Taming Rafe (20 page)

It was the friendliest she’d been toward him since they’d been invaded. Loath to risk angering her again, he settled for nodding. “They were a herd of complete sapskulls. I don’t know how I ever tolerated them before.”

Felicity glanced at him, then looked out toward the lane again. “Why did you hit Mr. Fields?”

That was a question he preferred not to answer until he’d thought his motivations over more thoroughly—yet he was familiar enough with Lis to know she’d insist on an answer. “He…insinuated some things I didn’t appreciate.”

“Some things that were true, perhaps?”

He looked sideways at her, and rubbed his hands restlessly along his thighs. It was easier being interrogated by Quin. “Yes.”

“Then why—”

“If he knew me, or cared in the least, he wouldn’t have said them. Quin didn’t.”

“But your brother left here, too.”

He smiled a little. “Yes, but for a different reason.” She waited expectantly, and he sighed. “I think for once he’s decided to give me enough rope to hang myself with.”

Lis gave him a surprised, almost suspicious look. A moment later, her lips relaxed into the smile that
made him feel like a schoolboy mooning after his first love. “And this is a good thing?” she asked.

He shrugged. At least she still seemed to like him. He didn’t think it was solely because he held the keys to Forton Hall, but neither was he foolish enough to completely ignore his brother’s words. Warefield had a great deal of common sense. “Quin’s lending me the money,” he said.

“Yes, you told me. Two thousand pounds. I’m glad.”

“
Twenty
thousand pounds,” Rafe corrected. “For a complete renovation and restoration.”

“Twenty…” she began, then trailed off. Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Twenty thousand pounds!”

Rafe wanted to kiss her back, to pull her into his arms, and to make love to her. And given her sudden elation, he wanted to make one thing absolutely clear. “I’m still going to sell Forton,” he said, tension making him sound harsher than he intended.

Felicity slipped her arms from around him and folded her hands in her lap. “At least it will be put back as it should be.” Her voice shook a little, despite the calmness of her words.

He wanted to ask her if she loved him at least a little, even if she loved Forton more. But then he would have to confess that he loved her, and that he didn’t have the tiniest damned clue what to do about it, or her, or himself. “And will you be here long enough to see it?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “I hope so.”

Slowly he ran his finger along her cheek, brushing a tear away. Then, unable to resist, he kissed her softly. “So do I.”

The Earl of Deerhurst watched the Marquis of Warefield’s magnificent coach roll by, and moved his gelding a little further into the trees. Thank God they were gone. Having polite society come calling was a pleasant change, but their timing had been atrocious. The only positive note had been witnessing Bancroft doing such a splendid job of showing his foul side to Felicity.

He could hardly believe that barbarian was related to Highbarrow and Warefield. Striking a guest was so rare as to be practically unheard of. Felicity had been shocked at the sight, and luckily he had been there to take advantage of the situation. She weakened more toward him every day. He could sense it.

Bancroft sat on his crumbling front steps, illuminated only by the dim candlelight shining out from the foyer. James could almost feel sorry for him. Poor fellow, he had little choice now but to sell Forton Hall to the one person who’d made him an offer, and under whatever conditions of secrecy he required. Then Felicity joined Bancroft. Deerhurst scowled, his sympathy vanishing. When Miss Harrington kissed the bastard, James bit down on his lip so hard it bled.

“Twenty thousand pounds!” she cried, and kissed Bancroft again, and then the lout put his hands on her lovely, unblemished skin and kissed her.

The earl watched for another moment, then turned his mount down along the stream that ran behind the old stable. Something had happened; something that involved a great deal of money. And, given Felicity’s reaction, it involved Forton Hall as well.

If Bancroft intended on bringing more attention to the tiny estate, it looked as though his choice of actions had narrowed once again. He smiled in the dim moonlight. That suited him just fine.

“T
hat’s number seventy-four!” May shrieked, laughing.

Felicity finished putting May’s clothes into her makeshift dresser and paused to look out the window. A dozen workers loaded lumber into the three carts positioned around the rapidly shrinking pile of stable rubble out in the middle of the yard. Now that he had funding, Rafe hadn’t wasted any time in starting on the project in earnest.

