Taming Rafe (26 page)

“It’s beautiful.”

He grinned and turned around. “You think so?”

Felicity stopped beside him. “Compared to what used to stand there, it’s the Aphrodite of stables.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He swept a bow.

The idea of marrying had also begun to sit much more easily, especially after she’d stormed into his bedchamber the night before last. Felicity would
belong to him, too, even more than Forton—though it seemed more accurate to say that he was earning the opportunity to hang about Forton and stay in her life. That wasn’t so bad, either.

“If we can finish the stalls today, I think we can begin on your west wing tomorrow.”

“
Your
west wing, Rafe. Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

She glanced around them, and then stepped closer. “You said you wouldn’t let Deerhurst buy me for the price of Forton,” she explained, lowering her voice. “Is that what you think you’ve done?”

“No,” he retorted, though he wasn’t all that certain he’d answered truthfully. He couldn’t seem to think of one without the other. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Just wait until I ask you to join May and me on our expedition to the Arctic.”

Her expression tensed, and then she smiled. “At least plan it for the summer, won’t you?”

“Of course.” He studied her face for a moment. “Now, what were you
going
to say, Lis?”

“Nothing. I don’t—”

“None of that.”

She made a face at him. “I was just going to say that we won’t be able to afford a journey to the Arctic, but then I decided I didn’t need to beat you over the head with the obvious.”

So she was worried, too, over whether he would stay. Somehow he found that reassuring. “Better the obvious than a tea kettle, my practical one.” In truth, though, they hurt about the same. He didn’t need to be reminded of what he was giving up, or of what he was getting himself into. He’d never been much of a worrier—but he was beginning to appreciate the finer points.

Some of his reservations must have shown on
his face, because she suddenly leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Rafael,” she whispered, blushing.

“Who would have thought,” he said slowly, swinging her hand in his, “that wagering at Jezebel’s Harem would have led me to you?”

“Would you have wagered if you had known?”

He wondered if he should mention that he’d been helping the odds a little that night, but decided it wouldn’t be very wise. “Yes.” Rafe straightened. “Will you look at the new floor plan with me one more time? It’s your last chance to change the size of the library.”

“I only suggested enlarging it that one time,” she protested.

He held up three fingers and cleared his throat.

Lis batted his hand away. “I like books.”

“Well, you’ll have a great deal of space for a collection, now.”

“
You’re
putting in a billiards room.”

“I like billiards. And May said she does, as well.”

Felicity laughed. “She’s never played billiards.”

At least she was smiling again. “That does explain her thinking it had something to do with running.”

Beeks emerged from the kitchen again, the mail salver in his hand. “You have a visitor, Master Rafael,” he announced.

Rafe lifted the calling card off the tray. “John Gibbs,” he read, and glanced at Felicity. “My solicitor.”

“What could it be?”

He shrugged. “I suppose he wants to know why I didn’t tell him to stop advertising Forton for sale. I’d best take care of that. Excuse me for a moment.”

John Gibbs sat at one end of the morning room couch, a satchel across his knees. As soon as Rafe entered the room he stood, dropped his satchel, and bent to pick it up again.

“Good afternoon, Gibbs,” Rafe said, shaking the younger man’s hand.

“Mr. Bancroft. I…I apologize for barging in on you like this, but I know you’ve been quite busy.”

Rafe motioned him back into his seat. “I’m glad you came by. I need to discuss something with you.”

“I also have something rather interesting to impart.”

That sounded intriguing, but first things first. “I have decided to remain at Forton Hall.”

The solicitor nodded. “I thought that might be the case, sir.”

“Oh, really? Elaborate, please.”

Gibbs shifted again. “Well, I was purchasing a ledger book at Mrs. Denwortle’s establishment, and I…happened to overhear her, ah, discussing your upcoming marriage to Miss Harrington. And a visit by the Duke of Highbarrow to give his blessing to the match.”

That couldn’t be much farther from the truth. He’d have to make another visit and continue the confusion. “Mrs. Denwortle does save one the trouble of writing letters, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, Gibbs, I would appreciate if you would arrange to cancel all advertisements regarding the sale of the estate.”

The solicitor nodded. “And may I be among the first to wish you and Miss Harrington well, Mr. Bancroft?”

“Thank you.” Rafe sat back. “Now, what was
the ‘interesting’ matter you mentioned?”

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Gibbs shuffled through the satchel on his lap, and finally extracted a piece of paper. “During my search for a buyer for Forton Hall, I wrote Mr. Harrington’s old solicitor in London. Thomas Metcalfe was forced to resign his position some dozen years ago because the Harringtons could no longer afford his services, but he apparently harbored some affection for young Miss Harrington.”

