The Devilish Mr. Danvers: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (6 page)

Rafe was about to respond to her overly romantic ideals of artists, when Valentine appeared in the doorway.

“Sir?”

“I left a parcel in my chamber,” Rafe said. “Would you be so good as to send a footman to retrieve it?”

The butler bowed and summarily left them alone again. Valentine’s presence added to the reminder of how removed from society this young woman was. She hadn’t even known how to address a butler. A swift rise of irritation flooded him when he thought of how she’d been kept a secret. He had to wonder why.

Turning his back on the door, Rafe crossed the room to her. This time, however, he kept his distance. He’d learned his lesson.

“You have it wrong about freedom and acceptance for artists. Not only that, but there was a time when I would have preferred an invisible family.”

She shook her head. “You shouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”

Her expression was so tortured that he had an overwhelming urge to put his hands to her face and blot away those furrowed lines on her brow with his lips

But he didn’t. Even so, he found himself drawing nearer.

“Not everyone casts such a pleasing light over artists. In fact, many in society—including those in your family—see artists as a disgrace.”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t understand.”

Had she not even heard the reason for Ursa’s abandonment? He was beginning to wonder if Hedley wasn’t simply kept a secret from society, but if her own family hadn’t separated themselves from her as well.

“As a member of the peerage,” he said, pushing those thoughts aside for the moment, “my father’s portrait skills were in high demand among his set. One day, however, it became known that he wasn’t solely painting the
ton
’s elite but their servants as well. These were not flattering portraits either, but displayed the grittier side of those fine houses.”

As if she were an expert on the matter, she pursed her lips. “And they were ashamed of what they saw.”

He admired her quick understanding but then wondered . . . Was shame the reason that her family kept her dressed in rags? He wanted to solve the mystery more than he cared to admit.

“Because of one portrait in particular, he was cast out of society—along with my family.”

“And Ursa did not stand by your side,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Rafe gave Hedley credit for her skills of observation. For someone who had been virtually invisible during his visits to Sinclair House, this surprised him. Yet he reasoned that someone who was kept hidden would have learned to be watchful.

Still, the idea disturbed him. “Your sister loathed me and my family, only I’d been too besotted to realize in time.” And blind to Ursa’s true nature—the avarice that ruled her every action.

“I apologize for my family’s behavior toward you.” That open cornflower blue gaze revealed her sincerity.

No
. He did not want her taking responsibility for what her family had done. That would be too convenient for them. “That does me no good, because until very recently, I did not know you existed. It will take me some time before I am able to harbor enough ill will toward you,” he teased. “As long as you hold Greyson Park, however, we are off to a good start.”

It pleased him when her eyes narrowed. He would rather have her annoyed with him than tilting those lips at such a tempting angle. Strangely, he wasn’t certain he would be able to resist if she renewed her unspoken invitation for a kiss.

“Since we are already speaking of unpleasantness,” Hedley began, “I will state the purpose of my visit here.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. And liked it even less when she didn’t immediately continue. Instead, Hedley adjusted the threadbare shawl around her shoulders. Her gloves were worse than before. Now, an entire finger was exposed, the rip too frayed to allow mending.

She drew in a breath and met his gaze. “I have recently learned—through Mr. Tims—that my family believes Greyson Park houses a treasure.”

Rafe went utterly still at this announcement.

She hesitated, as if waiting for him to absorb this first bit before she went on to explain the history of the manor and the belief that the goldsmith had left something behind.

“I know the story,” he said, clenching his teeth so hard he expected his jaw to shatter.

“Is that your reason for wanting it?”

He sidestepped the question. “To imagine that the estate hosts a treasure of gold is ludicrous.”

It held a different sort of treasure, though nothing that the Sinclairs would deem of worth. It was his family’s legacy—historically significant art, fashioned by his ancestor hundreds of years ago.

She nodded. “That is exactly what Mr. Tims and I believe. Unfortunately, my sister is not likely to be swayed from her quest.”

“Your sister.” Rafe swallowed down a sudden rise of bile up the back of his throat. “What does she have to do with this?”

Hedley turned toward the window. The curling tracks of rain on the glass cast blurred shadows on her face. “Ursa has returned. She came to Greyson Park yesterday.”

He raked a hand through his hair and began to pace the room. “She must have had this notion for some time, then. Time enough to book passage from the American colonies.”

