in half, and there was a hole in the wall behind it, revealing the complete darkness beneath the stairs. Ursa and her husband must have returned to finish the job they’d started.

He cursed himself. He never should have left Hedley alone.

Montwood came in behind him and with an oath as well.

“Keep Calliope outside,” Rafe said. “It isn’t safe.”

Boris tore into the house and howled. Running toward the stairs, Rafe followed him, more by memory than by sight. There was scant light, enough to see that a few of the treads had been smashed and the railing torn away.

Boris turned down a hall and then stopped, sniffing the floor. Rafe opened the door and saw a bedchamber in disarray. Hedley wasn’t here. When he saw a trunk lying open, he realized that the mess around the room was the dresses from the crates at Fallow Hall. Now they littered the floor in torn scraps of fabric.

Ursa wouldn’t be satisfied until she took everything from her sister.
Everything
. . .

“Hedley!” he shouted again, panic seizing his heart.

Montwood was just coming up the stairs, shielding a taper with his hand. “You don’t think they took her, do you?”

“If they did, then I will need your help in covering up a murder.”

Boris turned toward the hall, ears quirked. In the next instant, he tore off in a scraping of claws against the hardwood. Rafe ran after him.

The servants’ passage had completely collapsed. The door splintered beneath the weight of the house.

Boris disappeared around the corner and released a low, mournful howl that turned Rafe’s blood to ice. The dog pawed at the attic door.
The attic
. . .

The knob was missing, leaving a hole behind.

“Hedley!” Rafe pounded on the door. There was no answer. He rammed it with his shoulder. The door wouldn’t budge. Of course, because he’d nailed it shut. Yet the fractured wood and a few exposed nail tips told him that someone had opened it recently.

Mad with desperation, he kicked in the door. It crashed open, hitting the wall behind it with a loud crack.

It was so dark that he didn’t see her at first. Not until Montwood came behind him with the candle. And then, she was standing just inside the doorway, tears streaming down her face. The most beautiful face he’d ever seen. She was alive.

Rushing in, he hauled her against him. “I shouldn’t have left. I’m so sorry, sweeting. It won’t happen again. I won’t let them take Greyson Park. They might believe they’ve destroyed it, but I’ll repair it brick by brick.” He would stand guard outside each day to make sure she was safe. He would never let them hurt her again.

“They won’t come back,” Hedley rasped, her voice nothing more than a raw breath. Lifting her hand to her throat, she tapped her fingertips against it. “Lost my voice . . . calling for you.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead to keep her from seeing the hot moisture stinging his eyes. She’d been calling for him, and he’d failed her.

Never again. “Then I’ll make sure that I’m never more than a whisper away,” he vowed.

She smiled at that, as if she thought he was teasing. He was prepared to correct her, but not with Montwood behind them. Even then, Rafe refused to let her go.

Montwood paused at the nails protruding from the doorframe. “What have they done—I’m going to kill them.”

Not if Rafe got to them first.

Hedley shook her head and let out something of a laugh as she lifted her hand for Montwood. “Not . . . worth it.”

“Don’t speak, sweeting. Save your voice.” Rafe had an important question for her . . . but it would have to wait until she could put this behind her. He didn’t want to overwhelm her.

She offered him a look of
it’s too late for that
.

And together they left for Fallow Hall.

A
fter one of the longest days of her life and a soak in a steaming tub at Fallow Hall, Hedley donned a night rail and wrapper before curling up in the soft blue chair by the fire. She stared at the flames licking over the logs on the iron grate. While the heat of the fire touched her face and hands, it didn’t penetrate deep down inside her where she felt coldest.

Rafe’s words haunted her. “
I won’t let them take Greyson Park. They might believe they’ve destroyed it, but I’ll repair it brick by brick
.”

His main concern was Greyson Park. Of course, she’d known that all along. He’d never hidden it from her. So it made sense that he wanted to repair it and preserve his legacy. She understood his reasons. Especially now that she had seen, with her own eyes, what he strived so hard to keep safe.

Yet foolishly, her heart broke, knowing that he cared more for the house than he did for her.

