Taming Rafe (4 page)

“Mr. Bancroft!” she interrupted sharply, alarmed at the venom in his voice and the high color flushing his cheeks. “I don’t know what you think is going on, but please desist—”

“I know—no damned cursing!
Sweet Lucifer!
”

May giggled.

He closed his mouth again and eyed her younger sister. Finally he returned his attention to Felicity. “What’s your name?” he asked in a more even tone.

She scowled. “Felicity Harrington.”

“Miss Harrington, will you please look in my left breast pocket? Then everything will be clear.”

“Don’t do it, Lis. It’s a trap.”

“Hush, May.” Nothing this man said made any sense. Looking at him, she also found it impossible to believe that she and May had overpowered him. If he’d wanted to, he could have done her serious injury. Maybe he wasn’t really dangerous. Still…“Don’t you move an inch,” she warned him.

“I won’t.”

Taking a deep breath, her heart thudding again, she reached out. His coat was strapped tightly to his broad chest by the ropes, and she tugged at the lapel to loosen it a little. He flinched as the motion rocked him, but otherwise made no move.

She gave another tug, then slid her hand inside
his coat, feeling for the pocket. His heart under her fingers beat strong and fast, and Felicity hesitated. It was ridiculous, the way she couldn’t breathe, just because she had her hand on a man’s chest. Yes, she was single and nearly twenty-three, but she certainly wasn’t so desperate for a man’s company that she’d prolong touching this particularly handsome, disheveled one—though she couldn’t help thinking about it.

“A little farther, Miss Harrington,” he murmured.

Her eyes snapped to meet his. Some of her confusion must have shown on her face, because his own expression was leaning toward amusement. Collecting herself, she shifted closer and stretched her hand partway under the taut ropes.

“Do you feel it?”

She scowled, flushing. “Feel what, precisely?”

He had the temerity to grin. “A large, thick piece of paper.”

Her fingers touched it. “Yes, I do.”

“Well, pull it out, then,” he said in a low voice, light green eyes holding hers.

Flustered, she yanked. The paper came free, and his head bounced against the floor again. “Got it. And you’re hardly in a position to be flirting, or whatever it was you were doing, sir.”

“Sweet…” he began, wincing again. “Unfold it if you please, Miss Harrington.”

Suspicious, Felicity did as he suggested. She scanned the first paragraph, which was couched in precise, legal terms, and blanched as she realized that it did look and sound very much like the deed to Forton Hall. Quickly she skipped to the bottom of the paper.

“This is not my brother’s signature,” she stated, her voice shaking with relief. Good Lord, for a mo
ment she’d thought Mr. Bancroft might be telling the truth.

“I assure you it is.”

Felicity examined it again. “I might believe it to be a poor forgery,” she conceded.

“Would it help to convince you if I admitted that all parties concerned were at full sail?”

“You see, he is a pirate,” May put in.

“Poor choice of words,” he said hurriedly. “We were inebriated. Extremely inebriated.”

Felicity lowered the parchment. “Well, that explains it, Mr. Bancroft. You were duped by some unscrupulous fellow who knew my brother was in London.”

“I don’t get ‘duped,’” he said flatly.

Abruptly more sympathetic toward her inept would-be attacker, Felicity looked at the parchment again. “I’m certain if you’ve never seen a deed before, it would be difficult to recognize one. This does look somewhat impressive.”

“Thank you for your compassion, Miss Harrington, but I assure you that I have seen deeds before. Dozens of them.”

Poor man, she and May must have hit him too hard, after all. The way the kettle looked, she could only imagine the damage his skull must have sustained. “Of course you have.”

He scowled, opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “Miss Harrington, allow me to inform you that my father is the Duke of Highbarrow,” he finally said. “So yes, I have.”

Felicity looked at May again. If Rafael Bancroft’s confusion was genuine, as good Christians they had an obligation to help him since they had wounded him. After all, he’d gone from grand dreams of owning an estate, to being knocked unconscious by an eight-year-old girl and then learn
ing that he’d been the victim of some scoundrel’s heartless scheme. No wonder he needed to believe himself someone important.

“I have a proposal for you,” she said before her common sense could return, and still not entirely certain whether it was kindness or simple attraction guiding her decision. She did feel mightily attracted.

“You have me captivated.”

She tried to ignore that. “I shall write my brother in London. He will be able to clarify everything. Until then, you…you may remain at Forton Hall—as long as you give your solemn oath to do no harm to May, Forton Hall, or myself.”

