Heroes of Heartbreak Creek 02 (14 page)

A flicker of disdain.

Were peers not allowed to touch commoners? Rafe would have to remind Ash of that the next time the earl punched him in the shoulder.

“Adderly. Baron Adderly.” The shorter man gave Rafe’s much larger hand a limp squeeze and quickly released it. Rafe had held livelier fish. “You’re an American.”

“I am. Sorry about the war.” He refrained from wiping his palm on his jacket. “A baron, you say? Would that be higher or lower than an earl?”

The baron stiffened.

Josephine sighed.

“I only ask,” Rafe went on, “because I know how important forms of address are to you English. I want to be certain I get it right.”

“Lower,” the good baron said through tight lips.

“Excellent. So I would address you as . . .”

“My lord.”

“Adderly it is, then.”

Before the weasel realized he’d been insulted—again—Cathcart arrived with his drink, which Adderly downed in two gulps.

“Jessup works for Kirkwell,” Cathcart said with a glare at Rafe.

“Indeed?” The baron tried to look down his nose, but since Rafe was a foot taller, it wasn’t that effective. “In what capacity?”

Rafe beamed proudly. “Horse advisor.
Head
horse advisor, in fact.”

“Horse advisor? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I know. It’s ridiculous. But then, he
is
an earl.” Leaning down, Rafe added in a confidential tone, “Seems the higher they go, the dumber they get. Am I right?” Straightening, he gave a hearty laugh.

Which earned him another glare from their host, another eye roll from Josephine, and had the baron requesting a second drink.

For a reluctant talker, Rafe thought he was doing pretty damn well.

 • • • 

“What on earth is wrong with you?” Josephine demanded in an undertone a few minutes later when they followed Father and the baron toward the dining room.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Rafe muttered. “How could you let that scrawny—”

“Stop.” She tried to sound stern, but laughter made her voice wobble.

She studied the men walking several paces ahead of them. William was anything but scrawny. In fact, he had gained so much weight since she’d last seen him, she might not have recognized him.

And had he always had that overbite?

But the change she noticed most was the cruel twist of his mouth, especially when Rafe had toyed with him. Josephine sensed that if she and Father hadn’t been witness to their sparring, the baron might have lashed out at the man he erroneously considered his inferior. William’s overweening pride she remembered well. But that hint of cruelty was new . . . or perhaps at sixteen, she had been too besotted to notice.

“It’s confusing,” Rafe mused, breaking into her thoughts. “Everyone chides me for not talking more, and then when I do, I get into all sorts of trouble. Why is that, do you suppose?”

“Because you’re incorrigible, that’s why.”

“Better than being a weasel.”

“A weasel?”

“It’s an insignificant, annoying pest. In America we consider them vermin. Apparently here, you make them into barons. Interesting.”

“You sound jealous,” she teased. “Are you intimidated by his grand title?”

“The one that’s lower than an earl’s? I think I might be. I’ll need soothing, I suspect.” He grinned down at her. “Perhaps later.”

Fighting a smile, she looked away. This playful side of Rafe charmed her all over again. And terrified her, because she didn’t know what outrageous thing he would say next. “Please try to be nice,” she cajoled, echoing the sentiment Thomas Redstone had expressed earlier, which had confused her at the time, but now made perfect sense.

“I was nice.”

“You were awful. You deliberately baited him.”

“He’s a pompous ass.”

“He’s our guest.”

“He’s still a—”

She put a finger to his lips to silence him, then quickly pulled it away when she saw that heated look come into his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

His brows rose in a show of innocence. “Do what?”

“I know you’re only trying to show support for me, and I dearly appreciate that. But I fear if you push it too far, Father won’t allow you to dine with us again. And I need you there, Rafe. I don’t want to face him alone.”

All amusement left his face. “You’re not alone, Josie. I’m right here beside you.”

Tears pricked her eyes. The man did know the perfect thing to say. “Just promise me you won’t start something. In fact, don’t speak at all.”

“Really? Most women prefer I do the opposite. But . . .” The word trailed off on a deep sigh. “All right. I’ll be quiet. Had I known my teasing would make this difficult situation more awkward for you, I wouldn’t have spoken at all. I’m sorry I upset you.” He tipped his head down. “Would a kiss make you feel better?”