“Had she known I was to inherit Greyson Park, she would have come sooner,” she said with quiet resolve. “I’m certain Ursa will attempt to find a way to nullify my inheritance and revert it back to being part of her dowry, as it was previously.”

Rage tore through him. The only reason Greyson Park had ever been part of Ursa’s dowry was because he had bargained for it! Or
begged
, more like. The Sinclair family had humbled him on too many occasions.

After Ursa had sailed off with her new husband, Rafe remembered the relief he’d felt that the manor had been removed from her dowry. Neither Greyson Park nor Rafe had been prestigious enough for her. Which had suited him and his purpose in the end.

And now, she wanted to take it back? He wouldn’t allow it!

Pivoting on his heel, he stared at Hedley’s silhouette. During all this, it had not escaped his notice that everyone—including him—was trying to take Greyson Park away from her. A fact which must be weighing on her mind. After all, she’d come here to tell him of Ursa’s plans. “Why come all this way to tell
me
?”

“I would like your help,” she said without facing him. “I know my sister. She will stop at nothing to find the treasure. Greyson Park is already in disrepair. I cannot imagine that destroying a wall to enter a room would be beneath them. She has already said as much.”

It seemed that the Sinclairs were put upon this earth to destroy everything. “And you believe
I
could stop them?”

“I thought you knew more about the manor. Perhaps you even acquired the original drawings during your betrothal. They weren’t among Grandfather’s papers.” She turned her head. Her beseeching gaze compelled him to listen, despite the unpleasant reminder. “There are many doors that will not open. Neither Mr. Tims nor I have the strength. If I could simply show them that there is nothing hidden, no secret rooms, then they might leave Greyson Park alone.”

“And what happens if
you
find a treasure?”

She shook her head. “I have no interest in it. All I want is to live at Greyson Park in peace. I don’t want to see my home destroyed because of their greed.”

Damn it all
, he believed her—an entirely foolish inclination. Hadn’t he been burned by the Sinclair women enough in this life to ever trust one of them again? And yet, guilt niggled at the corners of his conscience. While Hedley might want to live at Greyson Park in peace, he couldn’t let that happen. Just as he was about to remind her of that, a footman appeared in the doorway, holding a paper-wrapped parcel tied with string.

“Thank you, John,” Rafe said, grateful for the distraction. Crossing the room once more, he took the hefty package in both hands. “That will be all.”

Inside, there was new cornflower blue muslin dress, a worsted-weight petticoat, two chemises, a short corset, several pairs of wool stockings, kid gloves and silk gloves, and a pink paisley shawl. He’d purchased far more than he’d intended, yet each item was chosen for the specific purpose of luring Montwood. Lucky for Rafe, his friend had always been drawn to damsels in distress. That blue gown was sure to bring Montwood’s focus to those haunting eyes.

Rafe set the bundle down on a round mahogany table on the opposite side of the room. He crinkled the thick brown paper with the quick press of his hand. “This is for you.”

He’d intended to deliver it to her at Greyson Park, but he was beginning to suspect that being alone with her, far removed from either servants or societal rules, might not be the most prudent choice.

Hedley turned from the window, her inquisitive gaze drawing together as tightly as the parcel strings. “For me?”

He shrugged as if it was a matter of happenstance. In truth, he’d spent the better part of a week in shops searching for just the right items. The only thing he hadn’t found was a pair of red shoes. She seemed fond of the color.

“It is just the gesture of a gentleman, wishing to make reparations for our previous encounter.” Yet while he told himself the purchase was solely part of his plan to draw Montwood closer to marriage and losing the wager, even Rafe knew it was somewhat odd to have gone to such lengths for the precise color of shawl. “Although I do not imagine you would care to open it in my presence. Something tells me that your carnation pink blush would return.”

“Reparations for what?” she asked, genuinely baffled.

“I noticed that my clumsiness ruined the clothes you wore,” he lied smoothly. “Not to mention what Boris did to your shawl.”

Confusion knitted her wispy brows. Her mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. “Is this common practice in society?”

“Of course.” He fought the urge to cross his fingers behind his back as if he were a child. “Otherwise, I would not have given it a second thought.”

“Oh.” She inched forward, wary and wide-eyed. “Then thank you. However, I must say that it is unexpected and unnecessary.”

He pursed his lips and lowered his chin. “I do hope you will not insult my honor by refusing it.”

She swallowed. “It would not be my intention to insult you.”

“Then you must accept.”

