Taming Rafe (25 page)

“What is it?” he murmured, meeting her gaze.

“I’m just happy.”

He smiled. “Then kiss me again.”

She slid her arms around his strong, broad shoulders and met his eager mouth with hers. If she was dreaming, she never wanted to wake up.

“Miss Harrington, the Earl of Deer—”

“Unhand her!” James Burlough pushed past the startled Beeks and shoved Rafe away from Felicity. “You bastard! How dare you assault a lady, and in front of a child!”

Alarmed, Felicity started between them. “My lord, it’s not—”

Rafe’s hand shot out. Before Felicity could even gasp, he had Deerhurst by the throat and was pushing him backward into the hallway. “Don’t you presume to assault me in my own house,” he snapped, in a dark, cold voice Felicity had never heard him use before. “Miss Harrington and May no longer need your protection, or your interference.”

They continued down the hallway toward the foyer, and Felicity hurried after them, afraid that Rafe might actually kill the earl. Deerhurst clawed at Rafe’s iron grip, making angry, choked noises that might have been curses, but with Rafe keeping him off balance he could do little else.

“The Harringtons apparently consider you a friend,” Rafe went on in the same level voice. “If you wish to continue to call on them, you will do so in a proper, respectful manner, as befits a guest. Beeks!”

Without a word the butler stepped around the two men to yank open the front door.

“Otherwise,” Rafe continued, “your attentions are no longer welcome. Miss Harrington has agreed to be
my
wife.” With that he released his grip on the earl’s throat. “Is that clear?” he asked in an even quieter voice.

The earl stumbled backward, colliding with the closed half of the door. “I am a member of the House of Lords,” he snarled, red-faced. “I will
not
be treated in this manner.”

“Is that clear?” Rafe repeated coldly.

The earl slipped sideways toward the open doorway. “Felicity, is this true? You’re actually going to
marry
this…man?”

Felicity managed a nod. “Yes.” Even so, she didn’t want to make an enemy of James. She’d known him forever, and he had even offered to
marry her. “James, please understand—”

“Is…is he forcing you to—”

“Get out of my house,” Rafe growled, moving forward.

Felicity grabbed him by the arm before he could throttle the earl again. “I think you should go, James,” she said urgently. She’d try to explain later, once things had calmed down a little.

“Now,” Rafe seconded, his eyes never leaving the earl’s face.

With another sputtered curse, Deerhurst backed out the front door. As soon as he was clear, Beeks slammed it firmly shut.

“Will there be anything else, Master Rafael?” the butler asked calmly.

“No. That should do it.”

“Rafe?” Felicity looked up at him. His anger at Robert Fields had been nothing compared to this.

He shook himself and turned to face her. “Damned fop.”

May put her hands to her own throat, her eyes wide with apprehensive excitement. “Oh, my.”

“My apologies, May,” he muttered. “I got a bit upset.”

“It was magnificent. Which number to kill a man was that?”

“Thirteen,” he said shortly.

“May, give us a moment, will you?”

Beeks moved forward again. “Come, Miss May, if you please. I believe the gentlemen outside will be looking for their afternoon refreshment.”

After they left, Felicity took a short breath. “Lord Deerhurst is going to be your neighbor now,” she said quietly. “You haven’t made a friend.”

“I should hope not.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “It felt very satisfying, though.”

“You’ve been wanting to hit him since the first day you met him.”

“Yes, I have. But that’s not why I booted him out of our house.”

Our house
. She liked the sound of that. “Why, then?”

He narrowed his eyes, looking back toward the door as though he wished Deerhurst had stayed for more mistreatment. “That’s the second time he’s suggested I might hurt you or May.” Rafe returned his gaze to her. “And I would never—
never
—hurt either one of you, damnit.”

“I know that.”

“He’d best figure it out, as well.”

“Rafe, are you certain you—”

He cut her off with a kiss. “Don’t. Just tell me what day you’d like to marry—but make it soon.”

“I have no one to inform,” she said, “but what about your family? Your father will certainly want to know.”

His expression became grim for a moment. “I’ll marry whom I choose, Lis. He can come congratulate us once Forton Hall is repaired.”

