Taming Rafe (21 page)

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Talford said, startling him out of his unexpected daydream, “but did you have a purpose in coming by? You’ve been rather quiet.”

“My apologies, sir. I wanted to ask you about crops.”

“Crops?”

Rafe frowned. “Yes, crops. Dennis Greetham is going to help me plant, but I’m beginning to feel like a complete idiot whenever anyone brings up the subject.”

“Seems a boring topic for a fellow on his way to China.”

Rafe smiled a bit grimly. “I know.” With a twenty thousand quid loan to repay, China seemed even further away than before. He had his work cut out for himself, that was for damned certain. “Would you care to assist me anyway?”

“Interesting. Does Felicity know about this?”

“That I’m completely ignorant about grain? I’m sure she’s figured it out by now.”

The squire smiled and looked away. “I meant about the crops.”

“No, but she will. I just want to make the approach from high ground.”

By the time he took his leave, it was nearly dark. Aristotle was loaded down with all three volumes of Storchey’s
Planting in Western England
, and Rafe had enough information stuffed into his head to give him a fair start on writing volume four. Actually, he felt gratified by how much he’d remembered of the subject—apparently he’d paid closer attention to Quin and His Grace than he’d realized.

Even though it was out of his way, he sent Aristotle off toward Pelford. Mrs. Denwortle was still there, though there were no customers and it looked like she was in the process of closing for the evening. Rafe swung down from the bay and strolled inside. The bell on the door jingled, and she looked up.

“Mr. Bancroft. What can I do for you this evening?”

That was friendlier than she usually was, but she had cause to be glad to see him—he seemed to have become the community’s most prolific source of gossip. “Mrs. Denwortle. You don’t happen to carry Virginia cigars, do you?”

“From the Colonies? I should say not. Not much call for them in Cheshire.”

Rafe tapped the counter with his fingertips. “Hm. That
is
a problem. I suppose I can send to London for a box. They should arrive in time.”

She looked at him, curiosity written all over her round face, but he only looked innocently back at her. Mrs. Denwortle wiped halfheartedly at the
countertop. “I do have a nice local selection,” she ventured.

“Hm? Oh, no thank you. His Grace is very particular.”

“His Grace?”

“My father.” Rafe straightened. “Well, good evening.”

He grinned as he retrieved Aristotle. That should keep her occupied for a while. Let the gossip begin: A whiff that the Duke of Highbarrow would be visiting Cheshire was bound to be more interesting than anything he or May or Felicity did. And that was just the beginning of the celebrity visits he had planned.

Back at Forton, he brushed down Aristotle and staked out the gelding for the evening. Then, mainly out of curiosity, he went around the front of Forton Hall to the main entrance. Beeks had to have the sharpest ears in England, for he had yet to hear of anyone who had actually touched a front door handle where the butler was on duty.

Four steps from the door, or three at the utmost, and Beeks would pull it open with a formal, “Good evening, Master Rafael.” Tonight, though, he nearly smashed his face into the hard oak before he brought himself to a halt. No Beeks. “Good God,” he muttered, turning the handle and entering the foyer. Now they were driving off people who were actually useful.

“Lis?” he called, striding down the hall for the kitchen, “what did you do with Beeks?”

“Nothing,” she answered, meeting him in the doorway.

The butler stood before the table, an apron across the front of his fine shirt, sleeves rolled up and his arms white with flour up to the elbow. At Rafe’s entrance he turned and sketched a bow before re
turning to kneading a pile of dough. “I shall be with you in a moment if you require assistance in changing into your evening attire, sir,” he said in his calm, aloof voice.

“Ah, no. No thank you. I’ll manage.”

“Very good, Master Rafael. Miss Harrington has set dinner for seven, if that is acceptable to you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes darting from Beeks to Felicity, who looked very much as if she wanted to burst into laughter. Whether it was at him or at the butler, he wasn’t certain. “Yes, that’s fine.”

Felicity motioned for him to shoo away, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him as he retreated to the morning room.

“Let go,” she whispered, tugging her fingers free from his grip.