“Hush!” She drew back, horrified Father or the baron might have heard.

“You’re right.” Laughing softly, he straightened. “We’d best wait until later for that, too.”

D
inner proceeded without incident. Rafe offered no more jibes, Father remained lucid, and William lived up to his recent reputation for heavy drinking, while Josephine toyed with her food and relived those kisses with Rafe.

What had come over him? He had always kept a proper distance—except for holding her hand those two times. Then suddenly he was corralling her in a stall and kissing her as if they had been parted for months rather than just over a fortnight. What had she unleashed with that one impulsive kiss?

With a sigh, she chased peas around her plate and stared dreamily at her carrots. Not that she was complaining, of course. She had enjoyed those kisses as much as he apparently had. Even now, the memory of them brought a warm rush that had her reaching for her wine goblet.

As she swallowed, she caught Rafe staring at her neck with such focused intensity her throat almost seized. Was he remembering, too?

She must have some dire weakness of character. What else would explain her lamentable susceptibility to inappropriate men? First William, who seduced and deserted her—and now Rafe, soon to leave her and return to America. When would she learn? Yet here she sat, calmly eating glazed carrots while the man who had debauched her sat on her left, the man who had allowed it sat at the other end of the table, and the man she wished would attempt it sat on her right. Although, she mused, poking at a piece of ham, for Rafe to properly debauch her, she must be chaste. And sadly, that horse had jumped the fence years ago.

Course after course came and went, until finally the dessert plates were cleared and Father rose, signaling an end to the interminable meal. Setting her napkin beside her plate, she prepared to bolt.

William had other plans.

Waving the footman aside, he came around to pull out her chair. “May I speak with you alone, my dear,” he murmured in her ear as she rose.

“I—I’m not sure that would be appropriate. Father—”

“I’ve already spoken to him,” William cut in smoothly. “He understands we have much to discuss and has graciously allowed us privacy to do so.”

Betrayed by her father yet again. Why was she not surprised?

“Shall we go to the conservatory? I have such fond memories of it.”

She almost lost her carrots. Panic building, she searched for a way to avoid the looming confrontation. If she refused to speak with him, what could he do? William’s hand at her back sent a shiver of revulsion up her spine, and when she tried to twist away, she saw Rafe watching them intently.

His gaze narrowed on William, dropped to the hand by her hip, then rose to meet hers. That savage look was back.

And suddenly, the words he had spoken earlier flowed through her befuddled mind.
You’re not alone. I’m right here beside you.

A sense of calmness settled over her. The constriction in her throat eased and reason returned. With a smile of reassurance to Rafe, she let William steer her from the room.

She had no reason to be afraid. This wasn’t eight years ago, and she wasn’t the timid, lovesick creature she had been then. She was no longer awed by William’s presence or his title, nor was she concerned about what effect he might have on her. The past was far behind her. There was nothing William could say or do that would equal the pain he had already given her, or weaken her resolve to put him from her life.

Alas, how wrong she was.

 • • • 

Rafe watched the baron usher Josephine from the room and fought an almost overwhelming urge to go after them. Just seeing the weasel’s hand on her back had awakened a level of anger he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Go after her and do what? Confront Adderly for her?

Almost unconsciously, he rubbed a hand across his chest and the old wounds that still ached on cold, rainy nights. A reminder not to take on a fight that wasn’t his, over a woman he couldn’t have. He was a horse wrangler, not a hero. Best he remember that.

“Join me in my study for a drink, Jessup?”

Rafe looked over to find Cathcart watching him. “No, thank you.”

“Join me anyway. I want to talk to you.”

Wondering if his earlier weasel baiting was about to see him banished from future dinners, Rafe followed his host down the hall. He had been in Cathcart’s study only one other time, when Ash had negotiated with him over the price of the horses. The earl might have difficulty with the written word, but his years procuring remounts for the Hussars had certainly honed his skills as a horse trader. In the end, he talked Cathcart down to a fair price. But the Englishman had hoped for more, and he had made up the difference by charging Ash a less than fair price for the horses’ upkeep until they were shipped to America.

