Taming Rafe (19 page)

His eyes searched hers. “She’s in the kitchen with Sally. I tried to tie the bow on her dress, but I’m afraid I didn’t do it very well. She said I have no concept of how to be a lady.”

“I suppose that’s a bit much for her to expect, even of you.”

That stopped him, and the uncertain expression she found so blasted disarming touched his face again. “Are you angry with me again?”

“No.”

“You truly are…extraordinarily lovely,” he said.

“Does it make you feel homesick?” she asked hotly. The remainder of his guests clattered into the foyer behind them.

He blinked. “You heard that, did you?”

“I couldn’t help it. Don’t mind me, though. I know I have no claims on you, or on anything el—”

“I don’t know how I feel when I look at you,” he whispered. “But you…arouse every part of me. And that frightens me a little.” He sketched a quick bow and strode off to escort his guests into the formal dining room.

That unsettled her, and she sat like a little mouse at the table, unable to summon a thought coherent enough to speak aloud. She was almost relieved when, halfway through the meal, the Earl of Deerhurst strolled into the room. “James,” she exclaimed.

“Ah, Felicity.” He bypassed the other glittering guests to take her hand and lift it to his lips. “You look radiant beyond words.”

“Thank you.”

Rafe stood. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, my faux pas, Bancroft,” Robert Fields contributed around a mouthful of chicken. “I invited him. We hit it off quite smashingly this afternoon, and I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Rafe looked from one to the other of them, all humor gone from his light eyes. Rolling his shoulders as though trying to release the tension there, he gestured at his brother. “Quin, the Earl of Deerhurst. Deerhurst, the Marquis of Warefield.”

Quin gestured at an empty chair. “Deerhurst. Your land borders Forton Hall to the east, does it not?”

“Yes, it does, Lord Warefield.” The earl sat and nodded politely to the other guests, while the ladies glanced at one another and twittered. Whether it was because he was handsome or because they sensed Rafe’s frustration, Felicity didn’t know. “And I find Deerhurst’s location to be a most happy circumstance for two reasons.”

“And what two reasons might those be?” Quin sent his brother a warning glance and resumed eating.

Out of the corner of her eye, Felicity watched Rafe hesitate and then slowly retake his seat. He looked annoyed in the extreme, and even the expression of polite interest he affixed to his face couldn’t hide it. She glanced at Robert Fields, who’d spent most of the meal flirting with Jeanette Ockley within clear earshot of their host. Rafe had barely given the pair of them a second glance. If he was jealous, it wasn’t over these other ladies. Suddenly she felt a little better about things.

“Well, I’m afraid the first reason is rather obvious.” With a warm smile the earl gestured at Felicity.

Francis Henning laughed. “Have to be a demmed turtle not to see that attraction.” He toasted her with his glass of wine.

“Thank you, Mr. Henning.”

Felicity smiled at his jovial obtuseness as he insisted she call him Francis. Rafe had told her that Francis considered himself a complete wit, while his cronies gave him credit for being half of one.

“And what is the second happy circumstance you mentioned, my lord?” the Marchioness of Warefield asked.

“I don’t know whether Bancroft has mentioned it or not, but I have made him what I consider to be a rather generous offer for Forton Hall.”

“Bravo!” Stephen applauded, the gesture echoed by Francis and Lady Harriet. “Our traveler may begin traveling.”

Felicity looked at Rafe again. He’d dropped the pretense of looking polite, and glared with clear fury at Deerhurst. Before he could rise, though, Lord Warefield did so. Firmly he placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“A toast then,” he said, lifting a glass in his other hand, “to interesting possibilities.”

“To interesting possibilities,” Felicity repeated in unison with the others, though she wasn’t certain either she or Forton Hall would survive if things became much more interesting than they already were.