She sat in the deep windowsill to watch as Rafe and May practiced fencing maneuvers with scraps of lumber. May seemed content with shouting and hacking the air in a haphazard manner while she invented new methods to kill her foes, but Rafe’s moves were spare, precise, and graceful. It reminded her that he could be dangerous—a lesson Robert Fields had learned several days ago.

In the five days since his guests’ departure Rafe had been busy, scheduling repairs and sending for materials. He’d sketched out drawings of the new stable, and even to her untrained eye the improvements between the old building and the planned new one were obvious. He made a point of including her in all the decisions, as though she still had some say in all this business.

Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that some
thing had changed between them. Any compliment or flirtation was always followed by some news about the construction, as though he was testing to see whether she was paying attention. Since she couldn’t help but hang on every word he uttered, practically purring, it seemed a rather useless exercise.

She tried to think of the Earl of Deerhurst in the same way she thought of Rafe, tried to remember his infrequent kisses with the same tingling arousal with which she remembered each touch from Rafe. The exercise was unsuccessful, but since she couldn’t expect any sort of future with Rafael Bancroft, trading passion for stability, however unsatisfactory, was eminently more practical than daydreams.

She watched the fencing practice for another few minutes, then went downstairs to help prepare luncheon. As usual, Ronald had made himself at home in the kitchen, and sat chatting with Sally. Felicity smiled as she strolled into the room.

“Ronald,” she said, watching him jump and flush a bright red, “if you have a moment this afternoon, I’d like to move those end tables out of the foyer before any work begins on the west wing.”

He sprang to his feet. “I’ll see to it right now, Miss Harrington.”

Sally giggled as he fled the room, then with a self-conscious look at Felicity, went back to molding her pie crust. “I thought a peach pie would be nice for dinner,” she said.

“It would be more than nice.” Felicity reached for a loaf of fresh-baked bread. “You know, Sally, I think you have an admirer.”

The girl blushed to the roots of her blond hair. “Oh, Miss Felicity, he says I’m pretty as roses.”

It sounded as though Rafe had been giving young Mr. Banthe lessons in charm and seduction. “Well, you are.”

“Excuse me, miss.”

At the sound of the strange, masculine voice, Felicity turned around. A tall, thin, extremely dignified-looking man, his dark hair just going to silver at the temples, stood in the kitchen doorway, a large valise in each hand.

“I beg your pardon,” he continued in the same polite, aloof tone, “but are you aware that a rather ungainly young man is dragging end tables across an unprotected wood floor? And against the grain, I might add.”

She looked at him for a moment, uselessly trying to figure out who in the world he might be. “Yes, I am,” she said slowly. “The floor is to be replaced.”

He nodded crisply and set down both valises. “Ah. Very well, then. Would you be kind enough to direct me to Master Rafael Bancroft?”

Curious, and somewhat amused at his utter, perfect politeness, Felicity pointed at the kitchen entry. “He’s out in the stable yard.”

“My thanks, miss.”

With another slight nod he scooted his luggage into the corner, walked through the kitchen, and pulled open the door. Exchanging a glance with Sally, who looked equally bewildered, Felicity followed him. His black coattails flapping in the slight morning breeze, he made his way through the yard toward where Rafe lunged and wove, showing May some sort of disemboweling maneuver. As their visitor reached the halfway point, Rafe spied the man. His face went white, and her baffled amusement instantly changed to dread.

“Are they here?” Rafe barked, dropping his
makeshift weapon and striding toward the well-dressed gentleman. “Damn it all, no one informed me.”

The gentleman stopped. “The duke and duchess are in Spain, Master Rafael.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded paper. “I was instructed to give you this.”

Rafe took the parchment and opened it. A moment later he looked up, his eyes sparkling. “You’re my gift?”

“I’m on loan, sir.”

“And whose idea was this?” Color returning to his face, Rafe grinned, and Felicity relaxed. Whatever the disaster was, it had been averted.

“Her Grace’s.”

