A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis (42 page)

Buried deep, Rafe answered her thrusts with a few long, slow strokes, and placed his thumb over her most sensitive area. “Yes, love?”

A flood of honeyed essence moistened her slippery sheath and he could not hold back any longer. With each thrust his arousal escalated until it was all about his pleasure . . . pure sensation . . . nothing but ecstasy . . . he plunged over the edge into heart-pounding, seed-exploding oblivion. “Dear God, Fanny.” Dimly, he was aware she had reached a second climax with him.

She collapsed onto his chest and released a sigh of a woman well pleasured. Her skin glowed with color and glistened with perspiration. He tucked her into his arms, and held her until they both rested quietly. On the edge of sleep, Rafe whispered to her, “Let’s skip the engagement this time and go straight to the vicar.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

Lochree, Queensferry

“M
other, may I present my son, Harrison Gabriel Lewis St. Aldwyn.” Rafe kept his hand on the sturdy little shoulder beside him. “Harry, this is your grandmother, the Dowager Lady St. Aldwyn.”

Harry made a deep, courtly bow, one that he and Rafe had practiced early this morning and was sure to please Mother.

The dowager smiled at Harry and raised her gaze to Rafe.

“And how was the travel north?”

Rafe marveled at how easy it was when one could speak directly to one’s mother. “We arrived late last night, you were all abed. Harry and I saw Fanny to Lochree and then quietly tucked ourselves in here.”

“Before I forget, Nigel Irvine is waiting in the vestibule—whatever for, I have no idea.”

Rafe checked his new watch, a very extravagant gift from Fanny. “Prompt of him.”

Mother tilted her chin and smiled. The first smile
he’d received in five years. “Why don’t you run along, Rafe? I’ll watch young Harry.” His mother patted the seat beside her. “Shall we have some biscuits and tea?”

Rafe bit back a grimace. “He’s a bit young for tea, Mother.”

She never took her eyes off Harry as he climbed on the settee beside her. “What nonsense. One is never too young for a splash of tea in one’s milk.”

Rafe backed away. “I suppose . . . since you put it that way.”

He found Nigel outside the great hall and ushered him into the trophy chamber. With its paneled walls lined with antlers and an ancient hearth at one end, Rafe found the room singularly primitive and cavelike. Fitting, under the circumstances.

“Thanks for making it up to Queensferry on such short notice.”

“I look forward to seeing Fanny while I’m here. Terrible ordeal you two went through”—Nigel’s gaze shifted—“by all reports.”

“Your accusations didn’t help the Edinburgh police.”

“Now see here, how was I to know you didn’t run off with her?”

“You won’t be seeing her this afternoon, Nigel, because I’m going to marry Fanny this afternoon—if she’ll have me.” Rafe’s smile was genuine, but strained.

Nigel ceased his inspection of mounted deer heads. “So it seems you’ve got the girl, Rafe. What could you possibly want with me?”

Rafe was nearly certain the man staggered a bit at the
news. “Some years ago, there were rumors. It seems the Irvines, in particular the Laird of Drum Castle, were in some financial difficulty, bordering on scandal.” He sauntered closer. “Some sort of dodgy investment scheme, which your father went to a great deal of trouble to cover up. I wonder how much pressure might have been brought to bear on you to marry well.”

The overbearing man edged up a thin smile. “The bane of some of our best of families, wouldn’t you say, Rafe?”

“You and I have never really been close friends, have we, Nigel? Just those few months at university—at the end of the term, before graduation. I’ve had plenty of time, these last five years, to reconstruct that last spring together. A veritable obstacle course of bad luck, wot? Accusations of cheating, buried by academic work—off the team—and still, we did plenty of late-night drinking, did we not?”

A reddish flush of color rose from under Nigel’s collar points. “We managed plenty of that.”

Rafe pressed closer. “You orchestrated my introduction to Ceilia perfectly.”

Throughout most of this recollection, Nigel had remained stoic, neither denying or acknowledging his speech. Now his eyes darted about, and he took a step back. “No one forced you to lie with her, Rafe.”

