Taming Rafe (29 page)

In a flash he was on her, slapping her hard across the face and knocking her to the floor. “Naughty, naughty,” he said with a leering grin, and knelt beside her.

Something very loud and very heavy crashed to the floor upstairs. Deerhurst jumped, and Felicity used the moment to scramble to the other side of the table. Eyeing him warily, she seated herself again.

The earl gazed at her. “Fitzroy!” he called.

“My lord?” the butler answered, appearing in the doorway a moment later.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know, my lord. I’ve sent Peters to see to it.”

“Have him make certain little May is still secure.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Deerhurst resumed his seat, as well. “So now you wish to behave?”

“I wish to kill you,” she said flatly. “But I will behave.”

“But perhaps I shall not.”

Another crash, louder than the first, echoed through the upper rooms of the manor.

“Fitzroy!”

The butler reappeared. “I know, my lord. We are investigating.”

“Do it at once.”

Felicity listened. One crash she could call an accident. A second disturbance, in a completely different location from the first, was something to pay attention to.

“Now. Where were we?” The earl rose and moved around the table to take the seat beside her. “I feel like celebrating tonight,” he murmured, running his fingers down her sleeve. “And you are my prize, after all.”

Talking she could tolerate—barely—but being touched by him made her skin crawl. Only Rafe was allowed to touch her. Felicity balled her fist and hit him as hard as she could in the face.

He reeled backward, and then grabbed her and pulled her up against his wine-soaked chest. Before she could gasp, he met her mouth with a hard, wet, kiss.

“You bastard!” she hissed, trying to hit him again.

He yanked her hands behind her back and kissed her again, his tongue plying at her lips.

Deerhurst’s prized grandfather clock tumbled down the stairs and landed with a clanging, off-key thud just outside the dining room door.

“Fitzroy!” he yelled. “What in damnation is going on?”

There was no answer.

“Fitzroy! Peters!”

His voice echoed hollowly through the quiet house, and a burst of impossible hope touched Felicity’s heart. May was too small to dislodge something so big, and she knew few people who could be so very aggravating.

“Vincent!”

Felicity jumped as the hulking footman materialized in the doorway. “My lord?”

“Go put a stop to that!”

“With pleasure.” The servant vanished again.

“At this rate, my lord,” Felicity said, grim humor touching her voice, “you’ll be out of servants by midnight. Except we won’t know when that is now, will we?” She gestured at the heap of wrecked clock.

With an inarticulate growl, Deerhurst hauled her over to the doorway. “Then let’s go see for ourselves,” he muttered. Pushing her up against the wall, he yanked open a cabinet drawer and removed a pistol. Taking her arm again, he half dragged her toward the stairs. “And then we will celebrate our betrothal. I want to feel your hands on me.”

“They’ll be right around your neck,” she returned, fighting against him and nearly going over the railing.

“Stop that,” he ordered, shaking her. “You need to learn some manners.”

“You’d best put down that pistol, my lord,” she said in a carrying voice, trying to ignore what he was saying to her. And to think she’d imagined Rafe to be the mad one when they’d first met.

All the lamps upstairs had been put out, and only pale pools of moonlight illuminated the long, dark stretches of hallway. Vincent, a darker shadow in the gloom, glided forward a few yards in front of them.

“Check on the girl,” Deerhurst snapped. His fingers tightened around her arm, and he kept her close beside him.

The footman slipped through one of the doors to the right, then emerged again a moment later. “The
girl’s gone. Peters’s in there, out cold.”

Felicity sagged with relief. Whomever their guardian angel was, May had escaped. “You’d best let me go,” she said, tugging against the earl’s bruising grip. “They’ll be fetching the constable by now.”

A door slammed shut behind them. Felicity gasped, and Deerhurst whipped around, his pistol raised. The hallway remained empty and dark. “Vincent,” he ordered, “find whoever is in my house and kill him.”

“Yes, my lo—”

With a cut-off grunt the footman fell silent. Felicity turned in time to see his legs vanishing through a doorway, and she cupped her free hand over her mouth, torn between surprise, delight, and horror. “Perhaps you have ghosts,” she suggested darkly.

“Shut up,” Deerhurst snapped. “Whoever you are, I have a pistol aimed at Miss Harrington’s head. Show yourself!”