Earlier, after trying for hours to open the attic door, she’d gone about searching the room as thoroughly as she could, hoping to find a secret panel that would lead her to a servants’ staircase. Unfortunately, she’d found nothing of the sort.

It wasn’t until the sun reached the west side of the house that she noticed the peculiar colored light slipping through windows. She’d thought they’d been boarded up. And they had . . . but not—as she assumed—for a lack of a window. No, they had been concealed on purpose.

Using all her strength, Hedley had managed to slip her fingers between the window casing and the warped board, where a nail had worked loose. With a screech of wood and metal, she’d succeeded. And then she stared, dumbfounded, at what she’d revealed.

Beautiful stained glass in a prism of bold, rich colors. A scene depicting a white-winged seraph placing a golden crown atop a bearded man’s head formed the center. Beneath it, letters spelled out
Edward the Confessor
. In that instant, she knew this was Rafe’s legacy. This window had once been part of King Henry III’s Painted Chamber. And what a legacy it was. His family were respected artisans, so valued that their work had been preserved all this time.

Now, it was a matter of proving it. Whether or not her love was unrequited, what mattered most to her was ensuring that Rafe’s ultimate goal was realized.

A soft knock sounded on the door before Calliope peered inside. “I hoped to catch you before you went to sleep.”

“I’m not likely to do that for some time. I’m too relieved to be here, among friends, to close my eyes”—
and return to the darkness
—“just yet.” She tried to suppress a shiver.

Calliope smiled as if in understanding. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, which is why I thought you could use a little cheer.”

Hedley blinked several times as she watched her friend lift a familiar rosewood box into view.

“My grandmother’s cask?” Her voice was still nothing more than a rasp. “But how did you—I hope you did not let that Mr. Lynch cajole you into paying a full crown for that, or I should be very cross. No matter how fond I am of you for the gesture.”

“It wasn’t me,” Calliope said, beaming with a secret smile as she placed it on Hedley’s lap. “It was Danvers. And I hope you don’t mind, but I peeked inside.”

Inside? Hedley stroked the fine wood grain before she lifted the tiny latch. Her breath caught in her throat. Six perfume bottles
with
stoppers. And not just any stoppers but beautiful crystal-clear glass that caught the firelight. Each one was in shape of a carnation.

“They’re . . . exquisite.” She touched the delicate blossoms gently with her fingertips, marveling over the detail, down to the clustered centers where the petals folded against one another.

“They’re his finest creation so far, in my opinion.” Calliope stood beside her, resting a hand on Hedley’s shoulder as they both gazed into the cask. “Then again, I believe artists create their finest works when inspiration comes from love.”

Hedley nodded absently. “He does love his work and rightfully so.”

“No, silly. You,” Calliope corrected with a laugh. “You are his inspiration. Surely you knew that already. Anyone can see it.”

That cold sadness spread through her.
Not you, Hedley
. . . “He may care for me, but he loves Greyson Park.”

“My dear sweet friend,” Calliope said as she patted her shoulder. “Remember, a gentleman’s heart is much simpler to understand if you listen to the things he
doesn’t
say.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

H
edley needed to know if Calliope was right. She needed to know if Rafe truly loved her, or if Greyson Park was still between them.

Later that night, Hedley opened the bedchamber door. Preoccupied, she didn’t expect to find Boris in the hall. Sitting up, he tilted his head and wagged his tail, as if he’d been patiently waiting for her. She reached out and scratched him behind the ears. “You are a matchmaker, aren’t you?”

He answered with a low
woof
.

“If that is true, then you are waiting outside the wrong door.” She already knew her own heart. Now it was a matter of discovering what was in Rafe’s.

As if he understood her perfectly, Boris stood and traipsed down the hall without even bothering to look back to see if she followed.

A moment later, she was standing at Rafe’s door. She gave Boris one last pat before sending him on his way. Then, drawing in a deep breath, she turned the knob.

Rafe was sitting against the dark headboard of a massive bed, his knee elevated beneath a dark green coverlet. His shoulders, arms, and chest were bare, and he held a glass of amber liquid halfway to his mouth. But it remained there, arrested, as his gaze met hers.