Except for Deerhurst’s smug, intolerable presence, the evening went fairly well. After the guests retired to the morning room for pie and charades, Rafe helped Sally and Ronald clear the table. One
of the mismatched chairs hadn’t quite made it through the evening, though unfortunately it had been Francis’s rather than the earl’s. Since the noise indicated his guests were enjoying themselves without his assistance, he sat cross-legged on the dining room floor to hammer the errant leg back into place in time for breakfast.

“You used to spend your evenings in a more exciting manner.”

Rafe glanced up as Quin leaned into the doorway, then went back to his hammering. “So did you. Slightly, anyway.”

“Hm.
I’m
happily married. What’s your excuse?”

“The chair’s broken.”

“Why didn’t you mention that Deerhurst had offered for the estate?”

With an irritated sigh Rafe set aside the hammer. “Because I don’t want to sell it to him.” He stood and righted the chair, rocking it to test its stability.

“Forgive my abject stupidity, but why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Because of Miss Harrington, you mean.” The marquis closed the door and took a seat at the table.

“Miss—Felicity? She’s written looking for a position elsewhere, and is just waiting for an answer. She has nothing to do with this.”

Quin eyed him. “Which is why you looked like a mad wolf when Deerhurst joined us.”

“He’s a clod, and I don’t like him.”

“Does Felicity?”

In the past, Quin would have left off pestering when he grew tired of Rafe’s flippancy and well-honed evasiveness. Apparently tonight he was feeling up to a challenge. “When did you get to be such a blasted gossip?”

“I’m merely curious about my brother.”

“Then ask about me, and not every other damned inhabitant of Cheshire.”

“Very well.” The marquis looked him in the eye. “What are you still doing here?”

Rafe rocked the chair so hard it fell over. “Bugger off, Warefield.”

His brother looked undaunted. “Interesting way to speak to someone lending you money.”

With a scowl Rafe righted the chair again and sat on it. “I don’t know why I’m still here. All right? And I’d just like to figure it out before I go.” He rubbed at his cheek. His scar was itching, which it hadn’t done for years. But then, he hadn’t been this tense for a long time, either. “Quin, if I asked, would you lend me twenty thousand pounds?”

For a moment his brother was silent. “No, I wouldn’t.”

He shot to his feet again. “Why in God’s name not? You said I could sell this wreck for seventy thousand if it was in prime condition.”

The marquis leaned forward. “Two thousand pounds will keep you at Forton for a month or so. That’s enough time for you to figure out what it is you’re doing here.”

“Twenty thousand would see us both with more profit,” Rafe argued against the knowing cynicism in his brother’s voice. He needed to know whether he had Quin’s support—whatever idiotic course he ended up taking.

“Twenty thousand would mean repairing every last piece of damage to the property. You’d be trapped here for over a year before you could even begin to look for a buyer. If you want to run an estate, run one of mine, where at least the ceiling won’t cave in on you.”

Rafe strode to the window and back again. “I
don’t want one of your damned estates. I want to repair this one.”

“It’s a poor investment. No.”

“Twenty thousand pounds is nothing to you! What do you care if you make a profit off it in one year or in ten years, if at all?”

Quin folded his hands on the table, clearly angry, and just as clearly unwilling to be pulled into a shouting match. “Have you ever considered that Miss Harrington would benefit from having you stay and support her and repair her home?”

Rafe stopped. “What?”

“She has every reason to encourage you to stay here. Have you considered that?”

“You’re insane! I told you, she’s already written looking for a position!”

“And how is her search going?”

“I…I don’t know. Not well.” He hadn’t thought to ask. He hadn’t wanted to ask, because he didn’t want her going anywhere.

“Do you care for her?”

Rafe slammed his fist on the table. “Yes, I care for her. She’s been through a great deal, and I admire her courage.”

“And she’s lovely.”

“Yes, damn it, I’d noticed that, too. Leave off.”

Slowly Quin pushed to his feet. “Before you tie yourself to Forton Hall for ten more minutes, little brother, you’d best figure out whether she genuinely cares for you, or if she simply wants to keep a roof over her head. Because from what I’ve seen, Rafael, you’re not exactly acting like yourself.”