“Then he has good taste,” Rafe commented with a slight smile.

“Yes, sir. In response to my inquiry regarding any possible historic significance for Forton, he—”

“‘Historic significance’?” Rafe repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

“I’d hoped to find something to increase the value of the estate. Unfortunately, other than the advanced age of its former west wing, Forton Hall has very little to recommend it to posterity.”

“What a surprise.”

The solicitor looked at him as though he wasn’t certain whether Rafe was jesting, or not. “At any rate,” he resumed after a moment, “Mr. Metcalfe did have some information about a loan,” and he lifted the piece of paper to read it, “‘of an undisclosed amount made by Harrington to Robert Burlough, the Earl of Deerhurst.’” He looked up.

“Harrington lent
Deerhurst
blunt?”

“The present earl’s father. Yes, apparently so. Mr. Metcalfe claims not to know any of the particulars, and evidently only mentioned it in his letter because it quite annoyed him at the time.”

“But he doesn’t say when or how much or whether it was ever repaid?”

Gibbs scanned the missive again. “No, sir.”

Rafe sighed. “Hm. Interesting, yes. Helpful, no.”

“I’d be happy to do a bit more investigating, if you’d like.”

“As part of your retainer, or would there be an additional fee involved?”

The solicitor actually grinned. “If I find something, we can discuss an additional fee.”

“Fair enough.”

“A
loan?” Felicity repeated, frowning. “I’ve never heard of any such thing.”

May swung her legs energetically back and forth under the dining room table. “I haven’t, either.”

Rafe finished his mouthful of ham and grinned at her. “It would have been before you were born, midget.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, whenever it supposedly took place,” Felicity resumed, with a fond look at the two of them. For someone who’d never spent time around children, Rafe had slipped effortlessly into his dual role of older brother and surrogate father. She wondered if he even realized what a handful most people found May to be.

“Why not?”

“As a child I remember servants and horses and house parties here at Forton, so we did have money once, but Deerhurst has always been that way, too. Even if my father had the money to lend, I can’t conceive that the earl would ever have needed it.”

“This Metcalfe fellow seemed certain of it, even if he didn’t know any of the details.”

“Mr. Metcalfe must be a very old man by now. Perhaps he’s confusing my father with someone else.”

Rafe shrugged. “Perhaps. Wouldn’t it be nice,
though, to discover that Deerhurst owed you a few hundred quid?”

“A few hundred quid would be exceptionally nice, but dreaming about an unexpected fortune won’t make it happen. James has offered me money innumerable times. I’m certain he would have repaid any outstanding loans.”

From Rafe’s skeptical expression he didn’t agree with her, but he apparently realized that he wasn’t going to change her mind, either. He shrugged and pushed away from the table.

“Forgive me for not seconding your sterling characterization of his lordship.”

“Me, too.”

He winked at May. “Gibbs has volunteered to look further for any records. Your father might have lent someone money, even if it wasn’t Deerhurst. Wishful thinking or not, we could use the blunt.”

She watched as he pulled on the coat he’d left hanging across the back of his chair. He was dressed to go out, she realized. Curiosity blazed through her, but even as she opened her mouth to ask where in the world he might be going after dark in tame old east Cheshire, she stopped the question. He’d been devoting nearly every waking hour to Forton Hall. She had no right to demand to know his whereabouts every given moment.

“Lucifer’s big bottom, Rafe, where are you going?”

Thank goodness for inquisitive younger siblings. “May, that’s none of our affair,” she chastised for show.

“Greetham and some of his cronies are going down to the Childe of Hale. Not exactly White’s, but I haven’t smoked a cigar or played hazard in awhile. Don’t want to get rusty, you know. It’ll
ruin my chances of winning other estates and valuable properties.”

The color drained from Felicity’s face. “You’re going wagering?” she asked, more sharply than she intended.

His surprised gaze touched hers. “For a bit. I won’t be too late.” Rafe continued to look at her when she didn’t respond. “What is it, Lis?”

With effort she returned her attention to her nearly empty plate. “Nothing, of course.”

“She doesn’t like wagering,” May supplied in her usual matter-of-fact tone.

Rafe sat at the table again. “No?” he asked, his attention still on Felicity. “Do tell.”

She could feel his cool gaze on her, even with her eyes lowered. “I never said any such thing.”

“Yes, you did. After Nigel lost your mare, you said if you ever found out he’d been wagering again, you’d break his head.”

“Well,” Rafe said quietly, “I’m sure Lis remembers that I’m not Nigel, and that I would never be so careless as to wager more than I could afford to lose.”