Ash paid it, just to be done with the man. He didn’t suffer fools well.

Waving away another offer of a drink, Rafe settled into one of the leather chairs in front of the ornate desk. While Cathcart poured himself a drink from a decanter on a side table, Rafe studied the room.

Bookcases lined the walls. Collectibles and foreign oddities sat on shelves and tables, and a mounted tiger’s head glared down from above the fireplace. Rafe suspected few of the books had ever been opened and most of the trophies had been purchased, rather than earned, by the owner. The dusty stuffed tiger over the mantle was probably the closest his host had ever come to a dangerous beast.

All flash and no lead. Rafe might have respected Cathcart more if he had hung a painting of an old coal miner on his wall, instead of surrounding himself with the trappings of a life he had never led. He should have been proud of what he’d accomplished, rather than ashamed of his lowly beginnings. But then, this wasn’t America, where almost everyone started low.

Cathcart sank into the throne-like chair behind the desk. “Jamie is Adderly’s son.” He watched Rafe over the rim of his glass as he sipped, then set his glass aside. “I can see by your lack of reaction that you knew.”

Rafe shrugged.

“I can also see that you’re taken with my daughter.” When he got no response to that, he sat back, a look of irritation on his face, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. “I’m asking you to step away, son. Josephine is not for you.”

Rafe knew that, but hearing another man say it aloud naturally brought up his hackles. It was an effort to keep them from showing.

Cathcart drained the glass, then shoved it away with a sigh. “The woman doesn’t know a damned thing about hard work. Has a houseful of servants doing her bidding and a maid who tends her every need. Hell, she can hardly dress herself, much less cook.” He smiled with contempt and shot Rafe a crafty look. “But she is beautiful.”

Unable to deny that, Rafe nodded. “Yes, she is.”

“Beautiful but ruined.”

Anger flared. Seeking distraction before he took a swing at the man, Rafe looked away. Rain tapped gently at the windows that overlooked the rose garden and path down to the stable. Next week, he and Stevens should take Pems to the brook. Make the horse stand and listen to the water without asking him to cross it. Maybe Josie would go with them.

“She made a mistake with Adderly.” Cathcart’s voice drew Rafe’s attention from the window. “There’s no denying that. And the baron was a bastard to do what he did. They both acted foolishly. But now they’ve been given a chance to make it right. Especially for Jamie.”

Rafe could guess where this was leading, but he didn’t want to make Cathcart’s betrayal of his own daughter easy, so he said nothing.

Leaning onto his elbows, Cathcart clasped his hands on the desk in front of him and looked Rafe hard in the eye. “I’ll not mince words with you, Jessup. The baron is interested in her. Interested enough to offer the title of baroness and all the wealth and privilege that goes with it. Which is something you can’t do. But he’s also interested in Jamie. His son. Maybe his
only
son before long.”

A sick feeling twisted in Rafe’s gut. Was Cathcart actually hoping to benefit from the death of Adderly’s other son? Or was he simply repeating the baron’s own words? Did either man have a conscience?

Probably not, since Adderly was already negotiating for a second wife when his first had been dead for only a few weeks. “He’s young enough to have more children.”

“Perhaps. But he’s a heavy drinker, and not far from the age his father was when he died. He’s thinking ahead. As am I. If his sickly son dies, and the baron can’t sire more, what happens to the title?”

Rafe didn’t know and didn’t care.

“Jamie gets it.” Eyes gleaming in triumph, Cathcart sat back. “Josephine is aware that because of her poor behavior, the boy will carry the taint of bastardy all his life. It sickens her. She would do anything to shield her son from that and give him the life he deserves. And now, thanks to the baron, she can.”

“By marrying the man who ruined her?” Would Josie really do that?

“Why not? He’s the boy’s father, isn’t he? And if she has a chance to elevate her son from bastard to baron, shouldn’t she do it?”

A bitter taste rose on the back of Rafe’s tongue. She probably should. At least she and Jamie would be out from under this man’s thumb. But was the baron any better? Realizing he had clenched his fists so tight his fingers were going numb, he slowly straightened his fingers. “And how much will you get?”

“For what?”

“Selling your daughter to Adderly.”