Rafe stood where he was for a long moment after his brother left the dining room. He knew precisely what Quin was implying: that he was in love with Felicity, and that she was using his infatuation to hold on to Forton Hall.

He sat down again. Yes, Lis was beautiful and bright and charming and compassionate and very, very practical. And he absolutely did not want to be in love with her. He’d been half in love with Maddie when he met her, but he’d known she loved Quin, and he’d had no trouble accepting that. This was different. This was jealous rages and yearning and endless thoughts and daydreams—and he didn’t want it.

“Damnation,” he snarled, slamming his fist against the oak table.

He was insane. That was the only logical explanation. And it was certainly the only reason he could come up with for asking his brother for a loan of twenty thousand bloody quid, for God’s sake.

The door creaked open, and he started and looked up. He was both relieved and disappointed that it was Robert Fields and not Felicity who entered the room. When she was about, things just made more sense. And he needed some of that.

“Robert,” he said brusquely, standing. He was moping like a damned sick dog. “I was just about to join you.”

Fields waved a hand at him. “Don’t really care. You have any cigars?”

“No, and why don’t you care?”

“You’ve become a damned dull pot, Rafe. Cattle this, roof that. What a bore. Come with us to Lakeford Abbey before you turn into a farmer. Or worse, a Parliamentarian.”

Rafe looked at him. “Ha, ha.”

“What’s so amusing? I’m bloody serious, lad. You’re wasting away here. Even Jeanette says you’re halfway to being a cold fish, and from what I hear, you helped her find religion.”

Rafe scowled. “Beg pardon?”

Fields wandered over to contemplate the stack of water-damaged paintings leaning against the wall. “You know, ‘oh God, yes, yes, God.’” He turned around. “Although I suppose it was actually ‘
mon dieu
,’ considering.” He grinned and took a snuff box from his coat pocket. “Which deity does Miss Harrington invoke? Demeter is the goddess of farming, isn’t she?”

Rafe eyed Fields darkly. “You go too far.”

“Oh, come now, Bancroft, she’s stunning. No one blames you for doing a little planting while you’re in the country. But Cheshire? Come, come. I imagine some of those Caribbean native girls could have
you
finding religion. And American chits are known for their independence, are they not?”

No one
compared his Felicity to a meaningless string of whores, high flyers, and flighty, bored nobles’ daughters. “Robert,” Rafe said in a quiet, controlled voice, “get out of my house.”

Fields took snuff and returned the box to his pocket. “You see what I mean? In another month you’ll be as stodgy as your brother. In fact, you’re lucky you still have the energy to plow Miss Harrington. Though if you don’t, I certainly do.”

Rafe punched him. Fields rocked backward and stumbled over a chair, going down hard. Angrier than he could ever remember being, Rafe watched Robert climb to his feet. Fields swung at him, and Rafe ducked to avoid the blow. His left fist shot out again at Robert’s face, followed by a flashing right. Fields doubled over and collapsed, clutching his stomach.

“Get out of my house,” Rafe repeated coldly, and left the room.

F
elicity chuckled as Francis Henning and Rose Pendleton performed a scene between Oberon and Titania from
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. She wasn’t certain whether they meant the reading to be amusing or not, but even the Marchioness of Warefield was laughing helplessly.

She would have enjoyed it even more if Rafe hadn’t abandoned his guests and left the hosting to her, and she added another black mark against him to her mental tally board. Lately he’d earned a considerable number of those. And when Lord Warefield walked in a moment later and took the seat beside his wife, she had the distinct impression that Rafe had been earning black marks from his brother, as well.

The marquis gave her a serious, somber look, then murmured something to his wife. Maddie answered him in the same tone, and glanced at Felicity as well. Even though neither of them looked in her direction again, their discussion continued for several minutes. She drummed her fingers restlessly on the arm of her chair, wondering what in the world their discussion had to do with her.