“Hedley.” Her name came out on a breath. His chest rose and fell like a bellows igniting a fire.

“I don’t want you to speak. I want to be able to hear what you’re
not
saying.” With a shake of her head, she pressed her index finger to her lips and backed up against the door until she heard the soft click of the latch. “Unless you want me to go . . . ”

She waited for what seemed like an eternity. Trepidation rose, causing her to tremble. Then, Rafe slid his free hand down to pull back a corner of the bedclothes for her.

It was all the invitation she needed. Now, something other than trepidation made her tremble. Yet somehow she managed to walk across the chamber. His gaze never left her. It roamed over her unbound hair. It followed her hands as she slid the wrapper from her shoulders. Then it turned dark as she bent to pull the hem of her night rail over her head.

She let the gauzy cotton drop to the floor and stood before him, naked. His breathing was audible, his lips parted. The night air caused her nipples to draw tight. When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple rose and dipped in his throat. It was the same way her stomach felt, only hers settled much lower. She pressed a hand below her navel and took the remaining steps to the bed.

She was taking all of this as a good sign. He hadn’t told her to leave. Not only that, but that glass was still paused halfway to his mouth. Reaching out, she covered his fingers with hers and drew the glass to her own lips.

The sip was cool, but burned all the way down her throat, warming her stomach. She wondered if that was the reason he drank it—because he’d felt cold all the way to his marrow too. If so, then she sought to remedy that.

When she released his hand, Rafe drank the last swallow before setting it down on the bedside table. The folded corner of the coverlet exposed the lean, sinewy length of his body, from his shoulder all the way to his knee. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.

She’d already seen him in nothing but his breeches. Now, she would see him without even those. A wanton thrill shot through her. “I’m going to make love to you,” she said as her fingers curled around the edge of the green velvet. “But first, I want to see you.”

Rafe groaned in the same moment that she stripped away the bedclothes. Likely, she should lift her gaze to his face and inquire about the source of his groan. But at the moment, she couldn’t. He was put together in such a way that . . . well, she never would have expected a man to look so . . . so
hard
everywhere. The dark hair covering his chest and tapering down into a line along his abdomen did nothing to make him appear softer—even though she knew from experience that those hairs were soft. Yet they were deceptive, because his chest and abdomen were as hard as fieldstone.

She imagined the same could be true of the thick shaft of flesh jutting up from the thatch of dark hair between his thighs and laying in column toward his navel. While she had seen his flesh exposed and in his grip—had even felt it prod against her—her attention had been more on the euphoria she’d experienced in the moments before, when his mouth had been on her.

She let out a shuddered breath. Just the thought of it made her feel warm and damp. Raking her teeth over her lip, she slid her fingertips over the mattress, following the indentation of his body. Would he feel the same type of euphoria if she put her mouth on him? As if his thick flesh had heard her thought, it leapt up in a quick nod.

Listening to what Rafe’s actions were saying, Hedley climbed onto the bed. On her knees, she faced him. His eyes were dark and intense, but she saw more than desire. She knew there was more between them.

“I love you, no matter what you choose to believe,” she whispered. When he opened his mouth to respond, she silenced him with a kiss. A low sound rumbled in his throat. The warm caress of his lips beneath hers, the rapid pounding of his heart beneath her palms gave her the only answer she needed.

His hands threaded through the waves of her unbound hair, holding her close. He breathed her in and welcomed her tongue past his lips. Falling against him, her breasts pressed against his chest as her hands splayed over the breadth of his shoulders. This was where she belonged, here with him. His kiss warmed her far more than any sip of whiskey could.

She settled over him, half draping her body over his and half straddling him. The scorching length of that column pulsed against her stomach. This position reminded her of falling on him at Greyson Park that first day. Yet she far preferred having no ice beneath them and no clothes between them.

Feeling his thigh shift between hers made her want to move even closer. Lifting her knee, she shifted and straddled him in earnest. He groaned anew.