Cathcart blinked, then bounded to his feet, teeth bared, veins bulging on his forehead. “How dare you say that! Get out! Get out of my sight and off my land!”

Rising slowly from his chair, Rafe straightened to his full height, which was considerably more than Cathcart’s. He didn’t often use his size to intimidate a smaller man, but it felt good to look down on this pathetic sack of skin. “Should I take the earl’s horses with me?” he asked calmly. He knew Cathcart needed the money Ash was paying for their keep, and was betting the man’s greed would force him to overlook the insult.

“They can stay. But not you.”

“Sorry.” Rafe shook his head. “The contract states that I’m to oversee their care while they’re here. They stay, I stay. I go, they go.”

“Then, you can oversee them from the stable, you son of a bitch! I want you out of this house tonight!”

 • • • 

“Whenever I think of you,” William said, looking around the glass hothouse, “I picture you here, among these fragrant blossoms, in our special place.”

Rising from the chair she had taken to avoid sitting next to him on the couch, Josephine wandered over to pinch off a fading zinnia blossom. For nearly an hour she had sidestepped the man’s busy hands and deflected his blatant references to their tawdry affair. She couldn’t tolerate much more. “I don’t know why you persist in referring to that lamentable time, William. Don’t you think it would be best if we left the past behind us?”

He laughed in that intimate way that had once brought a blush to her cheeks, but now left her feeling faintly queasy. “I don’t know if I can, love. Those hours with you were the finest in my life. I have never forgotten them or how much you meant to me.”

“And yet you were able to so easily cast me aside.” As soon as the words passed her lips, she wanted them back. They sounded petty and childish. Heartache had long since hardened to anger, then disappointment, and now disgust. She certainly didn’t want him thinking she had pined for him all this time.

Still smiling, he rose and walked toward her, driving her back into the ficus leaves to escape him. “I didn’t want to leave you, Josephine. You must know that. But Father insisted I marry Margaret. Our families had planned it since we were children. I couldn’t go back on my word.”

Except with me.
“I wish you had remembered that before you seduced me.”

Reaching out before she could sidle away, he gripped her shoulders and looked into her eyes with a fierceness she hadn’t seen in him before. This close, she could see gray hairs in his closely trimmed beard, signs of dissipation in the puffiness around his eyes and the sagging lines framing his mouth. A momentary sadness filled her for the loss of the handsome, careless young man he had been, and the innocence she had given him.

“I never loved Margaret. Not like I loved you, Josephine.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “God, I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

She smelled alcohol, tobacco, the mustiness of his body. Repelled, twisted away. Did he expect her to be his mistress? The notion filled her with loathing, and the unreasoning fear that if she allowed him to kiss her even once, she would be tainted anew, sliding back into disgrace and self-loathing forever. “Don’t.”

His hands fell away. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you think to sweep in after all this time and pick up where you left off? God, William. How arrogant are you?” Desperate to put space between them, she crossed to the door. With her hand on the latch, she faced him, her thoughts in turmoil, her emotions so battered she was scarcely aware of what she was saying.

“Perhaps you’re lonely, William. Or still in shock over your wife’s recent death. Or you think that because I succumbed to your advances once, I will again. I assure you, I will not. Whatever I felt for you is long dead. Now if you will excuse me, I bid you—”

“I want to see our son.”

She froze, her hand still on the latch. “Why?”

He stepped toward her, saw her tense, and stopped. “Have you told him about me?”

“No. Nor am I inclined to do so.”

“He’s my son, Josephine.”

“Is he? Since when?” Years of simmering resentment spilled out like acid. “And if so, why have you never acknowledged him? Or written to him? Or shown the slightest awareness that he was even alive? Why now, after years of pretending he doesn’t exist, do you show up professing a fatherly interest?”

“Because now I’m free to do so.”

“To do what? Acknowledge him? Give him the protection of your name?”

“Yes. If you’ll have me.”

She stared at him, uncertain she had heard correctly.
If you’ll have me.
What did that mean? Was he proposing marriage? Again? Rain tapped on the glass overhead. The scent of so many blossoms swirled through her head, made her slightly dizzy. “I—I don’t understand.”