Taming Rafe by Suzanne Enoch

moment, something vulnerable and uncertain touched her eyes. “Being a second son must be difficult,” she finally offered.
    In view of the disaster she faced, Rafe felt a bit selfish. “I make do.”
    “You made it to Africa on your own, didn’t you?”
    “You went to Africa?” May asked from downstairs. She held an apple up for Aristotle, who snorted at it hopefully.
    “He saw elephants,” Felicity added, smiling at him before she resumed her way downstairs.
    “You didn’t shoot any of them, did you?” May demanded. “I like elephants.”
    “No, I didn’t shoot any elephants,” Rafe returned. “A few gazelle and a wildebeest, but that was to eat.”
    “That’s all right, then.”
    Rafe leaned back against the banister and folded his arms across his chest, his rain-soaked clothes clinging unpleasantly to his body. “Thank you.”
    “What did you do in Africa?” May gave the apple to the gelding, then walked over to lean beside Rafe, copying his stance.
    “I tried to look menacing so the settlers wouldn’t shoot all of us, or their Dutch neighbors.” The little girl looked puzzled, and he grinned. At least she wasn’t terrified, any longer. “I was in the army,” he explained.
    Suddenly Felicity began laughing. “Of course you were,” she managed, looking absurdly relieved. “We have several regiments in Africa, don’t we?”
    He looked at her quizzically. “Yes, we do. Not mine, unfortunately, but I managed it, anyway.”
    “What regiment were you?” the little girl asked.
    “The Coldstream Guards.”
    “Are they important? They sound bang up to the mark.”
    Rafe chuckled. “Well, mostly I led troops about for parades, coronations, and funerals and such.”
    Felicity stopped chuckling. “You led troops?”
    Perhaps when he’d landed on her, she’d hit her head, as well. “Yes. I was a captain. I only resigned a few weeks ago.”
    “Did you learn how to fight?”
    An unexpected chill rattled Rafe’s teeth. The gaping hole where the west wing used to be certainly wasn’t helping to keep the house warm. He’d have to see to that after the doors. “I learned seventy-three ways to kill a man.”
    May straightened and grabbed his arm. “Seventythree?” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “Will you teach me some of them?”
    Rafe lifted an eyebrow. “You already know at least one.”
    Felicity stepped forward and put her hands on May’s shoulders. “Yes, the infamous tea kettle maneuver.”
    “Ooh, is that one of them?” the girl asked excitedly.
    Solemnly Rafe nodded. “Number twenty-eight.”
    Felicity smiled at him over May’s head, her eyes dancing. Thank you , she mouthed, then tugged her sister toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s get you wrapped in a blanket and warmed up.”
    “Number twenty-eight,” May chirped. “You know number twenty-eight, too, Lis.”
    Rafe watched them go down the hall, then walked over to hunch against Aristotle’s warm flank. “Don’t worry about me,” he muttered. “I’m only the one soaked to the skin and freezing to death.”
    The horse swung his head around to eye him.
    “Oh, be quiet, old Totle.”
    Felicity chuckled from the doorway. “Which number is freezing to death?” she asked, stepping forward with a blessedly warm-looking blanket in her arms.
    “Number seven,” Rafe answered promptly, his teeth chattering again.
    “Well, we must prevent number seven, then.” Felicity hesitated, then lifted the blanket to wrap it about his shoulders.
    Rafe closed his eyes as her hands slid over his shoulders, too slowly and gently to be anything but a caress. He felt much warmer than he had a moment earlier. And he realized that the acquisitionof Forton Hall was becoming very complicated, indeed.
     
    Stop touching him , Felicity chastised herself as she sipped tea in the morning room an hour later. Rafe sat on the hearth before the roaring fire, playing jackstraws with May. And for heaven’s sake, stop looking at him .