It Takes a Hero (30 page)

Rebecca's cheeks warmed as she remembered Rafe's words.

Her practical side told her those were just the phrases a man told a woman to gain what he wanted.

But Rafe already had everything he could want from her. Her identity as the
Miss Darby
author. Her help in finding Sir Rodney's murderer.

So could she dare believe that he had been trying to gain her love? She bit her lip and wondered what one said to a man you'd just spent the night with? Making wild, passionate love, until he'd carried her spent and exhausted up to her own virginal, narrow bed and kissed her softly as she'd drifted into an exhausted sleep.

In the kitchen her uncle was speaking to someone. With Mrs. Wortling gone and his deception out in the open, at least before Rafe, he was obviously talking with someone other than the imaginary Trotter who had been his faithful ensign all these years.

Rebecca suspected the colonel would miss the poor beleaguered lad. She knew she would.

She strained to hear Rafe's deep voice, struggling at the same time to gather together enough nerve to face him.

And why shouldn't I be able to face him?
she asked herself, rallying her failing courage like a regiment of untried recruits.

It wasn't as if
she
had anything to hide.

A wicked little voice inside her laughed.
It isn't like he hasn't seen every part of you
.

She cringed and wished she hadn't thought of that. She went pink from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and in all the places in between that Rafe had explored with explicit detail.

Finally, she discerned that the second voice in the kitchen belonged to Rafe's assistant, Cochrane. So where was Rafe? She turned around to go take a peek in the library, when something ran between her legs.

"Oh dear, oh my," she cried out, as her feet tangled with Ajax, who yowled in protest. His indignant meow seemed to say that he was only offering her a good morning caress and there was no need to trod all over him in return.

"Ah, Rebecca, there you are," the colonel called out. "Thought I was going to have to fire off the cannon to get you to arise. Can you manage a bit of tea and eggs for Mr. Cochrane here? He's a might peckish."

The boy nodded enthusiastically.

She smiled and gathered up the kettle and settled it over the fire. "Where is Mr. Danvers?" she asked as innocently as she could.

"Danvers?" the colonel said. "Gone to fetch Lady Finch's carriage."

"He'll be back presently, miss," Cochrane said.

"Noisy fellow," the colonel complained. "Rattled about the library last night until all hours."

She cringed and tried to maintain her composure. That is until a knock on the door brought her attention straight up.

Rafe.

She bit her lip again, and this time looked down at her gown. She'd never been one to worry overmuch about what she wore, but suddenly this morning, she wished she had a new muslin to wear, for she felt like a regular dowd in her old bombazine.

Botheration, she sounded as silly and impractical as Charlotte Harrington and Lady Victoria, fussing over ribbons and laces.

Still, she couldn't help wonder what Rafe would say when he saw her with her soon-to-be-had town polish and silks?

Take them off
, she thought wickedly and hopefully as she flung the front door wide open.

"We're all packed and ready, dear Miss Tate!"

Standing on the steps before her were Miss Alminta and Miss Honora, dressed in identical traveling gowns. It if hadn't been for their bonnets, Miss Alminta trimmed in blue, Honora in red, it would be nearly impossible to tell them apart.

And out in the road, sat a grinning Sydney Kitling, decked out in a bottle green great coat and tall beaver hat, whip in hand, his phaeton and matched set ready for the journey. Filling the tiger's seat to overflowing was a collection of small trunks and valises.

"What is all this?" Rebecca asked, fearful of the answer.

Alminta's words from the other day returned like a warning.
My dear, you can't travel to town unescorted. You need a proper chaperone
.

"We've decided to join you," Honora was saying, confirming Rebecca's rising panic.

Oh, dear lord. Not both of them. And from the look of it, whither the Gadbury sisters went, there went Sydney. How was she ever going to explain this to Rafe?

"You mean to see me to London?" Rebecca asked weakly, hoping this was all the sisters intended. To see her safely ensconced at Lady Tottley's and then having discharged their neighborly and moral duty return promptly to Bramley Hollow.

To her disbelief, both ladies shook their heads, bonnets and ribbons aflutter.

"Oh, no. We've decided to join you. For the rest of the Season!" Honora declared.

