It Takes a Hero (37 page)

"And what was so very important?" he asked. "A new bonnet or another of these enchanting gowns?"

"Believe it or not, I was retrieving Richard's haversack."

His eyes widened. "Richard's haversack? But I thought your brother's belongings were all lost in Spain."

"Mr. Danvers was able to assist me in locating them."

Pease spared a glance in Rafe's direction, but only for the briefest of seconds. "Why that is remarkable. And how lucky for you, Rebecca, to have your brother's possessions back in your tender care." He took her hand again, and this time appeared not as willing to be parted from the lady.

Rafe made a low growling noise and Rebecca discreetly jerked her elbow into his side.

"When I think of your brother, Rebecca," Pease said, "I always remember him with one of his journals jotting down ideas or translations or whatever struck his fancy. Quite an erudite young man."

Rebecca smiled. "Oh, you do remember him!"

"Let me guess, you found inside one of his notebooks, along with a collection of dull nubs. He never did have a sharp quill at hand. Never!"

She laughed. "Yes, it was exactly as you described. There was his journal with the page creased over to mark his last entry and a collection of broken quills. I've just begun reading his observations of Spain and they are fascinating."

"I am sure they will be quite enlightening," Pease murmured.

"Uh-huh," Rafe said, elbowing his way back between Pease and Rebecca.

The viscount shot him an annoyed glance, but then like a
perfect
gentleman, included him in the conversation, if only to humor Rebecca.

"I hear tell you were in the war," Pease said. "As was I. Injured at Maguilla," he said, tapping his leg with his walking stick. "What regiment were you in, sir?"

"The 88th," Rafe said. "Until I deserted."

"
Deserted!
" Pease coughed as if he hadn't quite heard it correctly.

"Yes, after I realized my commanding officer was an idiot and I could better serve my country by fighting with the guerillas."

Pease straightened himself up, his knuckles white as he clutched the top of his cane. "And what country is that, sir?"

Rafe smiled. "I still haven't quite figured that out."

Rebecca coughed, holding her handkerchief to her lips.

The tension between the trio was momentarily broken as the musicians started tuning their instruments and struck up a waltz.

"Our dance, my dear," Pease was saying to Rebecca, handing his cane to Rafe like he was a servant.

Rafe didn't take it, rather he took the lady.

"I believe this dance is mine," he told the viscount.

Rebecca didn't argue, but Pease did. "I don't care for your reputation, sir. I demand that you unhand Miss Tate or perhaps you will find that I am capable of breaking arms as well."

Rafe leaned forward and whispered something into Pease's ear that sent the man reeling back, as pale as a January sun.

"Whatever did you say to him, Rafe Danvers?" Rebecca said, casting only the merest glance back at her former beau as Rafe led her to the dance floor.

"I told him he'd have a hard time breaking my arm from his grave, for if he tried to stop me, I'd finish off what the French had obviously failed to do."

But Rebecca was soon to find out, Rafe had no intention of dancing. Just before they reached the floor, he tugged her back into the crowd and then through a doorway that was hidden behind a set of drapes. It led into a hallway and after catching up the candelabra on a side table, he continued past a few more doors, before he shoved one open and pulled her in with him.

The panel slammed shut behind them.

Rebecca had never heard a happier sound.

Before she could speak, before she could even glance around to discover just exactly where it was he'd taken her, he snuffed the candles and his mouth covered hers, kissing her senseless.

She rejoiced at his touch, at his kiss. For it was a claiming that spoke of his need for her, his passionate desire for her. As she avowed for him.

His fingers pulled at her perfectly wrought curls, teasing them back into some semblance of the tumbled disarray he loved so much. Tugging her closer, so her hips met his, she could feel his hard desire for her.

She couldn't resist the urge and stroked the front of his breeches, teasing him until he strained beneath the wool.

How she loved the feel of him, but even more so, she loved him inside her, filling her. She moaned softly. "Rafe, I need you so. Can't we… couldn't we… ?"

He didn't need any more urging. Catching her up, he carried her across the room until they bumped into something, a desk she thought, and with a sweep of his arm, he cleared it, tossing her atop it and throwing her skirts up.

