Taming Rafe by Suzanne Enoch Page B

of my estate!”
    “I didn’t,” he corrected her. “I said I was going to be the owner. I thought that was quite decent of me.”
    “Decent? You practically threw Lord Deerhurst out of the house on his ear.”
    He dropped the brush into a bucket. “He was practically drooling on you. You should thank me.”
    Rafe’s apparent calmness didn’t soothe her own pounding heart in the least. “He’s dear friend,” she protested.
    “Then he should have offered to climb up on the roof and help us.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a nobleman!”
    “Not much of one.”
    Felicity wasn’t sure why she was so angry, butshe knew for certain that it was his fault. “You know nothing about him, and don’t you dare presume to run my few acquaintances away!”
    Wishing she had a tea kettle, she stormed past him. He grabbed her arm, and spun her back to face him. As she took a breath to shout at him again, he leaned down and softly touched his lips to hers.
    “My apologies,” he said, straightening.
    She blinked, realizing she was leaning up toward him, her mouth half open. “What…what for?” she stammered.
    “For running your acquaintances away.”
    Felicity struggled to remember what they’d been arguing about. “And the kiss?” she demanded, trying to rally her indignation, when what she really wanted was for him to kiss her again—immediately, so this time she could memorize it.
    Rafe shook his head, running his thumb across the sensitive corner of her mouth. “That wasn’t a kiss.”
    Damnation, she was leaning again. “Then…then what, pray tell, was it?”
    “Practice. You’ll know when I’ve kissed you, Lis.”
    Rafe strolled past her out the door. As he disappeared in the direction of the ladder, Felicity took an abrupt seat on a bale of hay. He intended to kiss her again. Was that a threat—or a promise? Slowly she reached up and traced her lips with one finger. So that was a kiss. “My goodness.” A shivering thrill went down her spine.
    Then she remembered that he was demented. “Dash it all,” she whispered. For a moment longer she sat, wishing that Rafe Bancroft could be who and what he claimed, and that for longer than the space of one kiss, she could regard him the leastbit seriously. Then she rose, swept hay off her skirt, and went back into the house. She’d learned a long time ago that wishing was a poor substitute for reality.

Chapter 5
    S ometimes, Rafe decided, he could be an absolute blithering idiot. “Just practice,” he muttered, as he secured the last of the available shingles. “ You’ll know when it’s for real .” Disgusted, he blew out his lips. “Jackass.”
    “What’s that, Bancroft?” Greetham, partway down the ladder, popped his head back up over the eave to eye him curiously.
    “Just talking to myself,” he said, dropping a hammer and an old, rusty saw down to the ground.
    “Miss May said you were a bit soft-headed.” Greetham continued his descent.
    Rafe leaned over the edge of the roof, torn between affront and amusement. That little chit had a mouth on her, for damned certain. So did her sister. “I am not soft-headed. I had an accident the other day. That’s all.”
    “No need to explain to me. I’m just a simple farmer.”
    As the farmer reached the ground, Rafe started down the ladder, chuckling as he descended. “Simple farmer, my ass. Do you have any appointments planned for tomorrow?”
    “‘Appointments,’ is it? Well, I’m having tea with the king and Lady Jersey, but—”
    “Good God, why?” Rafe grimaced. “They’re dull as mud.”
    “Rafe.”
    At the sound of Felicity’s voice, he jumped. Her voice was pretty, with a soft, musical lilt quite at odds with her claims of practicality. He found himself wondering if she could sing, until he noticed Greetham staring at him.
    Shaking himself out of his daydream, he turned to face his hostess. “Lis?”
    She hesitated for a moment, and he could see the censure in her mobile