Rebecca clutched the doorpost. Never mind Rafe's reaction. What was Lady Tottley going to say?

"Where's Danvers?" Kitling called from his phaeton. "We've a town to conquer!"

Just then, the Finch carriage ambled up the road, Rafe riding ahead on his mount. He glanced at Kitling and then up at the Gadbury sisters, then his gaze bore down on Rebecca.

Of all the things she had thought he would say to her this morning, she would never have imagined his first words would be, "Over my dead body!"

So much for a spinster's dream of romance.

Rafe leapt down from his horse and stormed up the walk.

Stormed was good
, Rebecca thought. It made him look all that much more formidable, all that more dark and dangerous.

That's because he is
, she reminded herself, suddenly realizing just how fearsome he could become, this stranger she'd given her heart to.

He swept past the twins, caught Rebecca by the arm and dragged her into the house. Now this she could get used to. Her imagination, now well fueled by a passionate night, sprung forth, offering lines that could as well have been from her next novel.

He slung her over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs, tossing her onto the bed and throwing himself atop her, his lips catching hers in a kiss that
—

Only much to her disappointment, Rafe came to an abrupt halt in the hall. Nowhere near the stairs and nary a bed in sight.

"What is all that?" he asked, jerking his thumb at the front door and the newly added collection of Bramley Hollow hangers-on.

Before she could answer, the colonel came down the stairs, Brown Bess in one hand, valise in the other.

"Danvers, ah, there you are. Starting to think you weren't coming after all and we'd have to—"

Rebecca stopped him with a carefully launched coughing fit, their agreed upon sign that now was a good time to act a bit deranged. She tipped her head slightly toward the open door.

The colonel glanced outside and his brows rose at the sight of the unwanted additions. Then a sly smile rose on his lips. "Leave this to me," he muttered, continuing past Rafe and Rebecca as if nothing was unusual about Mr. Danvers holding her by the arm.

Because he was. Still holding her by the arm.

Rebecca hadn't bothered to shake him loose. She was almost ashamed to admit, but she didn't want him to let her go.

Literally or figuratively.

"What are they doing here?" Rafe demanded.

"The sisters were horrified that I was going to town without a proper chaperone," she whispered.

"Your uncle is going with you, as am I," Rafe countered.

The colonel answered that one for her by firing a shot over Sydney's phaeton and sending the man's skittish set racing down the road, Kitling clinging to the reins and shouting orders at the frightened animals.

Rebecca's brow arched. "A proper escort doesn't carry a Brown Bess."

Rafe worked on that one for a few moments. "And what am I?"

"I think you are what they are going to protect me from."

"Well, they're a bit late on that note," he muttered.

"I can hardly tell them that," she shot back. "Unless you are of a mind to be standing before a parson before the day is out?"

Again, his jaw worked back and forth, his feet shuffling.

Rebecca's earlier fears came to the forefront. He regretted making love to her.

"About last night—" Rafe began.

"Yes?" she asked, just as Cochrane came staggering past with Rebecca's trunk in hand.

"This is the last of them, sir," he told Rafe. "And not a moment too soon. Saw that matchmaker prowling along the road last night when I was on my way to Finch Manor. I was afeared I'd wake up with some strange chit this morning." He glanced from Rafe to Rebecca, and then to Rafe's hand on her elbow. "Seems she wasn't after me at all." The boy grinned and then went about his duties, whistling happily.

Rafe turned back to Rebecca. "As I was saying… I meant to say, about last night—"

Outside, Kitling had returned, his horses dancing and prancing at being put back in the general vicinity of a madman.

"Come back for more, have you?" her uncle shouted. "Demmed Frogs never do know when they are beat."

"Miss Tate, would you do something about your uncle?" Kitling pleaded. Though a skilled hand with cattle, he was having some difficulty.

Rafe swept past her, first catching up the colonel's gun and tossing it to Cochrane, then marching out into the road without breaking a stride. He caught the front bay by the bridle and said something to the horse, running his hands over its muzzle and the animal settled right down, the other following suit.

"Lawks, Danvers," Kitling said, rising from his seat and staring openmouthed at his unusually docile animals. "What did you say to them?"