As he finished reading the note, Rafe began laughing. “Oh, Beeks, you certainly are going to regret this.”

“I do already, Master Rafael.”

Rafe gestured Felicity to approach and held out the letter. “My present,” he said, indicating their visitor.

Felicity opened the missive. “‘Rafe,’” she read. “‘Beeks needed a change of scenery, and I hope he will be of some use to you while you straighten out your situation. Please return him to us in good condition, and don’t torture him overly much. Mother.’”

Felicity smiled, immediately liking the Duchess of Highbarrow. Evidently she knew her son quite well. For a brief moment she was jealous. She’d had a mother like that once, too.

“Lis, May, this is Beeks, butler extraordinaire to the Duke and Duchess of Highbarrow. Beeks, Miss Harrington and Miss May Harrington.”

“We had a butler,” May said, and solemnly
shook his hand. “His name was Smythe, and he was always cranky.”

“May,” Felicity chastised, though she could hardly argue with her sister. If she’d been the butler with Nigel in residence, she would have been cranky, too.

Rafe chuckled again. “Beeks is never cranky—are you, Beeks?”

“Not even when I find myself living out my worst nightmare, Master Rafael.”

“Are you insulting us?” May asked suspiciously.

“Never, Miss May.”

“Far too gauche,” Rafe agreed.

The butler bowed. “If you’ll allow me to get started? I don’t believe I have any time to waste.”

With another crisp movement Beeks turned on his heel and headed back to the manor. Felicity looked after him. “May, help Sally with luncheon,” she instructed, and the girl skipped off behind the butler.

Rafe eyed her. “What did I do now?”

“No one said—”

“I didn’t send for him,” he interrupted, taking the note back. “I’m completely and utterly innocent.”

“I’ve encountered evidence to the contrary,” she said dryly.

Rafe chuckled. She smiled back at him, wondering whether he knew how handsome he looked in the warm sunlight, with the breeze lifting a lock of tawny gold hair off his forehead. As he met her eyes, his own expression softened. Her pulse skittered, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, right in front of everyone.

“I’d be more than happy to prove that to you all over again,” he murmured.

“Rafe, don’t change the subject.”

“You changed it first.”

“Do you really want the Duke and Duchess of Highbarrow’s butler seeing…” She trailed off, not wanting to insult her—his—home, but its shabbiness spoke for itself. “Seeing this?” She gestured at the house and yard.

“You mean you don’t think it’s up to his standards.”

Men were so obtuse sometimes. “Of course it’s not up to his standards.”

Rafe grinned. “That’s the beauty of acquiring the butler of the loftiest household in England.
Nothing’s
up to his standards.”

She flung her arms out. “Wonderful. I feel much better now.”

“Glad I could help.” For a long moment he was silent, his smile fading as he looked at her.

“What?” she asked finally.

“I was just thinking how much I want to kiss you again. Right now.”

Felicity blushed. “Don’t you dare! Everyone can see us,” she warned.

“Somewhere private, then.”

“Oh, stop teasing.”

“Who says I’m teasing?” he asked, stepping closer.

She put a hand on his chest to halt his advance, and looked up at him. “I do.”

“Only because you won’t let me do anything more.”

“Hush!”

He leaned closer. “We did once. Is there any reason we shouldn’t repeat the deed?”

She’d been asking herself the same question. She knew the answer, and he needed to know that she knew. “Jeanette Ockley,” she answered.

Rafe lifted an eyebrow. “Jeanette? That’s the second time you’ve brought her up. There’s nothing between Jeanette and me.”

Felicity swallowed. “I know. Was there ever?”

She started to turn away, but he caught her arm. “You are nothing like Jeanette. Don’t compare the two situations.”

“But you’re still Rafael Bancroft, on your way to somewhere, aren’t you?”

“If,” he began hotly, then glanced at the workers climbing through the stable ruins and started again in a quieter voice. “If I knew what the hell I was doing, I would tell you. Believe me.” He released her elbow, and with another look returned to the stable.

