Page 41 of The Earl's Inconvenient Houseguest

Chapter Eighteen

‘How did she take it?’ Rafe stopped pacing the darkened landing to stare at her. That he had been pacing at all an hour after Dr Able left said a great deal about him when it was late, and he had already gone above and beyond. So above and beyond it was humbling. Yet here he was at midnight, waiting, to check on her and that warmed her.

‘Well...she knows.’ Sophie sighed as she consoled herself with that. ‘And I was able to be the one to tell her, but I am not sure it has sunk in yet.’

‘It is a lot to take in.’

‘I expected hysterics at the very least because she has always erred on the dramatic and we have lost everything so some hysteria would have been understandable—but even without it, it was still dreadful. Worse, in fact. I think I would have coped better with an outpouring than I did with her stunned silence.’ Sophie was so battered by it all, she would have gladly let him envelop her in one of his fortifying, one-armed hugs if he offered. He didn’t, nor had he touched her so much as by accident in the week and a half since he had comforted her in the remains of her ruined home. Yet part of her was still sorely tempted to request one. Rafe seemed to possess the unique ability to make everything feel better. ‘The silence was awful.’

He started towards her, then stopped himself as if he too was wary of the physical. Wary of the mutual attraction which she was often convinced was reflected in his eyes. Or at least she had convinced herself was reflected in his eyes when theirs met and locked with more frequency than Sophie was comfortable admitting—even to herself.

To confirm that suspicion, he tucked the arm which wasn’t in a sling behind his back. ‘If I know your aunt, as I believe I am coming to know your aunt, that silence won’t last long.’ His smile told her that he had overheard all her most recent insults and the twinkle in his disarming eyes informed her that he was completely unoffended by them. ‘She does like to complain.’

‘There is that.’ Oh, how she wanted to just lay her head on his broad shoulders and listen to his irreverent take on things for the next few minutes rather than return to the oppressive and relentless ordeal of the sickroom, where she was forced to be an over-attentive nursemaid or left alone too long with her tangled thoughts.

Thoughts of Michael. Of the child they had lost before it could even be called a child. Of the cottage—both the old and the promised new. The village. Her guilt at no longer having to worry about her own future when everyone else’s was still up in the air.

Sophie was desperate to move onwards and upwards, needed to do that for the sake of her own sanity now that she had purged herself of the pent-up and festering emotions which had been holding her back. But current circumstances entrenched her resolutely in the now. All so overwhelming, a one-armed hug from this complex, vexing and dangerous but solid man would help no end as he felt like a calm port in a storm. He had certainly been her rock and her anchor since the fire.

She was also prepared to concede that succumbing to the urge to fall into his big, strong arms wasn’t prudent. Not when it had felt so good to be in them and she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about being there. And certainly not when some of those thoughts weren’t the least bit chaste and a few, in the last few days especially, had been downright scandalous. All part of the healing process, she supposed. She wanted to live again rather than exist, and more of her old self was emerging from the dark cavern it had hibernated in for a decade, eager to see the light. Before Michael’s death, she had always been a sensual, passionate individual, and while parts of that had always leaked through the cocoon of numbness which kept her safe, she had suppressed it. Yet allowing her body to feel grief again had reawakened all the other things it was capable of. Food tasted better. The air smelled fresher. She felt deeper. Cared more. Even the outside world looked sharper and more inviting. She craved. Yearned. Hungered. Wanted it all in a hurry—exactly as she always had before fate had crushed her spirit and stolen her dreams. But since the fire, that dreadful, life-changing but somehow cleansing fire, that spirit had emerged from the ashes like a phoenix from the flames. Where once was nothing there was now a big, bright light at the end of the tunnel, beckoning her towards its warm, inviting glow.

Which meant in between the bouts of sadness and hopelessness, Sophie felt more alive, ripe and reckless than she had in a decade. There was no denying the ripeness had a lot to do with Rafe.

Aside from his undeniable physical attributes there was the heady allure of him to contend with—Rafe the man. The much too likeable, logical, reliable, generous and beguiling man. A combination which was, frankly, much too dangerous for her bludgeoned heart to bear. One that, in another life without all her tragedy, would be exactly the sort she would have been tempted to risk for ever with. Just like Michael yet completely different in every single way—from his looks to his background to his character. Which was a ridiculous contradiction but yet still undeniable. Because just like Michael, Rafe called to her soul and made her damaged heart smile. He also made her body want again. It wanted to be touched, filled...satisfied again. And, heaven help her, it wanted him.

‘It is done now, so from here on in your aunt will rally and it will get easier.’