“Don’t do it!” Felicity countered. “Take May and get out!”

The earl cuffed her across the face, and she staggered. “One more word and I’ll send you to join Bancroft,” he snarled.

“That would be fine with me.”

Felicity held her breath as a tall, dark form entered the hallway and stepped forward into the moonlight. “Rafe,” she sobbed, trying to pull free and go to him. “Rafe!”

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Now I am. May?”

“Fine. Just remember to watch your step around here.”

“You’re dead,” Deerhurst said wildly, his face white.

She was being warned about something. “I will.”

“
You’re dead!
” the earl repeated, and fired his pistol.

Felicity screamed. Rafe dove to the floor. She didn’t know whether Deerhurst had hit him or not, and she swung out wildly. Her blow connected, and with a grunt Deerhurst loosened his grip. She wrenched free and ran.

With a roar the earl took off after her. “Damn you!”

“Lis, jump!”

Dimly she saw a rope stretched low across the hallway. Without thinking, Felicity sprang over it. Behind her the earl tripped, pulling a hallway table laden with porcelain figurines down on top of himself.

Rafe jerked her through a doorway. She tripped over something in the dark, and he shoved her toward a chair. She fell into it heavily as the earl reached the entry and stumbled into the room.

No one stopped his fall, and he landed hard on his knees. In a heartbeat Rafe was on him, slamming Deerhurst’s head against the floor. The earl managed to throw him off, and they tumbled against a bookcase.

“Lis, get out!” Rafe rasped, rolling sideways.

He was hurt, she realized with horror, and fighting a man who was determined to see him dead. Instead of fleeing, she snatched up one of the fallen books and hurled it at Deerhurst.

It hit him on the thigh and bounced off, but he seemed to have forgotten her completely as he went after Rafe again. Seeing her chance, she grabbed another book and edged forward. Rafe saw her and frowned, but she lifted the book over her head and slammed it down.

Her feet jerked out from under her. Instead of braining the earl, her blow merely clipped his shoulder. Felicity hit the floor hard.

The grip on her ankle tightened and dragged her backward, out of reach of Deerhurst. She twisted as Vincent grabbed for her arm, and she gasped and wrenched sideways, swiping the book at his head. It caught him on the temple, and he half fell across her legs. “Damn,” he grunted. “You bloody—”

She whacked him again. The footman grabbed her wrist, sending the book flying as he clawed his way up her body. Kicking and punching, she tried to squirm free of him, but he was too blasted strong. And then it would be the two men against Rafe, and he wouldn’t have a chance, and James really would kill him.

“Let go!” she shrieked, kicking him as hard as she could with both feet. She must have hit a tender spot, because he gasped and doubled over.

Moving fast, Felicity scrambled away from him. At the last moment he tangled his hand into her skirt and pulled her down again. Then with a sudden hard jerk, he subsided.

Felicity sat up. May stood over the collapsed footman, the discarded book in her hands. As she saw Felicity, she dropped it and threw herself forward.

“Felicity, I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she cried, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister’s neck.

“It’s all right, May,” Felicity managed shakily. “Watch that one,” she instructed, gesturing at Vincent and putting the book back into her sister’s hands. “If he moves at all, hit him again. I have to help Rafe.”

“I’ll hit him hard,” May said grimly, nodding.

The earl had her love down on the floor and
punched into the back of his shoulder. Rafe gasped, convulsing in pain, and Deerhurst did it again.

“No!” she shrieked, and flung herself forward. Grabbing the earl by the hair, she yanked him backward, all her fury and weight behind her. Cursing, he grabbed for her, but she kept her hold. “You leave him alone!”

“You’ll pay for this!” he snarled, swiping at her again, but then Rafe was there, slamming his fist full into Deerhurst’s face.

She let go as he flung his right arm hard around the earl’s throat. “You will
never
hurt my family again,” he grunted, tightening his grip with each word.

Deerhurst flailed wildly, trying to break Rafe’s grip. His blue eyes rolled into the back of his head as Rafe choked the air out of him. Suddenly Felicity remembered that Rafe knew nothing about why Deerhurst had tried to kill him—and he needed to hear it from the source, or she would have no proof at all.

“Rafe, stop!”

He glanced up at her, black fury in his eyes. “No.”

