Taming Rafe (16 page)

“Rafe,” she said dreamily, “look out for the—”

With a startled grunt he lost his balance as one foot stepped into air. Instinctively grabbing his arm to keep him from falling, Felicity toppled as well, and they tumbled in a twining heap down the rise.

Somehow she ended up on top of him, their faces only inches apart. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to, for her skirt was twisted under his legs, and one arm was pinned beneath his back. He smiled, his eyes dancing, and Felicity lowered her head to kiss him.

When she lifted her head to take a breath he pursued her, capturing her mouth again in a rough, wild embrace. His tongue touched her lips and she parted them, her heart pounding, closing her eyes and squirming closer into him.

She could feel the hard warmth of him pressed up against her thighs. She experimentally rocked her hips from side to side and he moaned against her mouth, lacing his fingers into her hair and lifting her head to place light, breathless kisses along her throat.

Her dark hair spilled down around her face, curtaining both of them as he continued his agonizing, delicious trail of kisses. “Rafe,” she panted, push
ing his distancing arms aside to kiss his mouth again.

His hands swept down her back, loosening the fastenings of her dress with the skill of a maid. She couldn’t seem to let go of him, tangling her hands restlessly into his hair, his clothes, the muscles of his arms, wanting somehow to be absolutely inside him, so they were the same person, the same body.

“Lis, shh,” he murmured silkily, slipping the gown off one shoulder, then the other, and covering her exposed skin with kisses. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, yanking open his waistcoat.

“Don’t be.” He grinned, drawing her fingers into his mouth and sucking gently.

“I want—” she panted, but had to stop, unable to articulate the need she felt.

“So do I. Lift up a little.”

“No, Rafe. Just hold me, I think.”

He chuckled breathlessly, his eyes dark with desire. “All right, stubborn chit. You lead.”

She rocked against him again, feeling him grow still harder. “Oh, my God,” she whimpered, arching against him.

He tugged her gown down to her waist. Warm, sure fingers brushed and caressed her exposed nipples, and she gasped again. She sat up, straddling him, and his hands kneaded and molded her breasts. Impatiently she shifted to tug her skirts out from under him, away from her legs, then she sank down again.

“Sweet Lucifer…Lis, you’re going to have to remove some more clothes,” Rafe gasped, rising up to take her left breast into his mouth, sucking and pulling at her nipple while he continued fondling her other breast with his free hand. “Now.”

There was no mistaking the urgency in his voice, or in her own trembling wanting. Removing her own underthings was simple, for as soon as she lifted her skirt Rafe twined his fingers into the waist and ripped the flimsy garments free. His trousers were more difficult, though, and she kept fumbling over the buttoned fastenings.

“Sit up,” he commanded with a harsh growl, and shoved her hands aside. Shakily she complied and he swiftly freed himself, pushing the garments down past his thighs. “That’s better.” He ran his hands silkily up her bare thighs, pulling her down toward him.

“Rafe,” she said again, laughing breathlessly, “I don’t know—”

He kissed her again, chuckling against her mouth. “Shall I?”

“I think so.”

Slowly he pulled her down toward him, until she felt the hard maleness of him pressed against her innermost place. This was it—this was where she needed to be, and she moaned again, tugging on the buttons of his waistcoat.

“Rafe, hurry,” she demanded.

“I’m trying to be gentle,” he returned, laughter and desire in his voice.

“Don’t be.”

“But it’s going to—”

With a wanting growl that surprised her, Felicity sank down on his erect member, taking him deep inside her. At the sudden pain she gasped and tried to raise up again. Rafe moved to hold her firmly against him.

“I tried…to tell you, sweetheart. Give it a moment.”

She tucked her head down against his chest, the pain already beginning to fade, replaced by the
most exotic, intimate sensation she’d ever experienced. “Oh, my,” she breathed, astounded at the satisfaction of feeling him inside her.

“Now you can move, Lis.” Rafe shifted his hips against hers to demonstrate.

She did, rocking against him and watching the heated anticipation and need on his face. Rocking faster, she ran the tip of her tongue along his scar, and he moaned. Something inside her tightened and coiled deliciously, and she rocked harder—faster—and then exploded. Felicity threw herself down against him again. “Rafe,” she gasped.

With a groan he caught her up against him and rolled them over so that she was on her back, looking up at him. He kissed her deeply, open-mouthed, and took her lower lip gently in his teeth. Then he thrust his hips forward, driving deep into her, and she cried out his name again, muffling the sound against his shoulder as he continued to move in and out of her.

Finally he gave a hissing breath and held himself hard against her, then sank his brow down against her neck.

Felicity ran her fingers through his disheveled hair, hearing his harsh breathing and trying to regain her own. He was heavy, but she liked the weight of him on her. It felt safe, and secure, and it had been a long time since she had felt that way.

