Taming Rafe (18 page)

“Not that we get to see you that frequently, but yes.” She chuckled again, and put a hand to her heart. “A gray pall hangs over the entire town when you’re away.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Your mother sends her regards, and asked me to tell you that she’s sending you a gift. And I believe she and His Grace are going to Spain for the remainder of the summer.”

He nodded as he released her. “That’s gift enough. Better Spain than Cheshire.” Spying May, he lifted her in his arms and threw her over one shoulder. “Excuse us.” While May shrieked with laughter, he gave Felicity a quick, innocent look and then headed back downstairs with his burden.

“They seem to get along well,” Lady Warefield noted after a moment.

“Too well. I have a difficult time figuring out who’s responsible for most of the pranks.” With an exasperated chuckle, and feeling that she had at least half an ally in Maddie Bancroft, Felicity collected the teapot and tray. “I’ll leave you to finish sorting your things out.”

She went to find the rest of Forton Hall’s guests, but it proved to be a difficult task. None of them were in their rooms, though numerous maids and valets scurried about. She hadn’t had a maid for three years, and she looked enviously at the small
horde of servants. Her brother probably would have felt at home finally, and in all likelihood Rafe did, as well. She simply felt overwhelmed.

Finally she found the visitors, walking along the overgrown garden path toward the former west wing. “Good afternoon,” she said, wishing again that Rafe was there so she could bash him on the head with something. “May I offer you some tea?”

“Ah, good afternoon, Miss Harrington, isn’t it?” The fashionably dressed, dark-haired man Rafe had introduced as Robert Fields sketched her an elegant bow. “Leave it to Rafael to find the fairest treasure of Cheshire County.” His amused, knowing gaze took in the other females present. “Until today, of course. The countryside is fairly bursting with beauty.”

Lady Harriet Mayhew cuffed him on the shoulder with her fan. “Too little, too late. Here, my dear. Let me take that from you.” She lifted the tray away from Felicity and put it on the cracked stone bench sitting to one side of the path. “You must tell us all about yourself, Miss Harrington. Or may we call you Felicity?”

“Please do.” Felicity tried to hide her sudden nervousness in a smile. “There isn’t much to tell, really. I grew up here, and when Mr. Bancroft—”

“You grew up here, at Forton Hall?”

“I told you, Rose,” Mr. Fields put in, “Nigel Harrington was the lad from whom Rafe won the estate. Didn’t realize it till the next morning, though, from what I hear.” He pursed his lips, glancing at Felicity again.

“Neither would I have, if that Harem girl had been sitting on
my
lap.” Francis Henning, a rotund man with an open grin and the beginnings of a balding pate, slapped the third man on the back.

“Nigel was gambling in harem?” Felicity
blurted, then blushed. She must sound like an idiot. And they all seemed to know the true story of her brother’s foolishness. If they spoke of it to anyone locally, she’d never be able to show her face in public again.

“Jezebel’s Harem, I believe it’s called,” Lady Harriet explained with a condescending smile. “A men’s club, of sorts.”

“Like White’s, only with ladies and shabby red carpet.”

“Francis,” Robert Fields chastised. “Not the ideal topic of conversation for gentler folk.”

“So, Felicity.” Another of the ladies, a striking brunette—Jeanette something—strolled forward to take her other arm. “You were living here when Rafe arrived to take over ownership,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“May and I were, yes. But—”

“
Mon dieu
, such close quarters for complete strangers. And yet, you seem to have managed, yes?”

Rose Pendleton giggled behind the curve of her parasol. “Jeanette, you wicked thing, y—”

“Actually, Mr. Bancroft took up residence in the stable,” Felicity interrupted, trying to stop the complete wreck of her reputation.

Robert winked at the third man in their company, Mr. Calder, as she recalled. “Where is the stable, by the way?”

Felicity forced a laugh. “We had to tear it down. I did agree to allow him into the Hall when that happened.”

Jeanette leaned closer, her short curls scratching at Felicity’s ear. “So, do you still serve as mistress of the house?” she murmured in her faint French accent.

“Mr. Bancroft hired me to keep the estate accounts while he looks for a buyer.”

“He’s kept you on? How…unusual for him.”

She couldn’t tell if they were being deliberately malicious, or just intently curious. Before she could return fire, though, the group began chattering about some woman named Daphne, and how Rafe had worn her down over several weeks the summer before last, and then completely lost interest when her Spanish cousin had arrived in London.

“What do you expect? A dark-eyed Spanish girl arrives on the scene, and Rapunzel had already let down her hair, so to speak.”