Her feet dangled over the edge, her slippers falling like fat raindrops to the floor.

Rebecca moaned as his mouth found hers again, while his hand, using his exquisite, expert touch began to torment the already fevered flesh between her thighs. There he enflamed her, parting the delicate folds, one at a time, until he found the very center of her passion.

It felt so good, this fire he was kindling, but she wanted more, she wanted all of him—without any preludes, for Rebecca had no need for tender interludes at the moment.

She wanted to be claimed, to be taken quickly and fiercely by this dark and passionate man.

Tearing at his breeches, she freed his manhood, and wrapped her legs around his hips, tugging him closer until the very tip of his staff rode restlessly against her cleft. She felt fevered and anxious, hot and hungry, ready to be filled.

Somewhere in the distance, the musicians were playing a tune, a perfect, delicate waltz, but inside this darkened room, it was a ragged, wild beat that claimed them. Rafe entered her swiftly, for he seemed to understand her raging desire—though it might have been her instant pleas.

"Take me, Rafe. Take me now!"

Her fingers clung to his shoulders, to his hips, tugging at him to drive into her, stroke her until this madness went away.

"Oh, yes, please," she moaned as he pushed her backward on top of the desk, then covered her with his body, thrusting into her with long, hard strokes, until she came with a shattering explosion. He covered her mouth with his as she cried out, and he too shuddered inside her, filling her with his spent passion.

She clung to him, and rode through the storm that possessed them both. He whispered ragged words in Spanish that she didn't understand but knew came from his heart.

Finally he pulled back from her, and the cool of the night rushed over her fevered flesh. He tugged her up and off the desk and her skirts fell back into place. Her legs wobbled, still trembling from his explosive lovemaking.

He held her for a moment, kissing her one more time. "Don't consider dancing with anyone else," he said, as he released her. "Until later,
mi ángel
." Then the rogue slipped out the balcony window. "Duty calls," he whispered, before he was gone from sight.

Rebecca stared at the vacant space where he had stood but a moment before, her body still thrumming. "Damn your wretched hide, Rafe Danvers," she called after him. "Come back here!"

What about his duty to her? Not that he hadn't just done an admirable job, but she would have liked an hour or more of his time.
His expertise
.

Then she let out a short laugh as she glanced down at her ruinous state of
dishabille
.

How was it that when all she'd ever wanted was a predictable, sensible life, that she'd found her heart's desire with this impetuous rake? Life would never be practical with Rafe, but she wouldn't want it any other way.

Straightening herself up as best she could, Rebecca made her way back to the ballroom. She had every intention of finding the blackguard, when suddenly she found her path blocked.

"There you are, Miss Tate." Lady Tottley stood before her like the great dome of St. Paul's, vast and imposing.

Rebecca bit back the very unladylike curse that rose to her lips. In Spanish, no less. Oh, Rafe's influence was infectious.

"
Now
, Miss Tate," Lady Tottley said. "Now."

"Now what?" she asked, her hands to her lips, her heart still beating in a wild tattoo. She glanced around the room to see if Rafe had returned as well.

"To right your wrongs." The countess pointed to the ballroom which was mostly divided into two camps—the Darbyites on one side and the young men of the
ton
on the other.

"Here comes Lucinda," the countess urged. "It is time to tell her the truth."

Rebecca sighed, still glancing for any sign of Rafe. His disreputable coat shouldn't be that hard to spot amongst the colorful plumage of the
beau monde
. "Are you sure this is the best—"

"Now or never," the countess declared with tones that rang with finality.

Taking a deep breath, Rebecca reminded herself she had promised to help Lady Tottley, but the timing was horrible. There was a murderer to catch, and once that was accomplished, she had a word or two for Rafe Danvers.

Like when was he going to get around to proposing?

"Lucinda, darling, there you are!" the countess enthused. "I have something I want to tell you. About Miss Tate."

"If you mean, Mother, that she's the author of the
Miss Darby
novels, I already know."

Both Rebecca and Lady Tottley stared at her, mouths agape.

"You know?" the countess managed to stammer.

