Taming Rafe (15 page)

“And James—Lord Deerhurst—has lately offered to lend me funds to repair the house. However, he knew how fond I was of Forton. If he did want it, I think he also realized I’d never stand for Nigel selling it.” She looked up at him, to find him studying her face with unsettling intensity. “Why do you ask?”

Rafe shrugged and glanced toward their boisterous guests. “Just trying to figure out why he’s suddenly willing to pay so much for an estate he apparently never had an interest in before.”

“He never
expressed
an interest in it before. For all we know, he might very well have been lusting after Forton for years.”

Rafe’s expression darkened. “Or lusting after something, anyway.”

Warmth crept up Felicity’s cheeks, and slid shiveringly down her spine. “Are you jealous?” she asked, hardly believing she’d dared to utter the question aloud.

A slight, sensuous smile touched his mouth, and he leaned a little closer to her. “Insanely,” he murmured.

“Rafe, stop it,” she returned, pushing at his chest. “Everyone will see.”

“See what?”

“See us kissing, you big oaf.”

His smile deepened. “So you do think about kissing me.”

These days, she barely thought of anything else. “Among other things,” she hedged.

“I think of other things, too. Would you like to hear them?”

“Will they be socially acceptable?”

Rafe chuckled. “No.”

“Then I’d best get back to the pies.”

“Waltz with me tonight,” he said, tugging at the tie of her pelisse as she turned away.

“All right,” she whispered, half wishing he would ignore her warning and kiss her right there, in the middle of the stable yard rubble.

“And don’t waltz with
him
,” Rafe continued.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Lord Deerhurst? I won’t refuse him a dance, if he asks. For heaven’s sake, Rafe, he’s my neighbor. And he’s nobility.”

“Dance anything with him, except a waltz,” he clarified, the expression in his eyes unreadable. “Don’t make me blow up the musicians.”

She laughed. “Oh, dear. All right.”

Of course, when the Earl of Deerhurst approached her an hour later to ask her for the first waltz of the evening, she couldn’t refuse him. Rafe was already gliding about the yard with May, and with his gouty leg, Squire Talford didn’t dance.

Felicity looked up at Charles apologetically. “Will you excuse me?”

The squire nodded. “For goodness’ sake, enjoy the festivities. You’ve earned a bit of fun, my dear.”

Actually, May looked as though she was having more fun, but Felicity smiled and took the earl’s proffered hand. He led them to the middle of the
yard, bordered by three great, roaring bonfires, and slipped a hand about her waist.

“You look so enchanting this evening,” James commented, turning her about in time to the music.

“Thank you.”

“I shall miss you, once you’ve gone.”

“I shall miss you as well, James.”

“Are you certain you won’t consider staying?”

“James—”

Deerhurst shook her a little, and she started, her gaze snapping back to his face. “I think it is important that I put one more…offer…on the table, as it were,” he said. “You should know all the facts before you make the decision to stay or go. If you were to marry me, and if you could convince Bancroft to sell me Forton Hall, I would give it back to you as a wedding gift. It would remain
yours
, Felicity. Not Nigel’s, and not anyone else’s. Yours.”

Felicity opened her mouth, then closed it again. His words echoed in her head so she wasn’t sure what he’d actually said. She could have Forton Hall—not to live in perhaps, but at least to have. Over time she might even be able to repair it, and rent it to someone who would appreciate it. Or keep it, just for herself. “That’s too much,” she said belatedly.

“It’s not too much.” He smiled. “I want to prove to you how much I adore you. Giving you Forton would be the merest token of that affection. And my very great pleasure.”

The idea tempted her, but she felt compelled to answer him honestly. “You are very, very generous, James. But you know how I…I feel about you. I could never be so mercenary. It wouldn’t be right—and it wouldn’t be fair, to either of us.”

For a long moment he looked at her, his lidded
expression for once completely unreadable. It unsettled her a little, until his warm, familiar smile reappeared. “You make me feel like a brigand. Of course I know your feelings. I am merely trying to induce you to understand mine. I don’t require that you love me. Only that you not rule out the possibility that you could—eventually—love me.”