“Ah, Fields, that’s brilliant,” Mr. Henning chortled. “I’ll have to remember that one. ‘Let down her hair.’”

“Yes, Harriet, be thankful you got that bracelet after you let down your hair.” Rose smiled slyly.

“Ah, dear Rafe,” Jeanette mused. “I got a horse. Best mount I ever had, too,
mes amis
.”

Everyone laughed, while Felicity felt ill. She knew she hadn’t been Rafe’s first lover, but they were all talking as though sexual intimacy—sexual intimacy with
Rafael
—was some sort of game.

“What does one do for excitement here?” Stephen Calder asked.

Grateful for the change of subject, Felicity said, “Pelford is just a few miles to the east.”

“Yes, we drove through there. Quaint.”

“And the Childe of Hale inn is just beyond that.”

“What an unusual name,” Lady Harriet said. “It must have a fascinating history.”

“It’s our greatest claim to notoriety,” Felicity said, badly wanting to flee. “John Middleton grew up here some two hundred years ago. He was nearly eight feet tall, and even wrestled the champion of King James I. Our hale child, so to speak.”

“Did he win?” Robert asked, his expression vaguely interested.

“Yes, he did.”

“And then what happened?” Rose asked.

“I don’t know—he never came back to Cheshire again.” Felicity gathered up the remains of the tea. By the time she reached the haven of the kitchen, she felt as though she’d run a marathon. Never had she experienced such a tangle of innuendo and supposition. She couldn’t even imagine what they would have been like if they weren’t friends of Rafe’s. If those were the sort of friendships London had to offer, she was glad she’d never been there.

Thanks to Rafe’s last supply trip to Pelford, she managed to scrape together the makings of a meal, and for once she was grateful to have been forced to learn to cook. It wouldn’t be a meal fit for kings by any stretch of the imagination, but it should be palatable.

She couldn’t imagine Rafe living among such nonsense, but he did, and he was apparently quite popular in society’s highest circles. With every word and every look so closely scrutinized, though, no wonder he wanted to escape to China. By the time May appeared to help slice vegetables, Felicity was nearly ready to make a dash for the Orient herself. “Where did you and Rafe vanish to?”

“I didn’t go anywhere; I helped Maddie unpack. I like her. She’s funny.”

“Where did Rafe vanish to, then?” The oven was hot, and she swiped a wilting strand of hair back behind her ear.

“To hire mercenaries.”

Felicity eyed her sister. “Beg pardon?”

May was nodding. “Rafe says you recruit volunteers, and you hire mercenaries. And you were so angry, he needed mercenaries.”

“I was merely very surprised,” Felicity retorted. “He might have told me he’d invited half of London to come calling.” She paused. “
You
didn’t know they were coming, did you?”

“No. And Rafe didn’t invite them. They invaded.”

Someone scratched at the kitchen door. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened. “Excuse me, Miss Harrington, Miss May.” Sally Greetham, Dennis’s daughter, stepped timidly into the kitchen and curtsied.

“Hello, Sally. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, miss. Mr. Rafe said I should come and help you cook for your fine guests.”

Anger flared through Felicity. “Sally, your family has been more than generous already. You don’t have to—”

“Mr. Rafe said I was to let you know that…” She paused, closing her eyes in concentration, “…that I am being well compensated.” The girl smiled and curtsied again. “He gave me a whole sovereign.”

Grudging amusement at Rafe’s audacity warred with Felicity’s frustration. “Well, in that case, here.” She handed over the bowl she’d been mixing.

Rafe himself skidded into the kitchen a few moments later, Ronald Banthe in tow. “Ah, you’ve met our cook, I see,” he said jovially, flashing Lis one of his devastating smiles. “This is our footman. The butler will be here as soon as he finishes feeding his chickens.”

Felicity knew him well enough by now to see the discomfort beneath his light banter. He glanced at her sideways, then guided Ronald through the kitchen.

“I think I have a coat and cravat that you can
wear, my boy. Remember, serve from the left and remove from the right.”

“Rafe,” she said, before he could escape.

He flinched. “Did I get it backward? I can never remem—”

“You got it right. Might I have a word with you? In private?”

“Of course. Ronald, wait here a moment.”

Felicity led the way out the kitchen door to the stable yard. The trees already obscured the setting sun, and this evening the air had a definite chill. She wondered if they were in for another storm, and hoped it would pass them by. Though Forton wasn’t hers any longer, she certainly didn’t want it collapsing on a bunch of nobles.

A moment later Rafe stepped outside and shut the door behind him. “Lis, I know what you’re going to say, and I’m truly, truly sor—”

“How much is this costing you?” she interrupted, folding her arms.