“What in damnation did you do to Beeks? I don’t—”

“Rafe, you—”

“You’ve turned him into a kitchen maid—my parents will murder me! Don’t you know how difficult it is to find a butler of Beeks’ qualifi—”

She put her hand over his lips and closed the door. “Shut up, will you? He’s butling.”

“No, he’s not; he’s making bread!”

“Your parents’ dear butler has been reciting to me all day long the proper duties of butlers in households of varying sizes,” she said, exasperation touching her voice. “We apparently qualify as England’s smallest noble household, which behooves the butler, as head servant, to assume any duties not covered by our existing staff—in this case our cook and our footman.”

“But—”

Chuckling, she covered his mouth with both hands, nearly cutting off his air. “By the by, Beeks has twice attempted to dismiss Ronald for gross
incompetence. I tried to explain that he was a stable boy and not a footman by trade, but he didn’t seem to wish to listen to me.”

Wrapping his fingers around her slender wrists, Rafe pulled her hands away from his face. “By God. Beeks is making bread,” he mused.

“Mm-hm. And since Sally pointed him in the right direction, he’s been doing quite well at it.”

She was obviously in high spirits. And though he loved seeing her smile, it also bothered him—because the thing that made her happiest was still Forton Hall. “May said you had a letter today,” he commented, watching her closely.

Felicity nodded and backed away from him. “Yes.”

Alarmed, he pursued her. “Anything interesting?”

“In a manner of speaking.” She met his eyes again, obviously trying to read him as much as he was trying to read her. “I was offered the post of governess at a house with two young children in Hampstead.”

His heart stopped, and then began a fierce pounding. It took him two tries to utter a word in a fairly normal manner. “And?”

“They don’t want the sibling of a governess mingling with their little darlings. If I can find a home for May, the position is mine.”

He relaxed. “More likely they don’t want our little Leonardo da Vinci showing up their milksop halfwits.” She was staying, at least for a bit longer. “May I kiss you?” he asked. “No one will see.”

A soft flush crept up her cheeks. “I don’t think that’s very wise.”

She was right, because he wanted to do far more than kiss her. “Come, come, Lis,” he murmured, taking her hands and pulling her toward him again,
“what does wisdom have to do with anything? Kiss me.”

“And then what?”

He grinned slyly. “Use your imagination.”

“Lend the man a butler, and he thinks he’s king of the world.”

“Now you’re just teasing.” Rafe leaned down and kissed the base of her throat all the way up to her chin, feeling her hammering pulse against his lips. Sweet Lucifer, he wanted her. Right there, and right then. “Kiss me,” he demanded.

With an unsteady breath, Felicity rose on her tiptoes and kissed him hungrily.

He kissed her back, opening to her as she teased his mouth with her tongue. They should have picked a more private place than the morning room, damn it all. He was most definitely aroused, and if May burst in, he’d have to leap out the window. “What say we go upstairs?” he murmured, running kisses along her jaw and throat again until she moaned and arched against him.

“You’re like my favorite chocolate, Rafe,” she said, running her hands down his back to pull at his hips.

Rafe chuckled. “You mean you can’t get enough of me, I hope?”

She kissed him again, open-mouthed. Gads, he’d be lucky if they made it to the couch. Nuzzling her neck, he slipped his hands down her back, undoing buttons as he went.

“Yes. And you taste so good.”

“Mm. So do you.” The gown slipped from her shoulders at his tug, and he sidestepped, reaching out with his free hand until he found the back of a chair. Still kissing her desperately, he shoved the chair beneath the door handle.

Her fingers trembling, Lis pulled his shirt free
from his breeches and ran her warm hands up his abdomen and chest. “And I know you can’t be good for me.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, pushing her shift down to her waist and pulling her up against him. He took a breast into his mouth, suckling greedily, and she gasped. “So tell me to stop.”

“I can’t,” she breathed.

“Good.” He swept her up and half fell back onto the couch, sitting her on his lap. “You look so beautiful in daylight, Lis.” This was what he’d wanted—to see her, to take the time to know her body, to know what gave her pleasure.

She unfastened his waistcoat and pushed it down his arms, then pulled his shirt over his head so hard she nearly took his ears off.

“Careful, my love.” He chuckled, then couldn’t talk as she ran her lips across his chest and abdomen in a trail of feather-light kisses.