Rafael Bancroft closed his eyes as a slight, bemused smile touched his face. “And the alternative?”

“We send for the constable, have you locked up for assault and trespassing, and write the Duke of Highbarrow to see if he’ll come and rescue you.”

The smile faded. “I am in a spot, then, aren’t I?” he said. “All right, Miss Harrington. I agree to your proposal.”

He did have some sense, it seemed. “And?” she prompted.

He opened his eyes once more, serious now. “And I swear to do no harm to May, Forton Hall, or you.”

She studied his face, looking for any sign that he might be lying, or irretrievably mad. All she saw was a man who looked a little dazed and lost, both emotions with which she could sympathize. Especially lately. “Agreed. May, you hold the kettle, and I’ll untie him.”

B
y the time she undid the last of the ropes holding him helpless as a stuffed pheasant, Rafael Bancroft was beginning to wish they had killed him instead of merely beating him senseless.

His head throbbed, and he had to clench his jaw against every movement to keep from being ill. It was humiliating enough to have ended up bound and unconscious; he certainly did not want to cast up his accounts in front of her. Being chivalrous could be damned painful.

Freed from his bindings, he sat on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, trying to ignore the two females watching him with such suspicion in their eyes. Gingerly he felt the back of his skull. “Damnation,” he muttered under his breath.

“You’re not supposed to curse,” the little, dark-haired girl reminded him, hefting the tea kettle menacingly.

Rafe looked up at her. “Are you the one who did this?”

She glanced at her sister. “Partly.”

“Partly?”

“You started to wake before we had you secured,” Felicity said, taking the kettle from her younger sibling. “I had to crown you again.”

“Marvelous.”

Whether it was an illusion caused by the blow or not, Felicity Harrington had the darkest, most expressive eyes he’d ever seen. And the rest of her, from her loose raven hair to her full, sensuous lips and tall, lithe form, was stunning. He simply wanted to sit in the middle of her—his—kitchen, and look at her. Every inch of her. Rafe blinked, surprised at the sudden intensity of the yearning.

She set the kettle back on the stove. “As long as you keep your word, May and I will refrain from injuring you further, Mr. Bancroft.”

“Rafe, please.” His fingers were bloody from touching his head, and he wouldn’t have been all that surprised if they
had
cracked his skull. Woozy and ill, he tried to slow the wild wobbling of his thoughts. “Might I have my deed back?”

Felicity held the parchment out to him. “I am sorry you had to come all the way here from London just to learn that someone has treated you so poorly.”

He pocketed the paper. “I’m sorry to learn that your own brother has treated
you
so poorly.” Rafe lifted a hand when she opened her mouth to argue with him. “I would appreciate if you would write him immediately so we can settle this matter face to face.”

“I shall.”

He gazed at her again, and when a soft blush crept up her cheeks, a responding heat touched his own pulse. Perhaps being left alive did have its merits, after all. “And would you please have your groom stable my horse? My kit is fastened to the saddle. If you would have a footman show me to a room, I would like to lie down for a bit. I have a rather stout headache.”

“We are short of servants at the moment, I’m afraid,” Felicity said, lifting her chin. “I will be
happy to tend your horse, but under no circumstances are you sleeping in this house.”

Annoyance began to push Rafe’s woozy infatuation aside. “Why not? Besides the fact that I own this house, of course.”

“You do not—” She broke off. “Rusticated as we may be at Forton Hall, Mr. Bancroft, I will not have a male stranger staying under the same roof with myself and my sister. Especially after the way you introduced yourself to us.”

“You said you’d put me up,” he reminded her. “And I’m hardly in a condition to do any further damage to anyone.” He flashed his charming, rakish smile—the one that generally got him invited to share a bed, let alone a house.

Felicity looked at him calmly. “You may stay in the stable. It is perfectly warm, and its roof leaks no more than the house does.”

“I am not staying in a damned stable,” he snapped. Lovely or not, Miss Harrington was being completely unreasonable. Blast it all,
they
had cracked
him
over the head.

“Very well, the Childe of Hale inn is only four miles down the road. I’m sure they will be happy to put you up there. Mr. Davey Ludlow is the proprietor.”

Despite her confident words she hesitated, glancing toward May and then back again. Rafe stopped the hostile retort he had been about to make. Oddly enough, she seemed to want him out of the house, but not gone. Groggily he forced his brain to put together what he’d seen of Forton Hall and the two young ladies before him. Neither of them had called for help, nor looked as though they expected any. “Who stays here with you?”