Everything had been so much simpler before Rafe had appeared. She and May would still have lost Forton Hall, but she wouldn’t have lost her
heart as well. When the time came to leave, there would have been no clinging to hopes and dreams, because there would have been no one to kindle them.

It wouldn’t have been so painful if Rafe Bancroft had been someone she could trust, someone on whom she could rely. Looking at his silly friends and former lovers, and his own ramshackle dreams for the future, though, it was obvious that she couldn’t—and that she would be worse than a fool if she did.

The drawing room door burst open. Robert Fields, his lip and nose swollen and bloody, staggered into the room.

“Henning? Calder? Fetch my pistol!” he bellowed.

“Fields,” the Marquis of Warefield snapped, coming to his feet, “what in hell happened to you?”

“Your damned mad brother! That’s what happened to me. And I’m going to blow the bastard’s head off!”

“You are not!” May shrieked, running at him.

Felicity grabbed her sister by the ribbon ties and hauled her back into her chair. “Sit still,” she hissed.

May took one look at her face and closed her mouth. Rose fainted into Francis Henning’s arms and Jeanette dropped her teacup, inconveniently breaking one of the two matching cups that Felicity had remaining.

Scowling at the chaos, Felicity stood and smoothed her skirt. This nonsense was not going to happen in her home—her former home. “Perhaps you should continue this elsewhere,” she said in her calmest voice.

Fields turned on her. “You’re the bloody reason for this, you scabby wh—”

The marquis stepped between them, blocking her from his furious view. “That’s enough, Fields,” he said sternly.

Rose miraculously recovered in time to gasp at Fields’s language.

The Earl of Deerhurst materialized at Felicity’s arm, though she had forgotten his presence. “This is no place for a lady,” he said. “Allow me to escort you from here. I knew Bancroft wasn’t fit to run Forton Hall. Look how he and his friends disgrace it—and you.”

The other ladies, with the exception of Maddie, stood with their hands over their mouths in shock, while they glanced at one another in delight. Felicity could hear the rumors beginning already. Thank God she would never have the chance to show her face in London. She wouldn’t be able to, now.

“Fields, calm down,” Francis Henning urged uneasily. “We’re all a bit bored here. No reason to go about blowing people’s heads off, though.”

“Felicity, please. You don’t need to see this,” the earl urged again, taking her elbow.

She shrugged out of his grip. “You should be more concerned about May,” she snapped, keeping her attention on Fields. Everyone was always trying to offer her assistance where she didn’t need it, and no one was going to shoot Rafe Bancroft if she had anything to say about it.

He sputtered and backed away. “I…you…well, of course. Come along, Miss May.”

“I’m staying.”

Rafe appeared in the doorway. “I told you to leave, Fields,” he said blackly, and Felicity was shocked at the fury in his face. “I won’t say it again.”

The two men glared at each another. Finally Fields pulled out of Stephen Calder’s tentative grip. “I wouldn’t stay here for another minute to save my life,” he snarled, and wiped blood from his chin. “Come on—I’ve had more than my fill of Cheshire, and Forton Hall.”

He stalked past Rafe, going out of his way to avoid his broad-shouldered former host in the doorway. The rest of the guests followed him in silence. Francis came last, and he stopped just out of range of Rafe’s fists. “He’ll spread this all about London, you know.”

Rafe nodded stiffly. “I know.”

“This isn’t at all the thing,” Henning muttered, heading down the hallway. “Blasted hot-blooded bucks. You never listen to me.”

A flurry of valets and maids hurried upstairs to pack, but Felicity barely noticed the loud activity. Rafe continued to stand in the doorway, looking as though he would like to pummel Fields—or anyone else who dared speak to him.

She’d never seen him like this. Abruptly she remembered that he had been a soldier. He was so easygoing, she forgot he could be deadly. And startling as his anger was, it gave her another key to understanding him. She watched him closely for any sign of what had set him off. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times before he took a deep breath. “Well? Anyone else?” He glanced pointedly at the Earl of Deerhurst, still posed uncertainly between her and May.

