But he didn’t think his self-imposed celibacy was the sole reason he couldn’t get Josephine out of his thoughts. What he felt was more complicated than that.
It was something he had never before experienced. This unfocused, undefined, restless wanting. Since meeting her, he felt as if something inside him had subtly shifted, and some inner stabilizing mechanism that usually kept him squarely balanced had slipped slightly off-kilter. It left him on the constant edge of confusion. And arousal. Just seeing Josephine walk into the stable awakened his body and warmed his heart.
He wanted her like he had never wanted anything in his life.
Logic told him he was wasting his time. But that deeper, more primitive voice in the back of his mind insisted he could have her in all the ways he imagined.
But first, he had to win her.
Twelve
Thursday afternoon, Josephine was digging through her jewelry box to determine which of her paste replacements would look best with her blue muslin when Jamie burst through her bedroom door.
“He’s back!” he cried, his face split by a wide grin that displayed the gap left by his first lost tooth. “And he brought hundreds of horses with him! And Mr. Redstone, too!”
Josephine tamped down an absurd rush of excitement. Composing her face into an expression of polite interest, she turned to her son. “Hundreds?”
“Well . . . ten. Perhaps eight. May I go see them? Please, Mother?”
“What about your lessons?”
“I’ll finish them before bedtime. I promise. Please?”
How could she deny him when she felt the same impatience? “All right, you may go.” And before she could remind him to change into his boots, he was racing from the room.
As soon as the door slammed behind him, she sank down onto the stool at her vanity, one hand pressed over her racing heart.
Fate. It was such a fickle thing. Other than Jamie, only three men had meaning in her life and they would all be gathered around the dining table that evening. How was she to enjoy the company of one, keep her guard up around the other, and prevent the third from dangling her before the other two like a baited hook? Realizing she couldn’t let Rafe walk into an awkward situation without warning, she rose on wobbly legs and left the room.
Actually, there were only six new horses, she noted when she went down the path toward the stables—three mares, two studs, and a flaxen chestnut gelding, which the earl must have purchased for the countess. They were pacing the paddocks they’d been assigned, heads and tails up as they whinnied and snorted at the other horses watching from nearby pens and pastures.
They were beauties. The earl had chosen well.
But she was more interested in seeing Rafe.
When she entered the stable, she saw him standing by the feed room talking to Hammersmith, their silhouetted forms framed against the open doors at the other end of the center aisle. Rafe—tall, hatless, his hair flopped forward as he bent his head to attend to what the shorter, stouter man was saying. Even in repose, there was grace in his stance. That masculine sort of grace that spoke of confidence and strength, and which unerringly drew the feminine eye. She thought of their earlier kiss and felt again the surge of joy and desire that brought a tremble to her heart.
Then he lifted his head, saw her, and went completely still.
With his face in shadow, she couldn’t read his expression. But the slow straightening of his long body, the squaring of his wide shoulders, the lift of his chin, all told her that the entirety of his attention was fixed on her.
A rush went through her. Hammersmith was forgotten. Sound faded. The world narrowed to the two of them, utterly focused on each other. Awareness of him tingled throughout her body, making nerves vibrate like the strings of a violin stroked by the master’s bow.
A fanciful thought. Absurd. She had to stop reading those romantic novels.
“Miss Cathcart,” he greeted her in his deep voice as she approached.
“Mr. Jessup.” Her own voice sounded odd in her head—thin and reedy, as if her muscles hadn’t the strength to push air out of her lungs. Another fanciful notion. Thrusting the thought aside, she took a deep breath and tried for a normal tone. “I see you’ve brought more horses.”
“I have. How are you?” Then as if realizing the Scotsman stood watching, he quickly added, “And Pembroke’s Pride?”
Josephine pasted on a smile. “I’m well. As for Pems, you must ask Mr. Hammersmith here. He’s been overseeing his training during your absence.”