“Again, I thank you.” She drew in a breath, her expression weighted as if he’d told her to drink poison or else he’d stab her with a knife. “Will you aid me with Greyson Park as well?”

He considered it for a moment. “As long as you understand that I will do everything within my power to severe its link to the Sinclair family in the end.”

His declaration must have snapped her out of her shock because that dimpled chin flashed up at him.

It was clear by her huff of indignation that asking for his assistance had taken a great deal of effort. “Let us fight one battle at a time, shall we?”

He nodded in agreement but couldn’t resist teasing her once more. “Then all that is left is to see you to your temporary home. I’ll order a carriage.”

Instantly, Hedley went deathly pale. “I’ll walk.”

“It is raining. The distance is nearly two miles,” he argued. “Therefore, I must insist.”

“I would rather risk death than enter a carriage again. One would be akin to the other,” she said, her voice hollow, as if she truly feared death by carriage. There was no accounting for it. And her reaction both puzzled and concerned him.

Without another word, she rushed out of the room.

Running the risk of being another specter on her heels, he followed.

CHAPTER SIX

“I
do not need an escort,” Hedley said as she marched down the path away from Fallow Hall.

Rafe paid no attention. Instead, he lifted an umbrella over her head and kept pace beside her. “Then you force my hand as a gentleman.”

Was this truly how men in society behaved—unneeded escorts and clothing reparations? Since she had nothing to compare it against, she was forced to take him at his word. Besides, part of her was curious about what the parcel held.

Unfortunately, in her momentary distress after he’d offered the carriage, she’d left it behind. For now, she didn’t mention it, because she knew he would ask why she’d left in such haste.

Thankfully, he didn’t press her. He kept silent, other than a low, musical whistle that blended perfectly with the rain. The sound was so lovely, in fact, that if she’d known how to whistle, she would have joined him. Then, when they reached a turn in the lane, he settled his hand into the curve of her lower back, as if it were the most natural thing for a gentleman to do.

For Hedley, however, it was . . . distracting. She tried to recall her reason for not wanting his escort.

An enthralling woodsy fragrance rose from him. It was like breathing in the air from the deepest, darkest part of the forest. The faintest hint of smoke blended with it, as if a welcoming cottage waited nearby. Several times, she’d had to stop herself from turning her head in his direction to inhale deeply. Combined with the sweet scent of rain in the air, her ability to resist that temptation waned even more.

By the time they reached Greyson Park, the rain had stopped. The clouds overhead resembled a sumptuous gray fur, the lane spotted with dark, silky puddles. Under normal circumstances, Hedley would never have imagined that a puddle looked silky, yet after walking two miles pressed against Rafe’s side beneath a shared umbrella, the world seemed more decadent. And all of her senses were attuned to it.

Outside her door, Rafe removed his hand from her lower back—slowly, as if he were reluctant to end their contact. Then, he placed the umbrella on the ground, propping it against the stone casing. It was as if he planned to stay.

Somehow, she sensed that wasn’t a good idea. “You should take the umbrella with you on your return to Fallow Hall.”

“I will.” He nudged the door open. Since the house was uneven in many places, the door swung wide, revealing the snug foyer that hosted no more than a bench along the far wall. “But first, I should like to ensure that Greyson Park is secure and . . . that you have a fire in your parlor.”

An innocent request, she told herself. Yet, when he spoke in that same velvety timbre she remembered from the drawing room of Fallow Hall a short while ago, it didn’t
sound
innocent.

Her stomach bobbled once more. “I can tend my own fire.”

“
Mmm
. . . ” A slow, devilish grin curved his lips. “I should like to see that.”

Hedley blushed without knowing the reason. “While I realize that I know little of societal rules, I must wonder if it is appropriate for you to accompany me inside.”

“I have been inside before. Alone with you.” That tone was warm enough without any fire nearby. “Did you at any time feel as though I would make advances?”

“Of course not. I was more concerned for the advances you would make on Greyson Park.”

His dark eyes glittered with amusement, as if he held a secret he was unwilling to share. “Yet you have asked for my assistance.”

The only reason he’d even remained in her company was because she was the key to getting what he wanted, she reminded herself. “And you have promised to take it from me.”

“But not today.” Extending his arm, he gestured over the threshold. “Today, I merely want to be warm before I return to Fallow Hall.”

As if to mock his statement, the air inside the house was equally as bracing as outside. He turned to close the door behind them. Yet before he could, the unmistakable jangle of a horse and carriage approaching caused a dire coldness to seep into her.