After a moment he lifted his head and kissed her again, more gently this time. He scooped his arms under her and turned them over again, so that she could rest her head on his chest and hear the steadying beat of his heart.

“Perhaps now I should tell you what I was contemplating earlier,” he said, his voice still amused.

“Did I do something wrong?” she demanded, thumping his hard chest.

“Ow. No—absolutely not. I was simply beginning to wonder whether you wanted me as much as I wanted you. Now I know.”

Felicity wanted to stay where she was, warm and comfortable and wrapped in his arms, so she wouldn’t have to think about how he would be gone soon, and how soon it would be until she never saw Forton Hall again—unless she listened to James Burlough. But not speaking wouldn’t keep any of it away. “What were you contemplating, then?”

“Deerhurst was right. A stable would add significant value to the estate.”

“That one wouldn’t have.”

Softly he stroked her hair, twining his fingers through her curls, and she closed her eyes, running her hand up under his shirt along his hard, flat stomach. “I know,” he continued. “But a new one would. I’m going to write my brother, and ask him for a loan.”

She lifted her head, stunned, and stared at him. “A loan? Why? You said you’d never ask—”

“A small loan, enough to fix Forton up right, will be more than offset by the increased sale price. Don’t you think?”

All she could think was that he would be staying longer, that she wouldn’t have to say goodbye so soon, and that she wouldn’t have to decide so soon. Slowly she settled down against him again, wondering what he would do if she told him how she felt, how much she loved him. “I think you may have something there,” she said instead.

“I’m glad you agree. I thought it was a little mad, myself.” He started chuckling again, the sound resonating deep in his chest.

“What?” she asked, smiling in response.

“You are extraordinary,” he said, hugging her to him.

So are you
, she thought.

R
afe started the letter to Quinlan three times.

The first one was a hopeless, rambling disaster, because he couldn’t decide how much or how little to tell his calm and cool older brother about Forton Hall, and Felicity, and May. The second letter began well, until he realized he’d been daydreaming and had doodled Felicity’s name all over the page.

“Gadzooks,” he muttered, horrified, and swiftly crumpled the parchment to toss it into the fireplace.

The third letter he kept short and to the point, merely stating that Forton Hall would benefit from a few minor repairs before he sold it, and suggesting a sum he hoped was small enough that it wouldn’t rouse Quin’s curiosity.

Footsteps stirred upstairs, and he sat back. At least a dozen times during the night he’d started for Felicity’s bedchamber. He’d been her first lover—though why someone as practical and levelheaded as she had chosen him, he had no idea. And Lis had wanted
him
—not the charming, wealthy son of the Duke of Highbarrow, or the heroic, decorated army captain.

He was not used to this, to being unable to banish a woman from his mind. And she’d crept farther inside him than that. When she’d said his name,
her voice full of need and yearning, he would have done anything—
anything
—to please her. And the damnedest part of it was that he knew exactly what she wanted—Forton Hall.

“Dash it.” Stables and demolished houses had nothing to do with what he wanted for himself. Felicity and traveling to the Orient couldn’t possibly be more opposed desires. The problem was, Lis was here, for him to see and hear and touch. The rest of the world was a great distance and a greater deal of money away.

Rafe pulled over another piece of parchment. What he needed was a distraction—something besides Lis and her silky skin to think about. He smiled as he began scrawling across the page. Good old Robert Fields would be able to set him back on course. All he needed was a touch of debauched London cynicism to help him regain his sanity, and Robert possessed a large measure of cynicism. He thought about corresponding with Francis Henning as well, but that puddle-brain would likely take the letter as an invitation to come and holiday at Forton for the duration of the summer. No, a letter or two from Robert, and perhaps one from Quin, would be all he needed to remind him of the freedom ahead of him.

Rafe shut his eyes for a moment, weariness pulling at him. He knew how to seduce a woman, though one wouldn’t have thought it from last night. Generally when he made love to a woman, it involved a bed, or at the least, a little romance. They’d been wearing most of their clothes, and he still wanted to see her, touch her, hold her…

“Lis?” May stuck her head into the doorway. As she spied him at the writing desk, her pretty face folded into a scowl. “Oh. It’s you.”

She vanished back into the hallway, and Rafe
sighed, unable to tolerate being in the bad graces of an eight-year-old. “May?”

For a moment she was silent. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her head reappeared. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yes. Are we still friends?”

She thought about it for a moment. “All right. But you have to apologize to Lis, too.”

“What for?”

“She wanted you to dance with her, and you didn’t.”