“Aye, and he’s doing well,” the groom said, smiling through his beard. “Stevens has taken care to follow yer instructions. I ken ye’ll be pleased.”
“Glad to hear it, Liam.” Even though he spoke to the older man, Rafe’s dark blue gaze remained on her. “Would you care to see the Hanoverians the earl purchased, Miss Cathcart?”
“I would, Mr. Jessup.”
Leaving Hammersmith staring curiously after them, Josephine followed Rafe toward one of the stalls that opened into the paddocks of the new arrivals.
“They’ll produce excellent stock when crossed with the thoroughbreds.” He swung open the stall door and motioned for her to precede him. “Stamina, size, and strength. Just what the army needs.”
Josephine looked back at him in surprise. “You’re selling their offspring to the army?”
“Only those not suitable for breeding.” He closed the door securely then, without warning, turned and pulled her into his arms. “I’ve missed you, Josie,” he whispered and brought his mouth down to hers.
Shock ballooned into a breathless feeling that left her weak and shivery. Rising on tiptoes, she leaned into him, hands clutching at the cloth over his arms.
Muscles quivered beneath her palms. She felt the urgency he held in check, and that made her own heart hammer in her chest.
She smelled horses and the faint sharpness of male sweat. Felt the prick of his whiskers against her chin. Tasted coffee when he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips. Awash in sensation, she opened her mouth to his and pressed harder against him, wanting to get past the thin layers of cloth that separated them.
“Rafe . . .”
He drew back, his chest pumping. “I’m sorry. Did I frighten—”
“No.” Reaching up, she pulled his head down again. “You cut your hair,” she murmured against his lips as she slid her fingers through the sun-bright curls at his nape.
“Several times.”
“The bleached ends are gone.”
“I’ll grow more. Jesus, you feel good.”
She lifted her face for another kiss, putting into it all the emotion he had awakened inside her. That sense of urgency built into something warm and liquid and undeniable.
This time, it was she who drew back, but only because she had run out of air. Bracing a hand against his chest for balance, she drew in a deep breath, blew it out, then gave him a shaky smile. “I missed you, too.”
A crooked smile teased one corner of his wide mouth, slowly spreading his firm lips to reveal strong teeth and that elusive dimple. Blue fire sparked in his deep-set eyes. “I can tell.”
Suddenly embarrassed by her forward behavior, she jerked her hand away and patted an errant strand of hair back into her bun. “Your trip went well?”
“It did. Why are you pulling away from me?”
“I—I’m not.”
“Then come here.” He opened his arms.
Helpless against his pull, she started forward, then lurched back when footfalls sounded in the aisleway. “Mother?”
Oh Lord. “In here,” she called through the closed door. “Mr. Jessup is showing me the new horses.”
The stall door swung open. Jamie looked in, Mr. Redstone at his shoulder.
The Cheyenne made a show of looking around. “What horses?”
“
Don’t,” Rafe warned softly.
Jamie looked from one man to the other. “Don’t what?”
“They’re outside,” Josephine broke in hastily, shoving open the paddock door. “We were just going out to see them.”
“Ho. Those horses.” Thomas moved to follow. “We will go with you.”
“We can’t,” Jamie said. “Someone’s here, Mother. I saw him ride up the drive beside a carriage. Grandfather came out to meet him, so he must be important.”
William. She didn’t realize she had spoken aloud until Rafe gave her a sharp look.
“William?”
“Baron Adderly.”
He stiffened, his smile fading. “Here? Why?”
“Who is Baron Adderly?” Jamie asked.
“I . . . em . . . a dinner guest. Father invited him.” Josephine was so flustered, she could scarcely form a thought, especially with Rafe glaring at her that way, and Jamie starting to look worried, and Thomas Redstone smirking.
She made an airy motion. “I’ll explain it all later. Right now I must go see to our guest.” She glanced down at her son, unsure what to do. She wasn’t ready to explain to him about William. Wasn’t certain she would ever be ready.