Unable to stop herself, Felicity gazed over at Rafe, gamely hunched over to dance with May, who insisted that he not lift her to his own height and carry her about like an infant. He’d certainly made no mention of marriage, or love, nor was he ever likely to. Other than finding employment, marriage was her only real alternative. She looked back at the earl, who was watching her closely. “That doesn’t seem fair to you, James.”

“I know what’s fair to me. And in all honesty, Felicity,” the earl continued, “who
is
there but me to love you? You will never be presented in London, because you don’t have the funds or the sponsorship. And the only other men remotely of your station here are Talford, a good forty years your senior, and a fool who only wants to sell your birthplace as quickly as he is able so he can sail off into the great unknown.”

Felicity lowered her eyes so he wouldn’t see how much that had hurt. Of course she knew all that already, but to hear it said aloud…She’d learned, though, that the truth was frequently painful. “I can’t give you an answer tonight,” she said stiffly, trying not to give in to sudden, self-pitying tears. “I need to consider things.”

Deerhurst’s kind smile appeared again. “Of course.”

When the music stopped, Deerhurst escorted her to the tables at one end of the yard, where most of the young ladies had gathered to chat and wait for
partners. Felicity wished she’d accepted a mug of ale from Davey Ludlow—she could use it right now.

“Lis, did you see me?” May bounded up beside her, Rafe in tow. “I waltzed! And Rafe said I was completely above board for such a little dab of a thing!”

“Yes, you are,” she answered, avoiding Rafe’s gaze yet still able to sense his annoyance. “You were wonderful.”

“Fetch me a punch, girl,” Rafe ordered his dance partner. “You’ve worn me out.”

As May skipped away, he turned his attention to Felicity. Before he could say anything about her dancing with Deerhurst, though, she turned her back to speak to Mrs. Wadsworth. He would only begin an argument, and then she would start crying, and begin babbling about how difficult things had truly been the last few months, and how tired she was of having no one to rely on but herself. And then she would admit to being in love with him, and he would turn and run off to the Orient.

After several moments she was able to paste a fairly normal expression on her face, and she turned to look at him. He wasn’t there.

“Hey!” May returned to her side, a full glass of punch clasped carefully in both hands. “He said he was tired. Rafe!”

Felicity spied him then, engaged in a country dance with Elizabeth Denley. As she watched he leaned closer, exchanged some comment with the pretty brunette, and then laughed. “May, hush,” she chastised her sister. “It’s not polite to yell, and certainly not at a grownup.”

May looked hurt. “But I fetched his punch.”

“You don’t own Rafe. He’s an adult, and may do as he pleases.”

“Then I wish I were an adult.”

Felicity knelt and took the glass from her sister. “Sometimes it’s not all that wonderful,” she said softly. “Enjoy being eight.”

May grimaced. “I’d enjoy it more if I were big enough to stomp on Elizabeth Denley’s fat foot.”

Her sister stifled an understanding smile. “Most unladylike. Go ask Lord Deerhurst if he’ll dance with you.”

“I’ll ask Greetham.”

“May,” Felicity said warningly.

“
Mr
. Greetham,” she amended. Sticking her tongue out at Rafe, she hurried around to the far side of the yard.

It was past midnight before the crowd began thinning. May didn’t even object when Felicity sent her up to bed, barely able to keep her eyes open long enough to tell Squire Talford good evening. The musicians continued playing country tunes for the twenty or thirty remaining guests, and Felicity wearily began carrying in the platters and bowls that belonged to Forton.

She hadn’t danced with Rafe at all, but if he was going to be so stupid and childish about a simple waltz, she was glad he’d avoided her. She had enough to think about. The squire’s half-full mug of ale sat at the edge of the pie table, and with a quick glance around, Felicity drained it. Warmth spread from her throat down to her stomach, and she sighed.

“Let me freshen that for you,” Rafe said from behind her. She froze, and he leaned his arm over her shoulder, pouring half of his own full mug into hers. “Cheers.”

She turned to face him. “Are you drunk?” she asked, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“I certainly hope so. I’ve been working hard enough at it.” He smiled his charming, roguish smile at her, and tapped her mug with his. “Drink.”

Eyeing him, she complied. It was a sweet ale, and tickled going down. Feeling steadier, she set the mug aside. “You hurt May’s feelings.”