“It could only be Ursa. She and her husband are staying with our mother’s aunt,” Hedley whispered, a shiver rushing down her limbs. “Perhaps you should leave by way of the kitchen.”

His gaze turned fierce, his mouth set in a firm line. “Ashamed to be seen with me, Miss Sinclair?”

The irritation brewing just beneath the surface of his eyes and tight smile took her aback. Instantly, it was obvious that he saw her as an extension of her family. The same people who’d taken part in his family’s public disgrace. “I did not think you would want to see her. That is all.”

And if he knew everything about Hedley, he most certainly wouldn’t want to be seen with
her
.

“Very true, indeed.” He closed the door, sealing them inside before looking past her and up the stairs. “Come. The only true way to know what your sister plans to do is to make certain she believes she is alone.”

Hedley had learned as much by being invisible most of her life. People tended to reveal much more of their character when they thought no one was looking. “Very well, then. If you want to become invisible, then I am the one to show you how.”

“I’m under your command,” he said with a grin.

Then, he nullified his subservience by taking her hand and rushing up the stairs. All the way up, she couldn’t catch her breath, but she wasn’t certain it was from the quick pace. Surely a simple touch shouldn’t affect her so. He didn’t appear winded. Therefore, she warned herself to stop being foolish.

The upstairs was situated with bedchambers along the outer walls and a servant’s passageway in the middle. Keeping her at his side, Rafe tried the first bedchamber door. It wouldn’t budge.

“Locked?”

She shook her head and pointed with her free hand to the tilted doorframe. “Wedged, but that isn’t where we’re going. Come with me.”

He frowned but followed her toward the servants’ passageway.

Below them, the front door opened. Ursa’s falsely sweet voice called out. “Hedley? Oh, Hedleeeeey?”

Both Hedley and Rafe froze for an instant.

“My dearest simpleton . . . are you here?”

Embarrassed by the address, Hedley felt her skin grow prickly. Raft cast a hard glance down the stairs as his hand tightened around hers. An inexplicable thrill shot up her arm and made her heart beat in that odd squishy rhythm. Apparently, her heart was just as silly as the rest of her.

“Hedley, it’s proper to greet your visitors at the door and
not
make them hunt for you,” Ursa said, her tone turning waspish and more familiar.

“Do you think she’s not here?” Mr. Cole asked, making his presence known.

A muscle above Rafe’s jaw twitched. Hedley couldn’t help but wonder if he was jealous of the man who had wooed Ursa. She hoped not. She hoped that after six years, he wasn’t still pining for her sister. Yet admittedly, she knew too little about the man beside her to understand him fully. Or to know his real reason for wanting Greyson Park.

But there was no time for these musings. It wouldn’t take Ursa long before she decided to snoop through the entire house.

At the first creak of a foot upon the bottom tread, Hedley pulled Rafe across the hall and into the servants’ passageway. It was a narrow doorway and painted in pale green to blend in with the wall. Like the others, the frame was tilted. When she tried to close the door, the top of it caught on the jamb, leaving a gap.

“Here. Let me,” Rafe whispered.

Without thinking, Hedley covered his mouth with her hand. Then, they both went still. Through the hole in her glove, she felt the firm, velvety texture of his lips. Exhaling through his nostrils, Rafe’s warm breath caressed her exposed flesh. She hadn’t noticed how dark and secluded it was here in the servants’ passage until now. Her intention merely had been to remind him that they were trying to be invisible, but suddenly, all she could think about was how close they stood.

Rafe could have brushed her hand aside. But he did not. Instead, he settled his hands at her waist. Unexpectedly, he turned her so that she was behind the door, the wall at her back.

“Perhaps she’s locked herself in the attic for a sense of home.” From somewhere near the end of the hall, Ursa laughed.

Hedley hated that sound. The times she’d spent locked in the attic were not a laughing matter. And now, Rafe knew . . .

Yet he held her gaze without shrinking away or giving her a look of pity. Instead, he remained steady, fierce.

“Though, knowing her,” Ursa continued, “she’s likely wandering about in this horrid weather. I am glad you rescued me from this damp, dreary place, Mr. Cole.”

The irritation Hedley normally would have felt at the sound of her sister’s taunting, went unheeded. She lowered her fingers, and now Rafe’s breath brushed her lips.

“I
would give you the moon, if it had a price,” Ursa’s husband drawled as the couple approached.