“May and I are perfectly capable of looking after ourselves,” she stated, turning her attention to
a stack of damp dresses draped across the kitchen table.

Rafe wondered whom she was trying to convince. “The two of you live here alone?”

She faced him again. “Apparently I’ve been speaking too quickly for you in your weakened condition. Yes, May and I live here alone. Until my brother’s return, that is.”

“Good God,” he murmured, feeling a twinge of admiration. He’d never heard of such a thing. “What if I’d been some sort of maniac? I hope you have something more substantial than a tea kettle to ward off intruders.”

She sniffed. “The tea kettle seems to have worked perfectly well, Mr. Bancroft.”

He scowled. “Yes, thank you for reminding me.”

“Shall I direct you to the Childe of Hale, then?”

Now she was just baiting him. “Not necessary,” he grumbled, wondering why he felt the need to step in and take charge after they had practically murdered him. If anyone didn’t need him watching over them, it was these two lethal females. Even so, he wasn’t cad enough to toss them out of their home. From the way his head ached, he wasn’t going anywhere for the next few days, anyway. Let their damned coward of a brother come and take them away. “Forton Hall is mine, Miss Harrington. And I won’t have it defended by a woman and a little girl.”

“I don’t need—”

“Until your dear brother proves my ownership to our mutual satisfaction, I’ll be staying in the blasted stable, nice and close so I can keep an eye on my property.”

She looked at him for a moment, something like relief in her gaze. “Just remember,” Felicity re
turned, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, as well.”

Rafe staggered to his feet, lurching against the table. “Good.”

The retort ideally would have been full of sly innuendo about what part of him in particular she would be eyeing, but all he could manage was a pained grunt. With a final glare in her general direction, he wobbled toward the kitchen door.

“Do you require assistance, Mr. Bancroft?” Miss Harrington asked, resuming her position as hostess and rightful owner, damn it all.

“No.”

“Shall I bring your horse?” May offered.

He hesitated, considering the distance he would have to walk between the kitchen, Aristotle, and the stable. He could whistle the gelding to him, of course, but that would split his head wide open. “Yes, that would be fine. Thank you.”

This time Felicity didn’t even bother covering her amusement. “I’ll bring some blankets.”

Rafe waved a hand in response and staggered out the back door. Once out of earshot, he let loose with a string of the most descriptive, venomous curses he knew—which was quite a few, considering the seven years he’d spent in the military.

In the stable doorway he paused, leaning against the warped, peeling wood frame. It abruptly occurred to him that he’d missed his chance to rid himself of the entire mess: if he hadn’t been so dizzy and ill, he might simply have told the lovely Miss Harrington that she was right—the deed was a forgery, and she was welcome to the wreck of Forton Hall.

On the other hand, this way he’d be able to get his hands around Nigel Harrington’s scrawny neck and choke the life out of the coward. And it would keep him around long enough to see whether Fe
licity Harrington’s dark eyes still fascinated him tomorrow. He had the distinct feeling that they would. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered, and fell face forward into a pile of straw.

Felicity looked up from her book as May entered the morning room. “I left some toasted bread for you in the kitchen.” She took a sip of her morning tea, grateful for the few minutes of peace she’d had. Reading was well on its way to becoming an unimagined luxury.

May wrinkled her nose. “It was burned,” she said distastefully. “I had some marmalade.”

“Just marmalade?”

“Yes. It was very good.”

Felicity studied the high color of her sister’s cheeks with some suspicion. “What’ve you been up to this morning, dear?”

May plunked herself down on the couch and smoothed at her flowered yellow skirt. “I thought Rafe might be dead, so I went to see. He was snoring, though, so he must be all right.”

Alarmed, Felicity set the book aside. “Do not go near that man. Do you understand, May?”

“Well, why not? You said he could stay here.”

Felicity stood and picked her way through the clutter of recovered knickknacks to sit beside her sister. “Mr. Bancroft is a poor unfortunate whom someone duped into thinking he could become an important, wealthy man. Judging from his scar, it is entirely possible someone has hit him on the head at least once in the past, and our actions certainly didn’t help his…mental condition. It is our duty as good Christians to see him well again. After that—”

“But—”

“After that, and when Nigel returns, we will let
him explain the matter to our guest. And then Mr. Bancroft will leave.”

“But—”

“Hello?” The deep male voice echoed up from the kitchen.