Torn between saying that she trusted him and pointing out that he couldn’t afford to lose anything, Felicity bit her tongue and nodded. “Of course not.”

Rafe blew out his breath and stood. “I won’t be long,” he said, and left the room. A moment later the main door opened and closed.

“You made him mad,” May complained.

“
I
didn’t say anything.
You
made him mad.”

“I was only telling him what you said.”

“Well, May,” Felicity returned, dropping her napkin onto the table and standing, “you don’t always need to repeat everything you hear. Don’t be such a parrot, for heaven’s sake.”

“I am not a parrot!” May yelled, but Felicity left her sister in the dining room. “Felicity, you’re mean!”

“Wonderful,” she muttered, speeding her escape down the hall toward the foyer and the stairs. “Now everyone’s angry with me.”

All she wanted was a little peace and quiet. After five years of growing silence, having three servants now—four, counting the groom Beeks had hired that morning—made the Hall astoundingly loud. She wasn’t used to it any longer: polite nods and not having to cook, fires and lamps lit in her bedchamber when she retired for the evening. It was too perfect, too wonderful, and something would happen to make it all go away again. And she would probably be the one to ruin it, because she couldn’t relax and trust.

She entered the foyer and bumped into Rafe coming back into the house. “Oh! I’m sorry!”

He caught her arms, pulling her up against his chest while she regained her balance. As soon as she had her feet under her, Rafe tilted her chin up and closed his mouth over hers. Her pulse skittering, she wrapped her hands into his lapels and kissed him back.

A moment later he lifted his head to look at her. “I am not Nigel,” he said fiercely.

She shook her head. “Nigel wouldn’t have come back.” Felicity leaned against his strong body to kiss him again. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I just worry, sometimes.”

“You worry all the time,” he amended, and to her great relief, smiled. “What say I teach you and May to play hazard? Beeks can make us a foursome.”

“What about Mr. Greetham and the Childe of Hale?”

“You smell better,” he said, dipping his head to run his lips along her shoulders and her neck. “And I find you infinitely more appealing.”

Trembling, she brushed her fingers along his scarred cheek. “I’m not trying to keep you prisoner here.”

Rafe intercepted her hand and led her back toward the dining room. “The damned inn isn’t going anywhere. And neither am I.”

Still, Felicity watched him all evening, looking for any sign of restlessness or regret. Forton Hall was still new to him, but she had to wonder how he would feel about being in Cheshire a year from now, or two years from now. For a man who’d spent most of his adult life traveling, staying in one place had to be difficult. And that was assuming he was comfortable with the choice he’d made.

In the morning Rafe rose early to ride Aristotle around the perimeter of Forton land, as he’d done for the past week or so. Felicity watched for him, sitting at her dressing table and gazing out the window. He seemed so much a part of this place, and she hoped he felt it, as well. He’d put part of himself into Forton, as she had.

When he and Aristotle cantered back into the stable yard, Felicity smiled helplessly. She loved May dearly, but nothing made her heart so glad as Rafael Bancroft. Even though he’d ruined her friendship with the Earl of Deerhurst, at least temporarily, she couldn’t muster much concern over it. James was generally an understanding man, and she hoped that eventually she’d be able to make amends. But if she couldn’t, that was all right, too. She could never condone the unkind things he’d said to Rafael.

May emerged from the kitchen with an apple for Aristotle, and at some secret twitch of the reins
both Rafe and the gelding bowed to her. She laughed and curtsied back, and Felicity chuckled. They certainly had the makings of an odd little household. As Rafe dismounted and handed Aristotle over to Tom Milton’s care, wagons began rolling noisily up the rutted drive. A completely different kind of excitement touched her. Today, work on the west wing would begin. Soon her home would be a home again.

Rafe caught sight of Felicity watching him out her window, but he pretended not to notice. The first morning he’d bathed beneath the water pump he’d noticed her interest; but since he liked it when she looked at him, he’d said nothing. No sense spoiling a good thing.

He and May had a quick breakfast, then he went out to begin erecting the skeleton of the west wing. By now his crew seemed to consider him just another worker, for the amount of cursing and lewd jests had increased daily, until he could almost think he was back in the army again. Later in the morning Beeks and Ronald carried chairs outside into the shade, and Felicity and May emerged from the house.

Rafe strolled over. “Good morning, ladies.”

“Good morning,” Felicity returned. “The day looked so pleasant, we decided to do May’s lessons outside.”

“Or I can help, if you need me,” May put in hopefully.

“I’m sure I will,” he said dutifully. “I have Beeks held in reserve, as well.”

“Will it look the same as it did before?”