Rafe ignored Cole’s syrupy phrase and focused on Hedley. The telltale tensing of her body when Ursa spoke revealed a great deal. He thought he’d known the scope of Ursa’s cruel nature, yet he never thought her capable of locking her sister in an attic. Then again, likely her mother had managed the affairs of the house—which meant that he’d been justified in hating them all this time. He was just getting acquainted with Hedley, but he knew enough to realize that she never deserved such treatment. If he’d have known when he saw her in the garden years ago, he would have done something for her.
What
exactly, he didn’t know. Perhaps he could have removed her from the ones who’d kept her locked away.

Yet he could not travel back in time to save that wood sprite he’d glimpsed years ago.

Frustrated by the futility of such thoughts, his hands tightened on her waist. Although
why
he’d settled his hands there in the first place was a mystery he could not explain. Now that he had her positioned behind the door and out of sight, he could easily remove them. And yet . . . he didn’t.

The reason was likely that the slender firmness of her waist surprised him, almost as much as the flare of her hips enticed him. Her form, while looking soft and supple—and yes, it was that too—was remarkably toned. From the purposeful stride of her steps along the lane from Fallow Hall earlier, he’d garnered that she did a great deal of walking.

His hand at the small of her back had seemed natural at the time. Or more so, an indefinable impulse, much like the way he’d taken her hand before mounting the stairs. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her.

Leaning in to whisper, his cheek brushed hers. “We must stand close so we are both behind the door. For the purpose of concealment.”

A plausible excuse. Even he almost believed it.

“Of course,” she said on a breath, the warmth of it caressing his flesh. Her hands gripped his biceps, and with each quick intake of air, her breasts pressed invitingly against him. “For the purpose of invisibility.”

His heart pounded like a hammer, boring through his ribcage. He pulled her closer, unconsciously aligning her hips with his. Or perhaps it wasn’t entirely
un
conscious. His body seemed to know exactly where to fit against hers.

“Then it is a good thing for you, Mr. Cole, that the moon does not have a price, for I would want it.” Ursa cackled, her voice trailing away as if they’d taken another branch off the hall. “For now, I will gladly take the treasure hidden here at Greyson Park.”

“Should we wait until your sister returns?” Cole asked, his voice also carrying off in a different direction.

“No. Try this door,” Ursa said. A distant knock followed. “Besides, what better time will we have than right now, when she isn’t here?”

Rafe turned his head. His body, however, refused to budge. Why was it proving a challenge to take a single step back? He held his breath, trying hard not to—well, not to be so
hard
.

“I don’t know how meticulous your sister intends to be. With her poking around upstairs, we are essentially trapped.” As he spoke, his mouth drifted closer to Hedley’s until he found himself speaking each word against her lips. “We might have to endure this . . . proximity for a while.”

“I don’t mind.” She shook her head. Her lips grazed ever so slightly across his.

The next thing he knew, his mouth was on hers. Those full, berry-stained lips parted on a gasp.
Damn
. He couldn’t resist a moment longer.

Here, she was all soft and supple. And sweet. She tasted like a confection and like . . .

Before he could finish his discovery, she broke from the kiss. In the meager light, he saw her eyes narrow.

“You kissed me,” she hissed.

Not the reaction he’d expected.

Not when she’d given every indication of wanting to be kissed. Then again, what in the hell was
he
doing kissing a Sinclair in the first place?

“You stole my first kiss, when it was mine to give.”

Her first kiss?
Shock jolted through him.
Surely not
.

How many years had it been since his first kiss? He could scarcely remember, though the girl had worn pigtails, and he likely hadn’t been far removed from leading strings. What he did remember was that he’d liked kissing girls. That first kiss had started him off on a very pleasurable journey. And not once had he been accused of thievery. Seduction? Yes. Stealing like a common pickpocket? Never. “What is your age?”

“Not that it matters”—she lifted that pert chin—“but I am three and twenty.”

He let that answer settle in, only to discover that he wanted to push it aside. Something wasn’t right.

“I’d hardly call it stolen,” he argued. “With the way you were beseeching me with those wanton gazes, you were going to give me that kiss anyway.”

“Wanton.”
She huffed. “You don’t know that.”

But he did.

A woman with lips like hers deserved long, thorough kisses. He found his hands still holding firm to her hips, keeping her close. Through the threadbare layers of muslin, he could almost get a sense of her flesh beneath his grasp. Soft, warm, yielding . . .
Her first kiss—