"Something my grandfather taught me. He had a talent with horses."

Kitling nodded. "Seems you've inherited it. If you ever decide to give up this runner nonsense, you should consider breeding horses. Probably make a fortune at if you can turn such a lively lot into a pair of overfed housecats."

Rafe glanced at the horses and said something else to the bay before he walked back toward the house. The bay nickered, and the other answered with the same horsey laughter.

"What did you say to the horse?" Rebecca asked.

"I expressed my sympathy to them for being owned by such an idiot."

Rebecca grinned, for no sooner than she could attempt to ask him what it was he'd been trying to say to her before, Miss Honora rushed forward.

"Mr. Danvers," she said, taking him by the arm and leading him along the path. "It is so good of you to include us in your party and under your protection."

"I fear, Miss Gadbury, I don't remember inviting you," he said, glancing helplessly back at Rebecca.

Miss Honora laughed, her gloved hand covering her giggles. "How droll you are, Mr. Danvers. But of course, our dear Miss Tate can't go alone to London with just you and the poor colonel."

"So I am told," he said, shooting one more glance at Rebecca.

She smiled smugly back down at him. He may be able to tame wild horses and kiss a woman senseless, but he was no match for the Misses Gadbury.

"Are we off then?" Miss Alminta asked.

"I need to get Ajax," Rebecca said, rushing back into the house.

"Ajax!" came the collected gasp.

Right after the colonel, Ajax was the most avoided creature in Bramley Hollow. He'd battled every cat within a five mile radius. And his fury had not escaped human notice either. Not even Esme, who was known to be a soft touch for any creature, would reach out a kindly hand to the ginger terror.

Rafe followed her into the house. "You can't be serious," he said, glancing over at the ottoman upon which Ajax lay curled up, sleeping like an apparent angel.

The ottoman gave evidence to the contrary, with its shredded legs and rag-tattered covering. "How can you even think of bringing along that devil?"

"I can't leave him behind," Rebecca said. "No one will take him in. He'll starve or worse if I were to abandon him."

Rafe looked about ready to settle the problem with the colonel's cannon.

Rebecca moved quickly, sweeping the cat into the basket and settling the lid securely down before Ajax knew what had happened.

The cat let out a yowl of protest that sent Kitling's horses to dancing again. Rebecca clung precariously to the now quaking basket, unwilling to leave her beloved, well perhaps not so beloved, pet behind.

Rafe grabbed the basket from her. "I would hardly say taking a deranged tom to London is a practical idea."

No, it wasn't practical. But Ajax had kept her company for several long years, and she wasn't about to abandon him now. He'd earned a place by that cozy fireplace she'd always envisioned. "I'm taking him."

"I doubt Lady Tottley is going to be that accommodating," he told her. "About all of this."

"Serves her right," Rebecca muttered under her breath. Before she could say more, the colonel took center stage.

"Not bring the artillery, sir?" her uncle was crying, his hands waving broadly. "Why, that's madness! Once we take the ridge, we'll need a good cannon to get those devils on the run. Why we'll—"

Rebecca suppressed a smile. There really was a majesty to his madness when he had a good audience. The Gadbury sisters and Kitling stared openmouthed first at the colonel, then at the much loathed cannon and then back at Rafe to see how this latest snag was going to be resolved.

Rafe took on his role as the keeper of the resident lunatic with less aplomb than he had before he knew the colonel's maladies were self-induced.

"Miss Tate!" he bellowed when her uncle went completely into Bedlam by throwing himself over the nine pounder and declaring it was him or England. "Miss Tate, I am not adding artillery to this menagerie."

So it was Miss Tate once again.

Harrumph.

"He is rather fond of that cannon," she said, if only to annoy Rafe. Mr. Danvers, she corrected herself.

Proper, restrained, and all business Mr. Danvers. When had he become so stuffy and practical?

Luckily, Cochrane stepped in and saved the day. "Colonel, sir," he said. "There's no need to bring that cannon. I've scouted the road to London, twice now, and there's no sign of the enemy. Besides, you'd hate to deprive Bramley Hollow of their only means of defense, should it come to that."