“With food and servants and whatever else I can’t think of at the moment, I figured about twenty quid a week.” He grinned briefly. “If they stay longer than three weeks, they’ll starve to death.”

She kept a serious expression on her face. “You can’t afford this.”

“Quin agreed to lend me the two thousand quid. So actually, yes, I can.”

“And Sally, Ronald, and your butler?”

“Bill will only be available this evening, but Sally and Ronald are here for as long as you are.” He reached out, as though to take her hand, and then stopped himself. “Lis, I am sorry. I never meant to embarrass or hurt you. As my father would say, it was typically idiotic of me.”

Felicity looked at him. However poorly her brother’s frequent schemes had gone, she couldn’t
ever remember him apologizing for the embarrassment or for the loss of funds. And his usual way of making amends was to buy her candy, or May a gift—he never did anything to actually set things right again. “It’s all right,” she said finally. “I’m not angry any longer.”

“Then…“He cleared his throat, looking like a nervous schoolboy. “You told me not to touch you,” he stated. “Is that still the way you feel?”

I want you to stay here with me forever
, she wanted to say, but didn’t dare. Instead she leaned up and kissed him, savoring the delicious shiver that ran through her at the long, soft touch. “Ask me again after you’ve become reacquainted with your lady friends,” she murmured, and returned to the warm kitchen. Let him consider that, for a while.

N
ow that London had arrived in Cheshire County, Rafe only wanted it to leave again. His cronies would have been a welcome distraction to the Rafe Bancroft they’d last seen in London. To his surprise, he didn’t seem to be that same Rafe Bancroft any longer.

It was a damned conundrum. He’d sought excitement all his life, yet he couldn’t help thinking about the work that wasn’t getting done with guests hanging about. And he had so much to do already, without leading tours and fishing trips, and coming up with other nonsensical amusements for people unable to keep themselves entertained long enough for him to fix a blasted fence.

“Are you daydreaming?” Robert Fields called, beckoning to him from beside the pond. “Come, lad, you promised to join me.”

Rafe shook himself and approached. “Catch anything?”

“I don’t think there’s anything here to catch. You’re just trying to keep us occupied so you can go knock down more buildings.”

“You wouldn’t be complaining, my boy, if you’d caught anything.” Rafe sat on the grassy shore beside Fields. “The water level’s down a little,” he noted absently. “Not bad though, consid
ering we haven’t had rain in a fortnight.”

Robert snorted. “You sound like a farmer. Tell me about Miss Harrington, Rafe. You’ve been doing some fishing yourself, I’ll wager. Caught anything yet?”

Rafe looked at him coldly. “Miss Harrington is in my employ.”

“Ah. Didn’t think you had, or you wouldn’t still be here.”

That obviously wasn’t true. But neither was it anyone else’s damned business. They could gossip about him all they liked, but Felicity didn’t need their London nastiness. “I’m only here to sell Forton Hall.”

“I wagered Francis you’d head for the Orient first,” Fields continued, waving his pole about in a fashion that would frighten off any fish that did happen to be in the area. “Fifty quid. So do me a favor and wherever you go, send a note saying you’re in China.”

Rafe nodded, fiddling with a blade of grass. Fifty quid would buy him enough shingles to finish the east wing roof. “So what’s the consensus about Forton?”

“That it’s a wreck,” Robert answered. “Jeanette says it looks like the Bastille after the riots, only smaller and worse off.” He chuckled. “That Harrington fellow wasn’t as daft as he made out, was he?”

“Since he’s the one who’s traveling and I’m sitting here in Cheshire, I’d have to agree with you.”

A small cart and driver passed down the road, just visible from where they sat, headed for Forton Hall. Red rose petals showed over the wooden lip of the cart.

“More guests?” Robert asked, noticing Rafe’s
sour expression before he could cover it. “Sam the farmer, perhaps?”

“Flowers for Lis.”

“And you say you’re not in pursuit, Bancroft?”

“They’re not from me. The Earl of Deerhurst down the lane sends them.”

“The tale grows more and more interesting.”

Rafe looked at him sideways. “How long did you say you were staying?”

“We haven’t even gone hunting, yet. And the ladies were so looking forward to a country soiree.”

“I hope they won’t be too disappointed,” Rafe said dryly. “A picnic’s about all I can manage.”

“Why should you care about our disappointment? You’ve all the entertainment you want. And if I’d known Miss Felicity Harrington was here all by herself, I might have come up with you in the first place. She’s stunning.”

She’s mine
. Rafe climbed to his feet and brushed off his breeches. “Leave her alone, Fields,” he said.