“You mean he’ll object, so you don’t want to tell them.”

Rafe shrugged. “It’s something of a tradition in my family, anyway. So what day do you prefer?”

She blushed. He truly meant to marry her. And as soon as they were married, being intimate would not only be acceptable, it would be her wifely duty. “Tomorrow?” she whispered. “No, that’s too quickly.”

He smiled softly. “They’ll have to read the banns in church over the next three Sundays. I’m afraid I didn’t have the foresight to procure a special marriage license before I came to Cheshire.”

She put a hand on his injured arm. “Publishing
the banns is a tradition here, anyway.”

“What about the afternoon of the third Sunday, then?”

It seemed like forever. “Yes,” she whispered, and kissed him again.

The Earl of Deerhurst stalked back and forth across his library floor. That damned coward had nearly strangled him. He needed to be dealt with. He might be a highborn, bloody Bancroft, but this far from London and Staffordshire, the name didn’t carry that much weight.

He had at least three weeks to make his move. Though publishing the banns was disdained by the
ton
, it was popular in Cheshire. And as well liked as Bancroft seemed intent on becoming, he would no doubt go that route.

James paused by the bay window that looked out over his garden. If he’d ever had any second thoughts about killing Bancroft to keep the bastard from finding out he also owned Deerhurst, he didn’t any longer. He’d be tempted even if he didn’t have anything to gain from it. But now it had to be done soon. If Bancroft died after the wedding, Felicity would be in deep mourning for six months, and Deerhurst didn’t want to give her that much time to make an escape. He wanted her, along with what already belonged to him. He’d bloody well worked hard enough for it.

Little May was an annoyance, too. He sighed. Well, there was always boarding school, if she didn’t accidentally expire along with Bancroft. Slowly James smiled. He’d have to mention that tonight to the men he’d sent to work for Bancroft. That would be lovely—but whatever else happened, Rafael Bancroft was going to die. And the sooner, the better.

Felicity woke up. She sat straight up in bed, blankets flying and her heart pounding. Outside everything was dark and quiet, except for the crickets and the frogs by the pond. Inside her head, though, everything was in an uproar. She knew it had been too good to be true, and too good to last.

She flung off her covers, pulled her old dressing robe on over her nightgown, opened her door, and headed down the hall. She stopped at the corner room and rapped on the door, then pushed it open without waiting for an answer.

Rafe sat up in bed, his hair tousled. “What is it?” he asked, the covers sliding down his bare chest to his waist.

That shook her resolve a little. Good Lord, he was beautiful. She took a breath. “Why do you want to marry me?” she demanded, closing his door and folding her arms across her chest.

“What?” he repeated more sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Felicity, it’s…it’s too damned dark to see the clock.”

Rafe evidently was not a morning person. Trying to steady herself from the frantic nightmare that had awakened her, and from the rousing sight of a very attractive half-naked man sitting in bed, she walked over to light the candle on the bed stand. “There. It’s three o’clock in the morning. Feel better?”

He studied her face in the flickering yellow light. “You’re shaking,” he said. “Come sit down.” Sitting back against the headboard, the covers lowering even more provocatively, he reached for her hand and tugged her down to sit beside him.

“I had a dream,” she said.

“Tell me.” Softly he stroked his fingers through her long, loose hair.

“Nigel came back.”

He was silent for a moment. “And?”

“And he offered to sail with you to China, and you jumped up on Aristotle and rode off with him so fast you didn’t even take your coat.” A tear ran down her cheek at the memory. “And May stood there waving, and you said you’d send her a doll.”

“It was just a dream, Lis.” His strong, warm arms slipped around her and pulled her back to lean against his side.

“I know.” Another tear followed the first. “But it’s happened before.”

“You’ve been married before?”

“Oh, hush. You know what I mean. Nigel, my father, they were full of such grand ideas.”

Putting his hand on her shoulder, he turned her slowly to face him. “I’m not Nigel, and I’m damned well not your father,” he said, meeting her gaze.

She laid her head against his shoulder. “I know, I know. But I also know how much you want to travel and see exciting places, and I know that hasn’t just gone away.”