“Ah.” Rafe finished the letter, folded it, and addressed the outside. “Well, I danced with her later, after you went to bed.” He stood and stretched. Even with yesterday’s exertions, he hadn’t been able to sleep last night. The realization of just how much he’d begun to care for Felicity Harrington had rather terrified him.

“Whom did you write to?”

He sealed the letters and handed them over. “My brother and a friend of mine in London.”

“Robert F…Folds,” she read.

“Fields, midget,” he corrected, putting the stopper back in the bottle of ink. “Want to go into Pelford with me to mail them?”

“May is going to do her arithmetic tables this morning.”

Rafe turned, his pulse stirring in elation, as Lis strolled into the room. She looked beautiful, wearing a green patterned muslin gown he’d never seen her in before. She also looked perfectly composed, until her eyes met his. And he wanted her again, right then and there.

“I want to go with Rafe,” May complained.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning.” Lis returned her attention to
her sister. “Arithmetic. Would you please go see if we have any eggs this morning?”

“Oh, blast it all.” May reluctantly headed out through the kitchen.

Years as a gambler and a soldier had made Rafe proficient at reading people, and usually Lis’s expressive eyes told him what she might be thinking and feeling. This morning, though, he couldn’t even guess. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

She nodded, fiddling with the mismatched knickknacks on the end table. Then, as the distant kitchen door banged shut, she crossed the room toward him and wrapped both arms around his waist. As she pressed her cheek against his shoulder, he swept his arms up across her back, pulling her to him.

“Good morning,” she said again, and tilted her head up invitingly.

He kissed her sweet lips, tasting in her the same passion he felt. “Now that,” he said softly, “is more like it.”

“Have you been awake all night?” She brushed at the stubble of beard on his chin.

“Yes. When I begin contemplating, it generally takes a while.”

Lis chuckled. “Mm. I hope so.”

He went hard, wondering if they could barricade the morning room door against May. He kissed her again, and at her hot, wanting response, a weight Rafe hadn’t realized was there lifted from his heart. “No regrets then, sweet Lis?”

She searched his gaze for a long moment. “None so far.”

It was his turn to chuckle. “Good. Because I’d like to repeat last night, at more leisure. And without pebbles digging into my backside.” He ran his hands down to her hips and her rounded buttocks,
pulling her against him. “In fact, how about right now?”

She moaned, her fingers kneading into his back. Then, with obvious reluctance, she pushed him away. “Not with May wandering about.”

“Is that your only concern?” He pursued her retreat.

“Heavens, no. Only the most obvious one.” She turned away and gestured at the letters May had dropped back onto the desk. “To your brother?” she asked.

He let her escape—for the moment. “Yes. I was a bit nasty to him when I left London, but I reminded him how charming and lovable I am, and hopefully he’ll send me what I asked for.”

The lust-filled humor left her eyes, and then she was gazing away from him, out the window. “Might I ask how much you requested from him?”

“Of course. You are my accountant. Two thousand quid. Not enough to ruffle his feathers, I hope, but enough to give Forton a small, serviceable stable and at least patch up the wall where half the house is missing.”

“How long will it take, do you think?”

Rafe looked at her slim backside, the morning sunlight outlining the edges of her gown and making her look like an angel. Though she hadn’t moved, it abruptly felt as though she’d gone a hundred miles away. And he wanted her back.

“A month or so, if he sends the blunt fairly quickly. Which he will, if he sends it at all.” He walked up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him. “What did I do this time?”

She didn’t resist his embrace, and in fact relaxed a little in his arms. “Nothing. I’m…a bit befuddled this morning.”

“Good.”

“Good?” She craned her head to look up at him.

“I can think of quite a few words I was hoping you wouldn’t use this morning. ‘Befuddled’ is perfectly acceptable. I feel the same way myself.”

She chuckled. “Good.”

Rafe could sympathize with her confusion. He had no damned idea what he was doing, either, but at least he had only himself to worry about. “You know,” he murmured into her hair, “if you find a position somewhere, you’re not obligated to stay and look after me.”

“And if you find a buyer, you’re not obligated to stay until I find a position.”

Rafe closed his eyes, that uncertain chasm of hopes and wishes opening in him again at the thought of her leaving. “Lis—”

She pulled out of his arms and turned to look up at him. “I have no regrets, Rafe,” she said firmly. “I want to be with you. But neither am I a fool.”

He watched her go out the door to find May. “No, you’re not,” he said to himself. “I’m beginning to wonder what that makes me, though.”

“Oh, I
am
a fool.” Felicity absently stirred batter as she leaned in the kitchen doorway, looking out at the yard.

“Well, it’s too late now,” May said from the table behind her. “Rafe’s already gone into Pelford without me.”

“You shouldn’t get too attached to him, May. He won’t be here forever, you know.”