‘Will it?’ She dragged her wayward mind back from the carnal and reminded it that there were more important things to consider in the now than her needy body and his much too appealing one. ‘Despite reiterating that precious little survived, she kept asking about her most treasured things like her mother’s pearls or her grandmother’s quilt, and each time I had to tell her that the fire had taken that too, she seemed to shrink in the bed some more. It was awful.’

‘Being the bearer of bad tidings always is.’

She returned his sympathetic smile as much as she was able, which meant it likely resembled more a grimace than appreciation for his unswerving moral support. ‘I am still not convinced she is strong enough to cope with it all. Allowing another few days might have been more prudent, no matter what Dr Able said.’

‘And risk someone slipping up in the interim?’ He shook his head as he reached out to brush her arm. It was a gesture of empathy and support, lasting mere seconds, but Sophie felt it everywhere. ‘What if she overheard a maid talking, or, God help us, Archie barrelled in and put his great big foot in it.’ He pulled a face. ‘Short of nailing his troublesome feet to the floor, there is no way of keeping him away from her in perpetuity, and certainly not when his bedchamber is but a few feet away.’

As he gestured to his brother’s door it opened. No doubt because Archie had had one of his inquisitive ears pressed against it. ‘Now that she knows about the cottage, can I visit Aunt Jemima now?’ He held up Aesop’s fables. ‘I could read her a bedtime story to help her settle.’

‘No! And no! And why are you listening at keyholes again when we have talked about this? Listeners never hear any good of themselves.’ Rafe’s exasperated expression as Archie stared longingly at Aunt Jemima’s closed door stated he knew his admonishments were falling on deaf ears, but he was still going to issue them regardless. ‘And how many times do I have to tell you that it isn’t proper to allow Sophie to see you in your tatty old nightshirt?’ He flapped his good hand up and down his brother, who seemed oblivious that the capacious but flimsy garment he refused to sleep without was hanging off one shoulder and barely covered his knees. ‘And whilst I am on the subject of things I have to repeat ad nauseam because you have decided not to listen to a single word that I say, the lady in that bed is Miss Gilbert to you. Miss. Gilbert. Because you haven’t been formerly introduced, and even if you had and were now bosom buddies, she is categorically not your aunt, she is Sophie’s. The only blood relation you have is me.’

‘For now.’ Archie smiled first at his brother and then at her as if he knew something they did not, the implication as clear as crystal. ‘But we could all be family soon, couldn’t we?’ He was as fixated on the idea that the pair of them should get married as he was with his old nightshirt and his boiled eggs for breakfast. ‘You and Sophie, Aunt Jemima and me, and Mary the dog could all live together.’

Rafe pointed through the open doorway. ‘Bed! Now! Before I strangle you with my bare hands.’

‘Hand,’ said the younger Peel, unthreatened. ‘For you only have one that works, Rafe, and I am pretty sure you’ll need both of them to strangle me because I shall wriggle.’

‘Want to bet on that?’ As Rafe started forward, his good hand raised and poised ready to throttle the rapscallion, Archie giggled and slammed the door.

‘Goodnight!’ There was a thunder of feet and then a thud as he launched himself at the mattress, followed by the sounds of squeaking as he burrowed beneath the covers. Finally, there was silence.

Just to have the final word, Rafe hollered through the ancient oak. ‘And go to blasted sleep or we shan’t be collecting that puppy on the morrow! Do you hear this?’ He stamped his boot hard on the floorboards. ‘That is me putting my foot down, Archibald Leo Peel!’

As he rolled his eyes her way, she laughed. ‘If your intention was to be terrifying, Rafe, I have to tell you that fell well shy of the mark. We all know you will be fetching him a puppy on the morrow no matter what he does in the interim, so why bother with the hollow threats when Archie has you wound around his little finger? It is a mystery to me that you were able to command soldiers because you are as soft as down.’ He would make an excellent father. A random thought which made her smile before she chastised herself for even thinking it.

Onwards and upwards meant treading a new path not veering back to the old one. Her broken heart was healing but it would never be the same, never be as strong, and it certainly would not have the capacity to cope with all that again. While she now believed it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, she also knew she could not bear to love again in case she lost it all again. No matter how great the initial temptation. ‘It is even more of a mystery that you were able to lead them to victory.’ Unsettled, her teasing tone felt forced. ‘I declare that had Archie not shown me your Waterloo medal, I would not have believed that either. Yet apparently, once upon a time, you were considered not only a good leader of men—but a great one.’

Rafe shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment, but did not deny it. ‘Soldiers understand rules and boundaries.’ In unspoken agreement, they began to stroll slowly towards their own bedchamber doors. ‘And they respected my superior rank. Brothers don’t.’

‘How long do you think it will be before Archie sneaks in to introduce himself and read Aunt Jemima The Hare and the Tortoise?’

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