“I won’t be the reason he dies,” she said as calmly and clearly as she could. “We know enough to see him in prison for life.”

“Lis—”

“Please, Rafe.”

He looked at her for the space of several heartbeats, then let go. The earl slumped to the floor, gasping weakly for breath. Worried that one or the other of them would pass out, she yanked the earl’s hair again.

“Get away from me,” he rasped.

“Who owns Deerhurst?” she demanded. She met Rafe’s gaze again, to see the sudden interest
tempering the rage and exhaustion in his eyes. “Who owns Deerhurst?” she repeated, jerking James’s hair again.

“You bloody…whore,” he wheezed. “I’ll kill…you both.”

Rafe leaned stiffly closer. “Answer the damned question.”

“No!”

“Lis?”

She let James go, and his head thunked back to the carpet. “I think you own it, Rafe. I think Nigel did, and now you do. That’s why he wanted you dead.”

“Master Rafael!”

“We’re up here, Beeks!” May yelled, still holding her book menacingly over the prone Vincent.

“Thank God,” Rafe muttered, holding her gaze. “I didn’t leave you, Lis.” He swayed. “I never would.”

“I love you,” she whispered, but she wasn’t certain he heard her as his eyes closed and he collapsed into her arms. She looked up as Beeks and Mr. Greetham burst into the room and tripped over the rope Rafe had placed there. “My adventurer.”

Rafe opened his eyes. Sunlight flooded into his bedchamber through half-open curtains, and outside the rattle of construction had already begun.

He started to stretch, then stopped when the movement pulled his shoulder. With a slight smile, he relaxed again. Since he’d arrived there, he’d never simply listened to the sounds of Forton Hall. It sounded surprisingly like home.

Someone stirred beside him. Startled, he turned his head. With one hand twisted into his nightshirt, Felicity slept beside him. She looked as tired as he still felt, but he couldn’t help reaching over to
stroke his finger along the smooth skin of her cheek.

Her eyelids fluttered and opened. For a moment she gazed at him sleepily, then she sat up with a start. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”

He chuckled. “Good morning.” She still wore the blue gown he’d seen her in yesterday, now garnished with a ripped sleeve and missing three buttons. “You’ve been here all night.”

Felicity nodded. “I couldn’t leave. How does your shoulder feel?”

“It hurts. But I’ve had worse.”

“Rafe? I’ve been thinking.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said dubiously. Good Lord, he just wanted to lie here with her and hold her forever. If only she would let him. “Thinking about what?”

“About Forton Hall.”

He should have let Gillingham burn the damned place down. Being jealous of a building was something he’d never even imagined, and he had no idea how to deal with it. “And?”

She ran her fingers across his chest, under his nightshirt. “And…I think you should sell it. If you want to.”

Rafe blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“I know you’ve been doing all of these repairs for me and for May,” she blurted. “But I…I thought I lost you last night, Rafe.”

He clasped her hand over his heart. “You didn’t And sacrificing your home isn’t—”

“No, no. It’s just wood and bricks and glass, for heaven’s sake.” She tightened her grip. “And James would have killed you for the deed.” A tear ran down her cheek. “And you don’t even want to be here.”

Hoping mightily that he wasn’t dreaming, Rafe awkwardly sat up. “Ouch. Damn.”

“Lie down,” she ordered, pushing on his chest.

He caught her hand again, and gripped her fingers tightly. “So if I wanted to go to China, you would go with me?”

Felicity nodded. “If you wanted me to. But if…you don’t want me, you don’t have to worry. My second cousin in York has offered me a position. May and I will have a place to go, so you shouldn’t feel guilty about any of—”

“You’re bloody well not going to York, Felicity,” he snapped, panic rising in his heart at the thought of losing her now. “Is that clear?”

“Rafe—”

“And while we’re at it—”

Beeks scratched at the door, then cautiously stuck his head in. “Ah, you’re awake. You have a caller, Master Rafael. John Gibbs.”

“Now what?” he muttered. “Show him in.”

Felicity tried to scramble off the bed, but when he wouldn’t let go of her hand, she settled for blushing and whacking him across his good shoulder. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“I already did,” he whispered back, grinning.

“Shut up.”

“Twice.”

“Rafe—”

“Mr. Bancroft,” the solicitor said as he entered the room. “And Miss Harrington. Good morning to you both.”