In a moment he had the rest of her clothes off, and she nestled naked in his lap. He endured her fumbling as she unfastened his breeches with pained anticipation, and then shoved them down around his ankles. Immediately she began kissing him again, pressing her body against his, but he held her away.

“This time I am taking off my boots,” he managed.

“Rafe,” she said, looking at their surroundings for the first time, “what if May or Beeks—”

He silenced her with a kiss. “I’ve blocked the door,” he whispered. He leaned down to yank off his boots and kick out of his breeches.

“You’re beautiful in daylight, too,” Felicity breathed, taking him in.

Smiling, he pushed her backward along the length of the couch, and settled himself alongside
her. With his hands and his mouth he stroked her lithe, slender body until she was practically purring. He’d always enjoyed sex, and had been told numerous times that he was quite proficient at it. This time, though, he felt hesitant, almost unsure, wanting to be certain she wasn’t disappointed.

“Rafe, please,” she whispered, putting her hands around his shoulders and pulling his face down to hers.

“Please what?” he asked, shifting so that he lay atop her, feeling her body mold itself to him.

“Make love to me,” she said, arching her hips against him.

“As you wish, my lady.” He pushed inside her, reveling in her tight warmth. She moaned again, throwing her head back. Rafe placed kisses along her throat, holding as still as he could despite the overwhelming need to take her at once. Finally he began to move, slowly at first and then faster and faster, watching the heated ecstasy on her face with intense satisfaction. Apparently his sweet, practical Felicity didn’t require romantic murmurings or long, delicate seductions.

“Ah, Rafe,” she said roughly, pulling him in closer and lifting her ankles around his hips.

He exploded at the same time she did, holding himself hard against her and not wanting to let go. “Jesus,” he muttered finally, his head sinking down beside her.

She tangled her fingers through his hair. “I could become very used to this,” she murmured breathlessly.

He chuckled. “I’ll remember that.”

Knowing he must be heavy, Rafe started to shift off her, but Felicity wrapped her arms around his waist, kneading her fingers into his back. “Stay here.”

“All right.” Slowly he kissed her again.

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

She hesitated, and his heart jumped. He didn’t know precisely what he was afraid of, except that he absolutely didn’t want to think about her leaving him. He’d been trying to accustom himself to the idea of Felicity and May not being at Forton, and he couldn’t do it. And when he tried to imagine exotic spices in faraway lands, the scent that his mind conjured was the lavender of Felicity’s hair.

“If…if I asked you to, would you sell Forton to Lord Deerhurst?”

Forton Hall again. Perhaps Quin was right, after all. Though with what he offered her, he could hardly blame her for looking elsewhere. “Why?”

Felicity swallowed. “I don’t want to tell you. Would you sell it to him for seventy thousand pounds, if I asked you to?”

“You’d marry him to keep Forton Hall, wouldn’t you?” he asked abruptly, shifting off her and sitting up. “Damnation, Lis! Why?”

She sat up beside him. Her dark eyes serious, she reached up and ran her thumb along his scarred cheek. “I have no other prospects, Rafe. And I have never had the luxury of choosing someone…someone I love.”

“What about your applications for employment?” he snapped, grabbing for his breeches, and surprised at the sudden fury coursing through him.

“It’s been a month. I haven’t heard anything positive.”

“You still have time. Another month or two, at least. Or you could wait until spring.”

She looked at him, catching and holding his gaze. “Why?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then shot to
his feet. “Bloody hell!” he growled, snatching up his shirt and boots. “If you want to go marry Deerhurst, then do it. If you want to leave, then go! But I will never—
never
—sell him Forton Hall. You’re worth more than this damned pile of stone and wood, and I won’t let him buy you for it!”

Felicity opened her mouth, closed it, and then knelt to pick up her shift. “Then I have to leave.”

“Why, damnit?”

“Ask me to stay, then!” she shot back, yanking the shift over her dark hair. “Would you? Can you even ask the question?”

Oh, God, looking at her right now, he wanted to just hold her forever. For a moment, he thought about it—about living at Forton Hall, and raising cattle and planting crops—and then he remembered the twenty thousand pounds he already owed Quin, and the promise he’d made never to live like his father. “Lis—”