She should use the same advice on herself, but it was far too late for that. Despite what she’d told Rafe, she hadn’t slept, hoping he would come to her, and wishing she had the courage to go visit him. She’d never been in love before, but she had
always told herself that if it ever happened, it would be with someone steady and safe, someone on whom she could rely. Though Rafael Bancroft had more common sense than her father and her brother, and more charm than anyone she’d ever met, steady and safe were not the first two words she would have chosen to describe him.

“I’ve decided I’m going to travel when I grow up,” May said, as she scribbled figures on a piece of parchment. “Rafe says the London Zoo doesn’t even have a quarter of the animals he saw in Africa, and I’ve never even seen the London Zoo.”

Felicity glanced at her sister. “If there are eighty-one animals at the London Zoo, and they represent one fourth of what Rafe saw in Africa, how many animals did Rafe see?”

May thunked her head against the table. “Felicity! That’s not fair!”

She chuckled. “How many?”

“Pardon me, Miss Harrington.”

Felicity jumped. A man liveried in the Earl of Deerhurst’s colors stood just behind her in the stable yard, though she hadn’t heard him approach. He was big, strong looking, and solemn faced, and she couldn’t recall ever seeing him before. “Y-Yes?” she stammered, setting the bowl down on the counter and eyeing the large bouquet of red and white roses he held in his arms.

“Lord Deerhurst requested that I deliver these to you, miss,” he said politely, in a low, guttural voice. “With his compliments.”

He held out the bouquet, and Felicity hesitantly took it from him. “Please thank him for me,” she requested, lifting it to smell the profusion of sweet blooms. “They’re lovely.”

The servant bowed. “Good day, Miss Harrington, Miss May.”

“Good day.”

May stood and came over to examine the flowers. “Lord Dapper sent you flowers? Why?”

“May, hush. That is not the proper way to address Lord Deerhurst.”

She folded her arms. “That’s what Rafe calls him.”

“Rafe can afford to be insolent. We cannot.”

“Well, why’d he send you flowers?”

“Let’s see.” Felicity pulled free the note tucked into the flowers. “‘Dearest Felicity, you are a rose among thorns. With my sincere and utmost affection, Deerhurst.’”

May wrinkled her nose. “What’s that for?”

Felicity went to fetch one of their intact vases. “He wants to marry me.”

Despite the derisive noises May made, and however strongly Felicity felt drawn to Rafe, Lord Deerhurst’s favor was not something she could simply dismiss any longer. Too much rested on it. James Burlough was certainly intelligent and handsome, and if he was a little dull, he was also the very epitome of steadiness and reliability. In addition to the gift of Forton Hall, he could give her—and May—a safe, secure future.

“She said
what
?” Rafe straightened too quickly, and banged his head on one of the downed stable supports. “Lucifer’s ba…big bottom,” he amended mid-curse.

May giggled. “I knew you wouldn’t like it. And she put the flowers on the table right in the middle of the morning room.”

“Did she say anything else?” He finished knotting a rope around the support, then took May’s hand to lead her away from the pile of rubble. Once they were clear he whistled, and Dennis Greetham
started off his plow horses to tug the section of lumber free.

“She said I shouldn’t make fun of him, and then later she said the flowers were a very thoughtful gift.”

He didn’t like the sound of that at all, but he couldn’t very well tell May that he wanted to throttle Deerhurst for sending posies to
his
Felicity—particularly when he had no real claim on her other than the fact that they’d made love, and that he absolutely couldn’t get her out of his thoughts for more than two seconds at a time. However, he still had no intention of letting Deerhurst beat him at anything—especially earning Felicity’s affections.

“The flowers were thoughtful,” he agreed, moving forward to help load the refuse into a wagon. “We should get her something nice, don’t you think?”

“Most definitely. Nicer than flowers.”

“Any ideas?”

May thought about it while Rafe and his troops piled the wagon as high as they could. It was the only work he’d be able to do on the stable for the next few days—he owed Bill Jennings a new length of fence that he couldn’t put off any longer.

“Ooh, I know.”

“Enlighten me, sweetling.”

“Her favorite color is blue, and she needs a new silk gown. All of the silk ones got water damaged, and she had to throw them out.”

“May,
I
can’t purchase Felicity a dress. Everyone will think we’re…” He trailed off, having no clue how to describe the impropriety to a little girl.

“Lovers?” May finished for him.

Uh-oh
. Rafe squatted down beside her. “Where did you hear that word?”

“Mrs. Denwortle. I heard her telling Mrs. Wads
worth that you and Felicity are wanted lovers.”

He was confused for a moment. “Wanton lovers?”

“Yes.”

If Mrs. Denwortle was willing to gossip in the presence of the little sister of one of her victims, his battle with her was about to escalate into a war. “Ah. Do you know what it means?”