Rafe glanced back at the bare beginnings of a shape. “From the outside, as nearly as possible. The old wing suited the surroundings as well as the
east wing does.” He’d noticed that as he’d begun sketching various layouts for the replacement wing.

He’d dug up old drawings to work from and had made numerous changes to the interior, including Felicity’s gargantuan library. The exterior design, however, continued to revert to something so similar to the original that after a few days of frustration, he simply gave up trying to alter it. Whoever had originally built Forton had felt genuine affection both for the countryside and for the site of the Hall.

Whether they truly intended to work on May’s lessons or were merely looking for an excuse to be outside and watch the proceedings, by noon both May and Felicity were carrying boards and hammering. Felicity seemed fascinated by the whole process, and Rafe was more than happy to answer her multitude of questions about crossbeams and supports and how to keep the wing from collapsing as it had before.

By afternoon, Beeks and Ronald had been pulled into the chaos, as well. Rafe grinned as he finished securing one of the ground level crossbeams. Hard, hot work or not, this was damned entertaining.

“Ouch! Blast it!”

Rafe whipped around as Felicity jumped back and grabbed her left thumb. Immediately half the workers swarmed around her, all curses forgotten, as they clamored to lend advice and assistance. Rafe pushed through the noisy gaggle to reach her side.

“You all right, Lis?”

She scrunched her eyes shut, pained tears squeezing past her long, dark lashes. “I’m fine. I just hammered my thumb.”

May patted her arm. “You can cry, Lis. Ronald did, when he hammered his thumb.”

“Ye need to wrap it in a damp compress, miss, to stop the swelling,” one of the crew offered, the rest of them echoing the advice like a flock of parrots.

“Let me take a look at it,” Rafe said with a faint grin, taking her wrist and pulling her away from the crowd and around the corner of the house.

She reluctantly released the grip on her flattened thumb and held it out to him. “It’s not broken, I’m sure.”

“Let me see about that.” Rafe gently examined the appendage. It was red and hot to the touch, and the skin on her knuckle was scraped and bruised. “Does it hurt to bend it?” he asked, glancing up at her face.

She flinched. “No.”

Still holding her gaze, Rafe lifted her hand and slipped her thumb into his mouth.

“Rafe…” she began to protest, then stopped. “This is not what they meant by a damp compress.”

He continued suckling her thumb. Though he’d seen his share of smashed fingers, he’d never been remotely tempted to perform such a service before. Then again, he’d never had the urge to lie down in the sweet grass with one of his fellow workers to run his hands over her body before, either.

Felicity licked her lips. “Stop that,” she finally whispered, though she made no move to pull away. “It makes me want to…”

Slowly he removed her thumb from between his lips. “Makes you want to what?” he asked, still tenderly rubbing it.

She flushed. “To throw myself on you and kiss you all over.”

Thank God it wasn’t just him. “I am at your mercy.”

“Not here,” she protested.

“Ah. And is kissing all you wish to do?”

“You know it’s not.” She ran her fingers along the collar of his shirt. “You make me feel so…shivery.”

Rafe chuckled. “I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever received. You do the same thing to me.”

She leaned closer, passion and amusement dancing in her eyes. “Do I, Rafael?”

He sighed. Sometimes, just looking at her was enough. “Yes, you do.”

Feather-light, she touched her lips to his. “Good.”

Before he could slip his arms around her and pull her to him, she danced away and vanished around the corner. Rafe looked after her for a long moment. “Good Lord,” he muttered, trying to slow the pounding of his heart. If Lis ever regained her senses and decided she didn’t want him, God help them both.

“I think we’ll have it finished in a week!” May announced. She leaned her elbows on the edge of the building plans to examine the sketches.

“I appreciate your confidence, midget, but it will take a bit longer than that.” Rafe continued making notations along one side of the drawing, keeping painstaking track of the supplies they’d used so far. Even with the mishaps they’d encountered while erecting the stable, they were still within the budget he and Felicity had estimated.

“Lis, look!” May pointed at the drawing. “I helped hammer that board right there!”

Chuckling, Felicity set aside her mending and rose. “Oh, yes. I recognize it.” She indicated an
other section. “And this is where I smashed my thumb.”

“We’ll install a plaque on the wall to commemorate your battle wound.” Rafe ran his finger over her thumb. The knuckle was still red and bruised, but the swelling had gone down substantially—unlike his own desire for the blasted practical chit.

“Did you get a plaque?”

For a moment he didn’t know what May was talking about, until she reached over to touch his scarred cheek. He waited for the sensation of discomfort and uneasiness to creep up his spine in response. When it didn’t, he shook his head. “I got a shiny new medal instead.”