James stirred, avoiding Rafe’s angry gaze. “I shall take my leave as well.” He bowed. “Lord and Lady Warefield, I am delighted to have made your acquaintance.”

“Deerhurst.”

The earl hesitated beside Felicity. “You should
leave here, my dear, before he does the same thing to you,” he murmured in her ear.

“Oh, please, James,” she scoffed. However angry Rafe might be, he wouldn’t hurt her or May. He’d had plenty of opportunity when they’d first met, if that had been his aim or his nature.

The earl blinked, obviously surprised by her ire. “Very well, but I don’t think you’re seeing things clearly. At the least, though, you should convince him to sell Forton to me, so we can get him out of Cheshire posthaste.”

“James, go.” She nodded curtly, worried that the earl would send Rafe into another rage. He didn’t appear to need much provocation. “Thank you for the advice. I shall consider it.”

When Deerhurst had left, Rafe rubbed his knuckles and glanced at his brother. “Don’t look at me that way,” he grumbled. “He deserved worse.”

“Whatever he deserved,” the marquis returned sharply, “your actions reflect on all of us. Robert Fields is well liked at court. With all the new laws restricting the rights of the nobility, we can’t afford—”

“Bugger off, Warefield,” Rafe snapped. “No one—
no one
—insults my friends or my family.”

“I thought Robert was your friend,” Maddie said quietly.

He glanced at her. “I just found out differently.” Rafe caught Felicity’s eyes and held her gaze for the space of several heartbeats before he left the room.

The marquis said something else to Maddie, but she shook her head. “Leave me out of this nonsense,” she said, and held her hand out to May. “Come introduce me to Polly Doll and Mr. Bear.”

A moment later Felicity stood alone in the drawing room with Lord Warefield. He strolled over to
close the door. Felicity swallowed, wondering what could possibly happen next, and whether he was going to warn her about Rafe now, as well.

“Rafe says you’ve applied for a position as a governess,” he began conversationally, facing her. “Have you had any positive response?”

“No. I’ve had two rejections so far, but I haven’t heard yet from a distant cousin in York. She liked me as a child, and I think she will take me on.”

“You don’t wish to stay at Forton Hall?”

She had the feeling he was aiming the conversation toward something specific, but she was willing to play along—for Rafe’s sake. “What I wish for doesn’t signify, my lord. Your brother has been kind enough to allow my sister and me to remain here until we find residence elsewhere.”

He paused, as though assessing her answer. “What do you think of Lord Deerhurst’s offer to purchase Forton Hall?”

“I think it’s far too generous.” She shrugged. “Rafe doesn’t like James, though, and I think he’s enjoying puttering about here. No doubt he’ll sell when he gets tired of it.”

Another pause. “Have you mentioned this theory to him?”

“More than once.”

“Would he tell me the same thing if I asked him the same question?”

Felicity narrowed her eyes, annoyance beginning to outweigh her desire to be polite. “Are you calling me a liar, my lord?”

“My brother is rather…impetuous,” he said slowly. “He frequently jumps into the middle of things, and—”

“And you and your father appoint yourselves his guardians, throwing him a rope to pull him out of whatever mess he’s fallen into,” she interrupted.
“I wonder whether you have ever considered that he wouldn’t leap from one adventure to another if you ever allowed him to feel that what he was doing had any significance.”

Warefield lifted an eyebrow, but otherwise her rude directness didn’t appear to have affected him in the least. “And do you feel that this particular adventure has significance?”

Felicity stepped past him for the door. “I think, my lord, that you should be asking that question of Rafe. Not of me.”

“You know,” he said to her back as she exited, “you remind me of my wife.”

Surprised, Felicity turned again to face him. “I shall take that as a compliment, Lord Warefield.”