“I know. Come here.”

He strolled down to the far end of the line of tables. Curious, and the ale spreading into the tips of her fingers and warming her toes, she followed. The keg of ale sat there, and he turned the spout to pour himself another mug. Rafe downed half of it, then handed it over to her.

“I am not going to let you get me drunk,” she stated, handing it back.

He pressed it back into her hands. “I’m not getting you drunk,” he retorted, a slight, very sexy drawl touching his cultured voice. “I’m contemplating, and I hate to do it alone.”

She smiled and returned it. “I prefer to do my contemplating sober. But what, precisely, are
you
contemplating?”

“’Night, Bancroft,” Mr. Greetham called, as he and Ronald finished loading his dining table onto his wagon.

Rafe waved at him. “’Night, Greetham. Oh—I want to talk to you tomorrow. About ten?”

“Make it noon. My Tom’s reciting in school tomorrow morning. I promised I’d go.”

“Noon, then. And bring those…“He glanced at Felicity. “Bring those things we talked about.”

The farmer looked at him curiously, but nodded as he clucked to his mules. “I’ll do that.”

“What things?” Felicity asked, eyeing him.

“Are you certain you can contemplate this way? I always come up with much grander ideas when
I’m completely sluiced over the ivories.”

“Yes, I can contemplate this way just fine. What things, Rafe?”

He handed her the mug of ale and wandered off toward the ruined stable. “Number things.”

“Figures?” she offered, following and hoping he wouldn’t fall on his face in the near dark of the dying firelight.

He turned around to look at her, though he continued walking backward with no noticeable difficulty. “All right.” He smiled slowly. “You have a lovely one.”

She frowned. “A lovely what?”

“Figure.”

Felicity blushed. Rafe’s blasted compelling smiles unsettled her so, even when he was completely soused. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Why did you waltz with Lord Dapper?”

She stopped, and so did he. “Because he asked me, and because I’ve known him since I was two. And you shouldn’t call him names.”

Rafe pursed his lips. “I know. Bad form. Waltz with me.”

“That’s a country dance your minstrels are playing.”

“Why, yes it is.” He stepped forward to take her hand. Slowly he moved her in time to the music, while she held up the ale and tried not to spill any.

Rafe knew the steps, and however ridiculous they looked mincing about in the dark, whoever was left by the tables had to be more inebriated even than he was. Giggling as giddily as May, she circled him, while he deftly snagged the ale from her hand, took another swallow, and returned it to her, never missing a step.

“Rafe, I’m tired. We should finish cleaning up and go to bed.”

Humming a fine baritone, he spun her up against him. The ale and mug went flying, but he didn’t seem to notice. For a long moment he stilled, looking down into her eyes, and then slid his hand down to her waist. His other hand twined into hers, and before she realized it, they were waltzing. He was holding her far too close, but she didn’t mind. In fact, his humming was sending a harmony of shivers down her back to her legs, and she wasn’t certain she would be able to remain standing without his tall, strong from against her.

She lowered her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of ale and wood smoke in his coat. “You dance well,” she complimented.

“Bancrofts do,” he answered softly into her hair. “You know,” he continued almost sleepily, “I’ve waltzed with women in seven different countries.”

Felicity lifted her head. His eyes were half closed, glinting green from the distant firelight. “Which country are you in now?” she whispered, suddenly very tired. He was gone, just as he would go once he sold Forton. And she had herself, and May, to think about.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here before,” he said.

“Rafe, come on. Let go. We have things to do.”

His eyes opened again, and he looked down at her. “I like dancing with you.”

“And I like dancing with you. But it’s very late.”

“Is it?” He shifted her in his arms, and bent his head to kiss the curve of her ear. Gasping, she arched her neck, and he took her earlobe between his teeth and very gently bit down. Unable to help
herself, Felicity moaned and slipped her hand from his shoulder up around his neck.

“Do you like that?” he murmured.

“Oh, yes.”

The tip of his tongue traced her ear. It was the most sensuous thing Felicity had ever felt, and she pulled herself as close up against him as she could. Their slow waltzing had taken them past the back side of the stable, where the ground sloped away to the small creek that wound across Forton’s land.