“You’re exciting,” he murmured. “What do you want me to tell you, Lis? I love you. This is a new experience for me.”

“Just tell me everything will be all right, and I don’t need to worry anymore.”

To her surprise, he chuckled. “Good God, I’ve never had anyone rely on me for anything before, either.” Rafe wrapped his arms around her again and held her close. “Everything
will
be all right, Lis. You don’t need to worry anymore,” he whispered into her hair.

“Are you sure?” she asked, relaxing against him. She couldn’t imagine sitting like this with James and telling him of her nightmares. Rafe was
so easy to talk to—he had been, from the moment they’d met. Fleetingly she wondered if that was when she’d fallen in love with him.

He laughed again, softly. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll worry enough for all of us. Are you still marrying me?”

Felicity turned and kissed the line of his jaw. “Yes.”

“Will you stay with me for the rest of the night?”

Slowly and reluctantly she pulled away from him. “No. It’s only three weeks, Rafe.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

She laughed. “No, it’s not.”

With a last kiss, she returned to her bedchamber and climbed back under the covers. She still had questions, of course, and she might still worry. But she knew one thing. He loved her.

“Master Rafael,” Beeks said in a low, urgent voice, “I must repeat my suggestion that you inform the duke and duchess of your intention to wed Miss Harrington.”

Rafe glanced at the butler and then resumed sawing. “An unsolicited opinion, Beeks? What would His Grace say?”

“That is precisely what worries me, sir.”

“If you’re concerned they’ll cut me off, don’t worry. His Grace isn’t likely to leave me anything, anyway. Hold that end of the board, will you?”

Beeks grabbed the free end of the board. “Actually, sir, it is more
my
continued employment I am concerned about.”

With a stifled chuckle Rafe wiped sweat from his forehead and went back to sizing boards for stable stalls. “I already told you there’s a position
for you here. And I believe you have a standing offer of employment from Quin.”

The butler cleared his throat. “As comforting as that is, I am rather accustomed to my position at Bancroft House.”

With a last pull on the saw, the board parted, and Rafe tossed the longer section onto the growing stack beside him. “No worries, then. I’ll be sure to tell my parents of your strenuous objections.”

Beeks threw the leftover piece of board aside. “Don’t misunderstand me, Master Rafael. My objection is only to the route you are taking. Not to the match.”

Rafe straightened. “By God, Beeks, you surprise me again. Thank you.” He’d actually begun to feel he was making the right decision. And Beeks’s additional support at least indicated that he hadn’t gone completely insane.

“Very good.” With a rare half smile the butler turned on his heel.

“Beeks?”

“Yes, sir?”

“How handy are you with a hammer?”

The butler sighed and stopped his retreat. “Proficient enough, I suppose. What of my household duties?”

Rafe grinned. “That reminds me—before you join the construction crew, we need to take care of something. As I’ll be staying at Forton, I think it’s time I had an actual household staff.”

“An excellent idea, sir.”

“I would appreciate if you would hire a maid for Felicity and May, a groom, and a downstairs maid. At a reasonable rate of pay.” He hated adding that last part, but his debt to Quin already reached well into the thousands. And until Forton
actually began making money, things would only get worse.

A gleam of anticipation entered the butler’s normally impassive expression. “I shall see to it at once, Master Rafael. Might I suggest a replacement for Ronald, as well?”

“No, you may not. Don’t be such a snob, Beeks.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the butler departed, Rafe took a moment to stretch his back and look over the work they’d accomplished so far. The outside of the stable was nearly completed, lacking only doors and a few coats of paint. Inside, half the stalls and the loft were finished. All it needed was hay and horses.

He leaned back against the pile of bricks he’d been using as a worktable. Time and necessity had stripped Forton well past the bare essentials needed to run an estate. Providing enough to enable it to function again was expensive, tiring, frightening, and confusing—especially when he’d never had any experience remotely similar. And even with all the components in place, he still had a better chance for bankruptcy than turning a profit.

Even so, he couldn’t deny that the new stable looked good: practical, efficient, and even picturesque. And he’d designed it. He’d planned it, and built it. It belonged to him, perhaps more than anything else he’d ever done or owned.