Rafe nodded. “You’re right, of course. And I paid for it, with all I hold dear in this world.”

“What do you want me to say? Sorry, old chap? It was clear Fanny was infatuated, and I needed you out of the
way. I cheated on McElroy’s exam and steered the blame toward you. The letter was Claire’s idea.” Nigel exhaled loudly. “Does any of it really matter now, Rafe? You’ve clearly won in the end.” The arrogant bastard donned his skimmer and tipped the brim. “You know as well as I—the rules of fair play do not apply in love and war.”

“Nigel?” He turned back and Rafe struck him hard in the face. The large bloke landed flat on his back, blood dripping from a decidedly off-center nose. And there was a fluttering of eyelashes and a groan. Rafe leaned over the body. “Sorry, old chap. A little something I promised Fanny.”

Rafe exited the trophy room and ran straight into Vertiline. “Have you seen Fanny?”

“She’s down at the boathouse—looking for you, I suspect.” Vertiline clasped his hands in hers. “Such a beautiful child, Raphael, and when will he get a mother?”

“As a matter of fact, I have the ring in my pocket. Cost me three years’ savings.”

“Oh dear, I do hope you managed at least a carat.”

“I daresay if the lady agrees, she knows full well she is marrying a sometimes misguided, ne’er-do-well, second son of an earl.”

Vertiline reached up and touched his cheek with her hand. “I think you’ve kept her waiting long enough, Raphael.”

Summer was far from over; in fact, the balmy breeze encouraged Rafe to open his jacket and loosen his cravat. He took the shaded path and then cut across an expanse of lawn leading down to an inlet off the firth. A handsome
new boathouse and a slip sat at the edge of the water.

Ambling along the grass, a familiar burly bearded chap headed uphill. “Detective Lewis! Ye never told me you were a St. Aldwyn. Yer great-grandfather fought alongside my great-grandfather Captain Minogue against old Boney himself.”

“Good to see you, Professor.” Rafe braced for the bear hug. “If you would excuse me—I’m on my way to meet Fanny, going to try and convince her to marry me.” He walked away backward. “I understand you and she are discussing a business venture? You’re staying on a few days—perhaps we can talk later?”

“Over a pint and dram.” Minnow winked and backed uphill. “I believe she’s waitin’ for ye down by the water.”

He found her walking beside the boathouse. “Hello, my darling.”

Fanny whirled around to face him. “Harry needs a mother.”

Taken aback, Rafe blinked. “Yes. I couldn’t agree more. Apparently Harry feels the same way. He asked me over breakfast if I was going to marry you.”

“Harry asked?”

“I told him I had made it rather difficult for us many years ago, but thought my chances were turning around on the matter.” Rafe drew close, until there was little or no space between them. “Harry thought about that for quite some time, then dropped his spoon in his porridge. He does that when he’s exasperated.”

Fanny raised both brows. “And?”

“And he asked, ‘Might she be swayed, possibly, if I asked her to marry you?’”

The loveliest twitch happened around the edges of her mouth. “How unfair of you to use a child to your advantage, even as hearsay.”

“Shameless. But then, a man does what he must to win the love of his life.” Rafe grinned. “And how is Cousin Claire?”

“I’m afraid her nose is a bit out of joint.” Fanny rolled her eyes and rubbed a few reddened fingers. “And Nigel?”

“Writhing on the floor of the trophy room in a great deal of agony—I hope.” Rafe reached out for her hand and kissed each swollen knuckle. “Might have to ice this one.” He waggled her ring finger.

An impish smile lingered at the ends of her mouth. Fanny tilted her head up. “And why is that?”

“I took the liberty, directly after breakfast, of riding over to the vicarage. Turns out Mr. Shaw has a free afternoon.”

Rafe pulled her into his arms. “Might you be willing to style yourself Francine Greyville-Nugent-Lewis, Lady St. Aldwyn?”

“My word, a triple-barreled surname and a title—well worth the wait.” Fanny smiled, just before she kissed him.

A
LSO BY
J
ILLIAN
S
TONE

An Affair with Mr. Kennedy

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