“The boy will help me feed the horses,” Thomas Redstone said.
She met his knowing gaze and wondered how he knew. Had Rafe told him her sordid story? “Thank you, Mr. Redstone. Jamie, you’ll dine in the nursery tonight. And Mr. Jessup—”
“I’ll eat in the kitchen with Thomas.”
Panic gripped her. “No! You have to be there.” Then seeing the puzzled faces staring back at her, she added less stridently, “What I mean is that I would like for you to be there, Mr. Jessup. You’re our guest, too, after all.”
“Isn’t Mr. Redstone a guest, as well, Mother?”
“Yes, of course he is. But—”
“I will not eat at the long table,” the Cheyenne said flatly. “I do not like the foolish clothes I must wear.”
Jamie grinned up at him. “Me, neither. Can he dine with me, Mother?”
“Certainly, if that’s what he prefers. I’ll have Cook send up an extra plate.”
“Tell her to send two. I am hungry.”
“Of course.” Josephine let out a relieved breath. She gave the Indian a grateful smile. “That’s kind of you to look after Jamie, Mr. Redstone. Thank you.”
The Cheyenne shrugged. Turning his dark gaze to Rafe, who was still frowning at her, he said, “Now it is your turn to be nice, nesene.”
An odd thing to say, she thought. But apparently the admonition meant something to Rafe. With a nod, he motioned her toward the house.
They didn’t speak again until they were halfway up the path. “Your father invited him?” Rafe asked.
“Actually, the baron invited himself.”
“Why?”
“I’m not certain. He wrote Father and said he wanted to see Jamie. But I’ve not yet decided if I’ll allow him to do so.”
“Does Jamie know about him?”
“That Adderly is his father?” She shook her head. “I haven’t told him anything about that. Nor did I tell him the baron was coming for a visit.” Tears clogged her throat. Why did this have to happen? Why now? Curse you, William.
Rafe put his hand on her arm, bringing her to a stop beside him. “You’re worried. Why?”
The fear she’d held at bay for the last week finally burst forth. “What if he wants to take Jamie away, Rafe? What if he insists Jamie belongs with him?”
“He won’t.”
“But Father—”
“Jamie is your son, Josephine. If you don’t want Adderly to see him, then he won’t.”
“This isn’t America, Rafe. This is England and he’s a peer. How could we stop him?”
He smiled—but it wasn’t the teasing, lopsided half smile she loved, or the wide, dazzling grin that sent her thoughts into chaos. It was the smile of a man who had overcome adversity and welcomed the chance to do it again. She saw challenge in it. Resolve. And a hint of savagery. “Leave that to me.”
• • •
Rafe dressed with care. Not because he felt a need to impress, but because he didn’t want to embarrass Josephine. Appearance was everything in this stilted, rule-bound society. That, and being able to tout a fancy pedigree. And although he might not have the latter, he cleaned up as good as any man.
An hour after departing the stable, he left his room—bathed, shaved, combed, and brushed. Shipley met him at the bottom of the stairs, gave him a critical once-over, then with a sniff, directed him to the yellow salon. In the hallway by the double doors, Rafe tugged his collar away from his neck and smoothed back his hair one last time. Then he took a deep breath and opened the door.
Only Josephine and her father were present, engaged in a tense conversation by the hearth. They didn’t seem aware that he had arrived, so he took a moment to enjoy the sight of Josephine.
She had on the same frothy blue dress she had worn earlier, but had added a ribbon at her neck and another in her upswept hair. He thought of those heated kisses earlier, and tugged at his collar again.
“Why aren’t you wearing your sapphires?” Cathcart ask her as Rafe walked soundlessly toward them across the thick rug.
“I told you, Father, they’re with the jeweler having the clasp repaired.”
“The pearls, then.”
“They aren’t suitable with this neckline.”