He smiled, the enticing expression reminding her of Rafael. “We’ll see about that.”

“Rafe?” Maddie inquired.

He jumped, dropping his notepaper and measuring stick. “I really don’t feel like having my innards ripped out for display and commentary at the moment.”

She folded her arms. “Then you should have found a better hiding place.”

Rafe recovered his measuring stick and returned his attention to the gap in the wall left by the collapse of the west wing. “Warefield send you?”

“You know better than that. He’s interrogating Miss Harrington right now.”

“He’s
what
?” All he needed to complete his day was Quin sending Lis fleeing into the wilds of England.

“I didn’t think you’d like that.”

“Why can’t he content himself with torturing me? Lis hasn’t done anything wrong.” Well, nothing that he hadn’t led her to, anyway.

“He’s being protective.”

“I wish he’d stay out of my blasted affairs for once. He needs to remember that I can beat the hell out of
him
, too.”

“Ah, brotherly love,” Quin said, as he strolled into view. “I assume you’re threatening me now, as well?”

Rafe scowled. “Will the two of you leave me alone, for Lucifer’s sake?”

They both ignored him, which didn’t improve his temperament. Everything had been so damned simple before he’d written to London. He wouldn’t miss Robert Fields’s friendship all that much, but he had meant to make amends to Quin. After this evening, that wasn’t likely to happen. And by acting like a mad bull, he’d probably frightened Lis off, as well.

“Well?” Maddie murmured, wrapping her arm around her husband’s and leaning against his shoulder.

The marquis shrugged. “It’s all a blasted muddle, as usual.”

“Now what?” Rafe snapped, jealous of their easy affection and completely out of patience.

“We’re going as well,” Quin informed him.

“In the middle of the evening?”

“That seems to be the custom in Cheshire.” His brother smiled to take the sting out of his words. “We promised Uncle Malcolm a visit on our way to Warefield Park, and I really don’t think you need us about complicating things any further.”

Rafe supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything else. Despite his refusal ever to admit it, though, he’d always admired Quin’s tact and calm intelligence. And it hurt to know that his brother had finally given up on him. “I’ll write you before I leave the country, then.”

“Yes, at least let us know which continent you’ll be on,” Maddie said softly.

Rafe looked from one to the other of them, the chasm of uncertainty opening deep inside him again. “I will.” He took a few steps away. “I’ll leave you to pack.”

“Twenty thousand pounds at a reasonable rate of interest,” Quin said abruptly, stopping him in his tracks. “And I will expect regular reports on the progress of renovations and repairs.”

Rafe slowly turned to face his brother. “I…I thought Forton was a poor investment,” he said, torn between pure elation and stark terror at the thought that Quin might actually be serious.

“It
is
a poor investment,” his brother agreed.

“Then why—”

“
It
is,” the marquis repeated. “
You’re
not. I’ll have the papers drawn up and get you a line of credit. Just keep in mind, the less of the principal you use, the easier time you’ll have paying it back when you change your mind about the whole damned thing.”

For a long moment Rafe looked at him. “Thank you.”

Quin shook his head. “You’ll be hating me, and this place, inside a week. I know you, Rafe.”

He shrugged. “I’m not so sure I know myself anymore, Quin.”

“You truly want to do this?”

“Yes.”

An hour later Rafe sat on the shallow front steps to watch the Warefield coach disappear into the darkness. With them gone, Forton Hall seemed lonely and quiet and shabby. Quin was right. He had no idea what he was doing.

He knew why he was doing it—at least he thought he did. But taking on a twenty thousand
quid debt to see Felicity’s smile was too absurd, even for him. There was more to it. There was a part of him that wanted to know whether he could restore Forton Hall, whether he could see through what he’d begun. He hadn’t much of a record for that, and it didn’t take his brother’s or his father’s digs to point it out to him.

“Well, I don’t know much of London customs,” Lis said, coming out to sit beside him, “but I believe your friends may have set a record for the briefest visit ever.”