Taming Rafe by Suzanne Enoch Page A

“we have matters well in hand.”
    “Well, yes, but—”
    “Lemonade, Lis?” May asked, holding a pair of glasses.
    Rafe came behind her carrying a tray laden with a pitcher and two more glasses. Fleetingly she wondered whom they were excluding from the refreshment party. When she glanced over at her stable guest and found his eyes on her, it became rather clear.
    “Mr. Bancroft, Lord Deerhurst is Forton’s neighbor to the east,” she explained, lifting a glass from the tray and handing it to the earl. Was it the heat or Rafe’s direct gaze that was making her pulse quicken? “We’ve all known one another forever.” And knowing her for three days did not give the supposed second son of a duke the right to behave rudely—especially toward an actual earl with an actual title and an actual estate.
    “Oh, yes,” Deerhurst smiled, taking the glass, “we all grew up together. Which is why I was surprised that I’ve never heard you mentioned before today.”
    “I’ve known Rafe forever,” May interrupted, and took their stableguest’s hand in her small one. “Let’s go give Mr. Greetham some lemonade.”
    Oh, dear, now everyone was behaving atrociously . “May, why don’t you ask Mr. Greetham to come down and join us?”
    “All right.” Scowling, May stomped off toward the ladder.
    “And don’t you climb up there,” Felicity ordered.
    “Damnation.”
    “May!” She turned to Rafe. “Now you see what you’ve done?”
    He grinned and took a long swallow of lemonade, droplets running down his chin.
    “How long do you intend to stay here, Bancroft?” the earl asked.
    “Just until Nigel’s return,” Felicity said hurriedly, before Rafe could begin talking about the forged title and dukes and Africa.
    “He’s selling me the place.” Rafe drank again, watching her over the rim of the glass as he emptied it.
    “ What? ” The color draining from his face, Deerhurst stared from her to Rafe and back again.
    “Nigel is doing no such thing,” she stated, glaring at Rafael. “Mr. Bancroft is only teasing.”
    Deerhurst looked at the two of them again, then forced a disbelieving laugh. “Well, I must say, it wasn’t very amusing.”
    Felicity took the glass from the earl’s hand and propelled him back toward his phaeton. “No, it wasn’t. But you needn’t worry about losing the Harringtons as neighbors.”
    The earl smiled as he craned his neck to keep Rafe in view. “I should hope not. You are my dearest friends.” He clutched her hand to his chest. “My very dearest friends.”
    “Of course we are,” she soothed.
    “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
    “You don’t have to worry about that.” Felicity freed her hand, wondering what had upset him so much. Other than his annoying habit lately of offering to lend her large sums of money, which thankfully hadn’t begun until after Nigel left, he was unexceptionally pleasant. In addition to that, he was her one and only suitor.
    He stepped up onto the phaeton and took his seat. “Are you still going to attend the Wadsworth dinner on Thursday? Because I did want to chat with you.”
    “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you there.”
    Deerhurst snapped the reins, and his gray gelding turned toward the drive. Felicity watched the carriage out of sight, then, furious, turned to find Rafe. He had vanished. “Where is he?” she asked, her teeth clenched.
    “He went into the stable,” May said, pointing. “Are you mad?”
    “No,” she said brightly. “I merely need to clear up a little misunderstanding.” Hiking up her skirt, she strode toward the stable.
    “She’s mad,” her sister informed Mr. Greetham.
    “Aye.”
    “I am not,” Felicity called back over her shoulder.
    Rafe was brushing down Aristotle when she stormed into the stable and stomped to a halt.
    “How dare you!” she snapped, hands on her hips.
    He turned to face her. “How dare I what?”
    “You promised you wouldn’t go about announcing your supposed ownership