“I’ve provided you with a ransom in jewels, daughter. Surely you could have found something better to wear than a ribbon.”
“Good evening,” Rafe said.
Cathcart turned with a look of surprise. “Jessup, I hadn’t realized you were back and would be joining us this evening.”
And judging by his expression, he wasn’t pleased at the prospect. “When I saw your daughter at the stable earlier, she kindly invited me.” He gave her a slight bow. “You look especially beautiful tonight, Miss Cathcart. That ribbon perfectly matches your eyes. Half of the right one, anyway.”
Color flooded her face. Rafe told himself it was because she was feeling the same rush of desire that had his nerves in an uproar.
“Good evening, Mr. Jessup. You look quite handsome yourself.”
“Probably the haircut.”
Her father’s disgruntled look gave way to a relieved smile when the door opened behind Rafe. “Ah, there you are, Adderly.”
“Am I late?”
“Not at all.”
Rafe turned to see a pudgy man about his same age, with thinning brown hair, a goatee that unsuccessfully hid the slope of his weak chin, and brown eyes that were unremarkable except for the way they stared so intrusively at Josephine.
“Ah, Miss Cathcart, my dear.” The newcomer’s smile showed an overbite and too much gum. Reminded Rafe of a weasel. “As beautiful as ever, I see.”
Josephine seemed incapable of a response. Or of accepting the hand the baron offered. In fact, she stood so still Rafe wondered if she had lost the ability to breathe, as well.
“Don’t mind her,” he cut in, covering for her lapse by drawing the attention to himself. “I tell her that all the time. She’s probably just tired of hearing it.”
“Welcome, Adderly,” Cathcart said with a strained smile. “Drink?” He waved a hand at a nearby table covered with glasses and bottles.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Which was pretty obvious, Rafe thought, considering the broken veins in the man’s cheeks and long nose. “Nothing for me,” he called after Cathcart, even though he hadn’t been included in the offer. And to make it doubly clear he wasn’t about to be ignored all evening, he turned back to the newcomer with a broad smile and an extended hand. “Rayford Jessup. Don’t believe we’ve met.”
A flicker of disdain.
Were peer
s not allowed to touch commoners? Rafe would have to remind Ash of that the next time the earl punched him in the shoulder.
“Adderly. Baron Adderly.” The shorter man gave Rafe’s much larger hand a limp squeeze and quickly released it. Rafe had held livelier fish. “You’re an American.”
“I am. Sorry about the war.” He refrained from wiping his palm on his jacket. “A baron, you say? Would that be higher or lower than an earl?”
The baron stiffened.
Josephine sighed.
“I only ask,” Rafe went on, “because I know how important forms of address are to you English. I want to be certain I get it right.”
“Lower,” the good baron said through tight lips.
“Excellent. So I would address you as . . .”
“My lord.”
“Adderly it is, then.”
Before the weasel realized he’d been insulted—again—Cathcart arrived with his drink, which Adderly downed in two gulps.
“Jessup works for Kirkwell,” Cathcart said with a glare at Rafe.
“Indeed?” The baron tried to look down his nose, but since Rafe was a foot taller, it wasn’t that effective. “In what capacity?”
Rafe beamed proudly. “Horse advisor. Head horse advisor, in fact.”
“Horse advisor? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“I know. It’s ridiculous. But then, he is an earl.” Leaning down, Rafe added in a confidential tone, “Seems the higher they go, the dumber they get. Am I right?” Straightening, he gave a hearty laugh.
Which earned him another glare from their host, another eye roll from Josephine, and had the baron requesting a second drink.
For a reluctant talker, Rafe thought he was doing pretty damn well.
• • •
“What on earth is wrong with you?” Josephine demanded in an undertone a few minutes later when they followed Father and the baron toward the dining room.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Rafe muttered. “How could you let that scrawny—”
“Stop.” She tried to sound stern, but laughter made her voice wobble.
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