Felicity jumped. Although she tried to blame her speeded heartbeat on trepidation, an odd tingling excitement fluttered along her nerves. “We’re in the morning room, Mr. Bancroft,” she called.

A moment later he leaned into the room. Seeing him upright and not wobbling about from dizziness, she was struck by the way he filled the doorway—from his mud-dimmed Hessian boots to his dark gray breeches and light gray patterned waistcoat; black, well-fitting coat; hopelessly wilted cravat; and overly long, wavy golden hair. Slowly and deliciously she took him in, and the entire time his light green eyes looked steadily back at her with dancing, lighthearted humor—or madness, she reminded herself—just beneath their surface.

“Good morning. I’m unarmed. May I approach?”

An unexpected grin touched her lips. “Of course. How are you feeling?”

“Half dead, thank you.” He turned his attention to her sister. “Miss May, in the future I would appreciate if you wouldn’t poke me with a rake while I’m trying to sleep.”

“May!” Felicity admonished.

“I told you, I thought he was dead!” the girl protested. “I stopped when he snored.”

“It’s the first time I’ve used snoring as self-defense.” Then Rafael grimaced. “Well, it’s the first time it worked, anyway.” He faced Felicity again. “Might I trouble you for something to eat this morning? And please call me Rafe. I have an uncle who is Mr. Bancroft.”

“Is Mr. Bancroft the duke’s brother?” May interrupted.

“Yes, he is.”

“We don’t have any food,” the little girl continued. “I ate marmalade.”

“May.” Felicity flushed, embarrassed. Sometimes May’s direct manner of speaking was simply too much. “I must apologize, Mr.—Rafe. We meant to go into town yesterday, but—”

“There’s some toast on the table,” May contributed again.

Rafe cleared his throat. “Yes, I noticed it on my way in. Did you make it, Miss May?”

Felicity stiffened. “No. I did. I…lost track of it.” She had no intention of telling him that she’d been daydreaming about a pirate captain who looked suspiciously like her stable guest.

Again he glanced at her. “Ah.”

Felicity blushed once more, annoyed at her poor showing. Now she’d have to go into Pelford to purchase food for breakfast—and luncheon and dinner. She’d meant to finish the search for salvageable clothes in the old wing this morning. Going to the village would take two hours away from that, and she’d already lost at least that much time yesterday due to Rafael’s arrival.

She eyed their tall guest speculatively. “I don’t suppose you feel up to riding into Pelford this morning, Rafe?” She smiled her best smile at him. According to him, he wasn’t a guest, anyway.

He stood for a long moment, staring at her. “For supplies?”

“Well, yes.”

To her surprise, he grinned, the expression a little lopsided because of his scar. “I suppose so, since I want to eat. Might I have May to accompany me?”

“It’s directly down the lane,” she pointed out, reluctant to relinquish her sister to this poor, befuddled man, handsome and charming though he might be.

“I know where it is; I passed through it yesterday. It’s just that I prefer to have someone capable with me—in case I’m set upon by bandits.”

May giggled.

Again Felicity hesitated. “You can’t expect me simply to send you off with my sister.”

“Oh, Lis…”

“Miss Harrington,” he said quietly, his smile fading, “you’ve been trusting me with both your sister and yourself since you untied me.”

“I’ve—”

“And I gave you my word yesterday,” he continued. “My recollection may be rather fuzzy, but I do remember that.”

She held his gaze for a long moment. He had a very good point. And her instinct told her he would never harm them. “Very well. May, put on your shawl and your bonnet.”

Her sister cheered. “Can we gallop?” she asked, jumping up. “What is your horse’s name? He’s top of the trees, Rafe. How fast is he?”

He gave another slight grin that sent Felicity’s pulse skipping. If he had his wits about him, he might very well have been irresistible. Thank goodness for small favors. “No, Aristotle, thank you, and I have no intention of finding out today.”

May’s face became a comical vision of dejection. “Why not?”

“Because he will be walking. Very slowly.”

From behind Rafe’s back, Felicity pointed at his head and grimaced. May giggled again, then covered her smile with one hand. “All right.”

Rafe motioned May to precede him to the stable.
“Bloodthirsty little chit,” he grumbled, and she laughed again.

Felicity smiled as the two of them left the room. In reality, broken head or not, Mr. Bancroft likely had no wish to run his horse after riding the poor thing all the way from London. Of course, she hadn’t actually seen this Aristotle, but May was constantly trying to adopt old, broken-down nags—which was lucky, since that was all they’d been able to afford lately.