“She
is
less helpless than your usual paramours, I must say. But she’s a female, and she’s lovely. Leaving her alone is out of the question. And who is this Deerhurst? Have we met?”

Rafe started back to the manor. “Go visit him and see for yourself. I imagine he’ll be delighted to have civilized company.”

Fields looked from the fishing pole to the still water and shrugged. “I’ll just do that.” Setting aside the pole, he stood. “Henning! Calder! I found someone for us to gossip with!”

Francis and Stephen emerged from behind the rubble of the stable, where they’d apparently been hunting rats with slingshots.

Rafe shook his head. As long as they were kill
ing vermin and not his livestock, he had no complaints. That reminded him, though, that he had three cows near to calving. “Damnation.”

“Something wrong?” Quin leaned against the wall beside the kitchen door and snacked on a peach.

“No. What are you doing out here?”

“Keeping an eye on Henning and Calder. They could kill someone with those slingshots.”

“Hopefully each other.” Rafe pushed open the kitchen door and leaned in. “May!” he called.

Felicity, standing at the table with Sally and trying to put together a menu for the evening, looked up long enough to glare at him. “I’ll have our footman fetch her for you,” she enunciated, her jaw clenched.

He grinned at her sudden propriety, then had to duck when she lobbed a potato at his head. “A tea kettle works better,” he said, and backed out the door before she could grab one.

“I see you’ve upended things into your usual state of chaos,” his brother noted, eyeing the potato as it rolled to a stop beside his highly polished Hessian boot.

“
You
try managing an estate with no servants, no money, a stubborn chit who makes you sleep out in the stable, and a little girl who wants to learn how to kill people.”

The marquis brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve. “So now you’re managing Forton Hall. I thought you were selling it.”

Rafe stared at Quin for a long moment before he caught himself and turned away. “It’s enough of a wreck already, don’t you think?” he forced out. “I certainly don’t want to make it any worse.”

Quin seemed to accept the answer, for he only nodded and turned to watch the drivers hitching up
a coach for Robert and company. Rafe barely noticed his cronies as they rolled off down the lane toward Deerhurst. Quin was right—and the realization of just how far he’d wandered off the path stunned him.

He was making far more progress in repairing Forton Hall than in getting rid of it. He hadn’t even contacted his solicitor in the past ten days. “Quin,” he asked slowly, knowing he’d be far wiser to keep his mouth shut, “if Forton Hall was in perfect condition, both wings intact, roof patched, stable restored, fences mended, and irrigation channels cleared, with tenants occupying all of the farmhouses and lands, how much would you say it would be worth?”

The Marquis of Warefield glanced at him, then turned a slow circle, surveying the land and surroundings with the experience of a lifetime’s training. “It would only be a rough estimate,” he said thoughtfully, coming to a stop, “but I would wager somewhere between seventy and eighty thousand pounds.”

Rafe blinked. “That much?”

Quin shrugged. “It’s small, but the land and location are prime. The owner would be wiser to concentrate on barley and wheat than livestock, but either or both would make him a decent income.”

“Do tell.” Deerhurst’s offer hadn’t been that far off the mark—but that didn’t make Rafe feel any better. Forton was worth nothing near that at the moment.

“Mm-hm. Of course, bringing it up to prime condition would cost a good twenty thousand pounds. Earning that back would take years. You’ll need a buyer who wants to occupy, rather than one looking for a short-term ownership and a mound of profits. Because they won’t find it here.”

Rafe’s mouth went dry at the mention of the sum—not because it was so high and would represent virtual enslavement to repay it, but because he actually wanted to consider it. His brother was watching him and making no secret of it, which made him even more uneasy. Quin was warning him, and wanted him to know it.

Everything should have been so easy, and it wasn’t. And he knew exactly why it had become so complicated: Felicity Harrington.

May came running up to him, a grin on her pretty face. She’d be as much a beauty as her sister in a few years. God help the bachelors then. “Where’ve you been, sweetling?” he asked.

“I was showing Maddie where my bedchamber used to be. She said it seemed a bit drafty now.” May laughed.

Rafe grinned at her. At least one of the Harrington ladies was enjoying having guests. “I’m going to take a look at our cattle. Want to—”

“Yes. I’ll fetch old Totle.” She pranced off to where the bay stood staked out in the center of the meadow, grazing and ignoring the lowly coach horses around him.

“Old Totle?” Quin echoed, lifting an eyebrow.

“He’s been reduced to child’s pull toy. And I think he likes it.” Rafe took a deep breath, his eyes still on May and Aristotle. “So, do you think anyone would consider making a loan of twenty thousand quid to fix up a rundown old place like this?”