At times, she thought they’d all be better off if someone would just club Rafe Bancroft over the head again. Tied up, dazed, and helpless, he was much easier to deal with, if no less desirable. In fact, even before she’d made love with him, she’d dreamed of that—of seeing him again for the first time, bound on her kitchen floor, and simply throwing herself on him. At least if he was tied up, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

Halfway to the kitchen, May came out to meet her. “Beeks said I’m not supposed to help with luncheon,” she announced.

“Oh, he did, did he? And did you inform him that circumstances beyond our control have forced us to lay some traditions by the wayside?”

“No, I just said you’d get mad at him.”

Felicity took her sister’s hand and marched toward the house. “Very insightful of you.”

“Thank you.”

Rafe watched Lis and May go into the house, then resumed tossing lumber into a cart. With the
money Quin had lent him he no longer needed to do any of the manual labor himself, but he was used to being out-of-doors, and as he’d already discovered, he enjoyed the work. Besides, if he had nothing to do all day but hover about the manor, he’d only get himself into more trouble with Felicity. As it was, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Dennis Greetham drove up in his cart, and Rafe went over to greet him. “Any word on the lumber?” he asked.

“Aye. Beginning of next week, if the weather holds. And I did like you said and left word at the Childe of Hale that you were hiring workers. You’ll likely get a few more this afternoon.”

“Amazing what a difference having a few quid makes.”

“It’s you that’s made the difference,” the farmer disagreed, pulling on his work gloves. “Folks in Cheshire ain’t used to a nobleman offering to help mend their fence if they’ll pitch in a day or two’s work for him.”

Rafe glanced back toward the manor. “I’m no Robin Hood; desperation and poverty breed odd offspring. Money’s easier—though I’ll probably change my mind as soon as I have to start paying the loan back.” And the sooner that began, the better. He barely trusted himself with twenty thousand pounds. Why Quin would do so, he had no idea.

“I’ve been thinking,” the farmer said. “With all the other mess going on I don’t know if you want the extra trouble, but if you want to put in a fall crop, there’s plenty of work to be done first with some of the fields.”

Rafe nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. If you and Felicity could give me some figures, and if you’d be willing to supervise, I’d love to have a crop in the ground.”

“You want
me
to supervise?”

“I may know how to demolish a stable, but you know a great deal more about farming than I do.” And reluctant as he was to spend any more funds than he absolutely had to, a healthy crop would both make Forton Hall look impressive and give him an actual source of income for the first time. Just the thought made him feel giddy.

“I would be honored, Bancroft.”

They discussed the merits of various grains and soils for twenty minutes, and by then Rafe was beginning to wish he hadn’t teased Quin so much about the subject every time his brother had tried to bring it up. He could certainly use advice from a landowner’s point of view now. He hated going to Felicity for information on yet another subject he knew nothing about, and Quin and Maddie would be in Somerset with Uncle Malcolm by now. And even if he’d been the least bit tempted to query his father, the duke and duchess were in Spain. Aside from that, he wasn’t entirely certain which questions needed asking.

He straightened, stretching his tired back. The only other landowners he knew here were the Earl of Deerhurst and Squire Talford, and he wouldn’t ask Deerhurst for a rope if he were drowning—which made the choice an easy one.

The squire was just setting out for a midday ride when Rafe and Aristotle arrived, and Talford graciously invited them to come along.

“I heard your London guests have departed,” the squire said, as they cantered along the hedge bordering the front drive. “Interesting method of hosting.”

Rafe eyed him. “Deerhurst informed you, I presume?”

“One of his footmen informed Mrs. Denwortle.”

So the whole county knew. It was time he and Mrs. Denwortle had a little talk. “It was just a misunderstanding,” he offered.

The squire pursed his lips as they turned out along the lane. “Seems to me your friend caught your meaning fairly well.”

As they rode along, Rafe noted that the design of Talford’s garden, while pretty enough, made the main house seem even smaller than it was. He intended to open Forton’s garden up in the front, similar to what Quin had done several years ago with Warefield Park. The pond definitely needed expanding, and as far as he could tell, it hadn’t been stocked for years. It also needed a name; all good fishing ponds had names. Perhaps he would suggest May Pond. May would like that.