"Yes, and I think it was lovely of you to invite my favorite author as a surprise for me. You are the kindest mother in the world." Lucinda rose up on her tiptoes and pecked an affectionate kiss on her mother's cheek. Then turning to Rebecca, she said, "Miss Tate, would you mind being introduced to my friends?"

"No, not at all," Rebecca said, as the girl led her away.

But Lucinda had another surprise for Rebecca when the girl whispered almost immediately, "Oh, Miss Tate, you must help me."

"Help you?" Rebecca managed to ask. Not another person seeking her aid! She still had to find the Gadbury sisters' lost fortune. And help Rafe find Kitling. And then there was the ruby…

Oh, this profession of Rafe's was exacting.

"Yes. I need to find a way to end this wretched Darbyite pledge without delay. Miss Thayer has danced with Lord Barwick twice this evening. If she manages another set, they'll be as good as engaged. I must get her away from him."

Rebecca smiled but didn't say anything. Her promise to Lady Tottley wouldn't be any trouble to fulfill now.

"I have my place in society to consider and I will not give it up to the likes of some
cit'
s daughter. If you could perhaps suggest that it wasn't your intention for all of us to mourn the loss of Lieutenant Throckmorten to this extent, I would be forever in your debt." Lady Lucinda paused, then smiled sweetly. "I won't even tell mother that I saw you leave the ballroom with that handsome Mr. Danvers. Or that you're missing your slippers."

Rebecca glanced down at her stocking-clad feet and then at the grinning girl beside her.

Oh, Lady Lucinda was going to take her mother's place in society without any help from her, or anyone else for that matter.

They arrived before the assembled young ladies and Lady Lucinda smiled brightly. "Everyone, I would like you to meet Miss Tate."

Obviously her identity had already been revealed for the girls surrounded her, each of them telling her their favorite Darbyism.

"
I thought for sure she'd never escape when she was kidnapped by those South Seas pirates
—"

"
And when she was at the dance waiting for word of her beloved
—"

"
No, no, the time when Lieutenant Throckmorten was trapped by the tiger and Miss Darby lured it away by
—"

One of the girls pressed forward and heaved a loud sigh. "Oh, why, Miss Tate, did you allow him to die? Lieutenant Throckmorten was the most perfect gentleman," she declared.

All around, heads nodded in agreement.

Rebecca's chance to change the course of the Season had arrived as if delivered by Crumpton on a silver platter.

"I fear ladies, you have all been misled," she told them, "much as Miss Darby was."

"Misled?" one of them said. "How so?"

There was a buzz of questions, but Rebecca held up her hand to stave them off. "Lieutenant Throckmorten was not as noble as we all would like to believe."

"Never!"

"I can't believe it."

"Yes," Rebecca told them. "Lieutenant Throckmorten harbored a dark and terrible secret."

There were gasps, and one silly girl, Lady Penelope Bittleman, she later learned, fainted dead away. Rebecca wanted to groan. Each of these girls should be placed on a limited income and forced to live in a cottage in the remotest part of Scotland for a year, in hopes that they would gain an ounce of common sense before they were allowed in society.

Still, she had her audience and she was a storyteller. "I fear now the truth will never be told, for Lady Tottley has asked me not to publish the next volume of Miss Darby's adventures."

"No!" half a dozen of them said at once. Several shot Lady Lucinda very dark and dangerous glances that said only too clearly her time as the bellwether of their society was about to come to an end.

"But you must tell us, Miss Tate," one girl pleaded. "For not to know is worse than knowing he is dead."

"When I tell you the truth, you will see why Lieutenant Throckmorten is better off lost and forgotten. For I fear, my dear friends, he was a terrible bounder. Throckmorten, though all but pledged to Miss Darby, was already betrothed."

Lady Penelope had just recovered from her first case of vapors when she heard the awful truth. Lt. Throckmorten already betrothed? She promptly toppled over yet again. No one gave Lady Penelope the least bit of concern.

"The cad!"

"How dare he!"

"
Oh, poor Miss Darby!
" rose the chorus.

"She'll be fine," Rebecca assured them. "She has a resolute spirit. Remember she's survived tigers and South Seas pirates and the time when the Prince's palace caught fire."