“That would entail finding two fools—one to make the loan, and one to take it. And thankfully, neither one of us is a fool.” With a last, meaningful glance, Quin strolled back toward the house.

Rafe looked after him. “Speak for yourself,” he muttered.

Felicity closed her bedchamber door, and leaned her flimsy dressing table chair beneath the handle. It wasn’t a very effective barrier, but at least it would keep May from barging into the room as she generally did.

“Oh, this is so foolish.”

It was just a dress, for heaven’s sake, and just another of Rafe’s silly ideas. She had no idea why he’d announced at breakfast that this evening’s dinner was to be formal, but she suspected it was because he wanted to see her in her new gown, knowing full well that she had nothing else formal to wear. Luckily for him, she wanted to see herself in it as well, and had been waiting all day for this. The dress lay on the bed, and she ran her fingers over the cool, soft silk.

She quickly shed her plain day gown and pelisse. Then, still listening for May’s footsteps or, even worse, for Rafe’s, she gathered the skirt in her hands and pulled it on over her head. The dark blue silk slid down to her ankles with a soft slithering whisper. Unwilling still to look into her dressing mirror, she awkwardly reached around to fasten the buttons running up the back.

With a silent prayer that she wouldn’t look like a gawky harlot, she turned to face the mirror. And stopped. “Oh, my goodness.”

The gown emphasized her slender waist and full, round bosom, and clung to her hips in a way that felt almost shamefully erotic. It shimmered a little as she moved, the fine material reflecting the lamplight. The sensual feel of it on her body reminded her of how she felt when she was with Rafe.

She brushed out her hair and put it up again into a loose bun. Curling black tendrils escaped to frame her face and caress her neck. Rafe had picked the perfect color for her, for skin that had
seen a little too much sun for a proper lady, and the blue darkened her eyes almost to black.

Felicity gazed at herself. She didn’t look like the self she saw most often—calm, cool, and tired. The dark eyes looking back at her knew far more than the former Felicity had, and the blush touching her cheeks had more to do with anticipation and excitement than with any makeup. Slowly she turned in a circle, wondering what Rafe would say when he saw her.

When she removed the barricade from her door and exited the bedchamber, ready for dinner, she could barely keep in the giddiness bubbling just under her skin. At the stair landing, though, her smile faded.

“So you simply pined away the Season, waiting for my return?” Rafe asked, lounging against the foyer wall below.

Jeanette ran her hand along the lapel of his magnificent dark gray coat. “How could I do anything else, when you didn’t even say goodbye to me?”

“I said goodbye to you.”

Her pretty, full lips lowered into a pout. “You gave me a horse,
mon amour
, last Season. A very poor substitute.”

He grinned. “You manage to make that sound immodest.”

She leaned up and kissed his chin. “With you, Rafael, everything is immodest. I left my door unlatched last night. I will do so again tonight. Come and visit me.”

“Thank you for the invitation.”

Jeanette backed off a little, eyeing him. “One day, I think you will grow tired of breaking hearts. Or you will run out of hearts to break. Who will you find to pursue then?”

“I’m all a-tremble,” he murmured. “But don’t
worry yourself. There’s always a new pursuit.”

“And then the capture, and then the gift, and then you go to Africa or somewhere and forget the ladies you leave behind.”

“Ah, Jeanette, you almost make me feel homesick.”

She smiled. “Good.”

The clocked chimed, off-key and wobbly since the last rain, and he looked up. He caught sight of Felicity before she could escape, and his easy smile froze. “Lis,” he exclaimed, straightening.

Felicity nodded politely and continued down the stairs.
He never said he loved me
, she reminded herself as he came forward to meet her. He’d never said he intended whatever was between them to last. Just the opposite. And she’d told him to get reacquainted with his past lovers.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.” He stopped several feet from the foot of the stairs and ran his gaze up and down the length of her. “You are…absolutely stunning,” he said, as his eyes returned to her face. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, it’s very fine.” She hesitated, then moved past him. “Excuse me. I must go see to May.”

A moment later she heard his footsteps following her, and she had to keep herself from breaking into a run. She was such a fool where Rafe Bancroft was concerned.

“Lis?”

She kept walking.

“Lis? Felicity?”

His hand touched her shoulder, then slid down her arm to close around her wrist. Gently but firmly, he pulled her around to face him. Despite her anger at him and disappointment in herself, the touch of his fingers against the sensitive inside of
her wrist began a cascade of delicious shivers inside her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Even if she couldn’t help the way her body reacted to him, she could control what she did about it. “No,” she answered. “I’m just trying to keep May from making a nuisance of herself.”