His hands found her hips and guided her to slide against him as he arched upward. The kiss altered, heated. Her stomach dipped low, throbbing insistently. He was as hot as a glassmaker’s furnace. When his hands cupped her breasts, and he rolled her taut nipples beneath his thumb and forefinger, she nearly convulsed as she had in the carriage. And she wanted to. But first, she wanted to taste him the way he’d tasted her.

She broke from his lips and trailed kisses down his throat, dipping her tongue into the hollow. He let out a ragged breath. His chest hair was soft against her lips. She breathed in his scent as her fingertips floated down those hard ridges . . . until she held that hot, unyielding column in her grasp. His hips arched off the bed.

Eager, she moved lower and wrapped her lips around the broad, fleshy tip. A low guttural groan tore from his throat. She took that as a good sign. He tasted slightly of salt and radiated heat. Against her tongue, smooth veins and ridges intrigued her, bidding her continued study down the length as far as she could go. Mouth watering, she swallowed, suckling him in the process. That earned her another groan. Tingling with pleasure, she hummed in response and repeated her actions.

Rafe’s hands brushed the fall of hair away from her face. When she looked up at him and sucked harder, his hips rocked. Then, without warning, he lifted her away. Hauling her up his chest, he kissed her, breathing hard and heavy. “Hedley, I—”

She put her finger against his lips. “No words.”

A devilish gleam lit his eyes as he grinned at her.

Slowly, deliberately, as if she’d issued some sort of challenge, he drew her finger into his mouth. A gasp escaped her when his tongue glided over her finger. She felt the sensation at the apex of her thighs.

Taking her hand, he sucked on each one of her fingers until she was panting and restless. She wanted to move her hips over him, but he held her still. Then, he lowered his mouth to her breast and did something with his tongue that made her body clench and quiver. She clutched his head. “Oh, Rafe—”

“No words,” he said against her nipple and blew on it before he moved on to the other. At the same time, his hands shifted. Fingers on her hips, his thumbs slid between her thighs and stroked between her folds. The quivering that pulsed deep within her now centered on the mesmeric sweeping motions. She felt as if she were filled with molten glass. The heat inside her expanded and contracted, threatening to fracture. The pleasure overwhelmed her. Her head fell back. Her hips bucked, sliding against the length of him—

She shattered. Completely. Disobeying her own rule, she cried out his name over and over again as the euphoria washed through her.

And when at last she caught her breath, she was beneath him. Rafe gazed down at her with that dark fierceness she’d grown to love. Tenderly, he brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her. She felt every word he wasn’t saying, and she believe them more than ever before.

He loved her.

This time when she felt the heat of him nudge the entrance of her body, she knew it wouldn’t end abruptly. He wasn’t going anywhere. Instead, he guided her knees up, one and then the other, and slowly wedged inside her.

The unexpected pain shocked her. Her breath caught. Her body tensed. All she knew of intimacies were the bawdy words she’d overheard from the servant girls in the kitchen at Sinclair House. She didn’t recall any of them mentioning pain.

Rafe let out a staggered breath and went still, her pain mirrored in his gaze.

“It won’t hurt anymore,” he promised with another kiss, coaxing her to return to the fervor of a moment ago. But even if it remained painful, she would do it all over again, simply to feel him deep inside of her, filling and stretching her. They were one person now. Making love. Creating love. Breathing love with each breath they shared.

Gradually, he moved within her, withdrawing and then edging inside. The pain disappeared, leaving only the craving to have him fill her body again each time he withdrew. As if he knew, he began to thrust faster, plunging deeper until neither of them could catch their breath. Their mouths broke apart. Above her, Rafe held her gaze. She tried to hold his, but as the sensations grew stronger, she arched her neck, pressing her breasts against him and tilting her hips.

This time she was eager for the euphoria to wash through her. She craved it. Seeking it, she pressed her heels into the mattress and met his thrusts until she shattered once again. Rafe moved faster, drawing out her shudders, until his hips jerked hard. He went still, releasing a low guttural groan as a flood of heat filled her body.

He held her tightly, his cheek damp against hers. “No words,” he breathed.

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Words weren’t needed between them. He’d already told her everything.