Taming Rafe Read Online Free PDF Page B

me to inform you that my father is the Duke of Highbarrow,” he finally said. “So yes, I have.”
    Felicity looked at May again. If Rafael Bancroft’s confusion was genuine, as good Christians they had an obligation to help him since they had wounded him. After all, he’d gone from grand dreams of owning an estate, to being knocked unconscious by an eight-year-old girl and then learning that he’d been the victim of some scoundrel’s heartless scheme. No wonder he needed to believe himself someone important.
    “I have a proposal for you,” she said before her common sense could return, and still not entirely certain whether it was kindness or simple attraction guiding her decision. She did feel mightily attracted.
    “You have me captivated.”
    She tried to ignore that. “I shall write my brother in London. He will be able to clarify everything. Until then, you…you may remain at Forton Hall—as long as you give your solemn oath to do no harm to May, Forton Hall, or myself.”
    Rafael Bancroft closed his eyes as a slight, bemused smile touched his face. “And the alternative?”
    “We send for the constable, have you locked up for assault and trespassing, and write the Duke of Highbarrow to see if he’ll come and rescue you.”
    The smile faded. “I am in a spot, then, aren’t I?” he said. “All right, Miss Harrington. I agree to your proposal.”
    He did have some sense, it seemed. “And?” she prompted.
    He opened his eyes once more, serious now. “And I swear to do no harm to May, Forton Hall, or you.”
    She studied his face, looking for any sign that he might be lying, or irretrievably mad. All she saw was a man who looked a little dazed and lost, both emotions with which she could sympathize. Especially lately. “Agreed. May, you hold the kettle, and I’ll untie him.”

Chapter 3
    B y the time she undid the last of the ropes holding him helpless as a stuffed pheasant, Rafael Bancroft was beginning to wish they had killed him instead of merely beating him senseless.
    His head throbbed, and he had to clench his jaw against every movement to keep from being ill. It was humiliating enough to have ended up bound and unconscious; he certainly did not want to cast up his accounts in front of her. Being chivalrous could be damned painful.
    Freed from his bindings, he sat on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, trying to ignore the two females watching him with such suspicion in their eyes. Gingerly he felt the back of his skull. “Damnation,” he muttered under his breath.
    “You’re not supposed to curse,” the little, dark-haired girl reminded him, hefting the tea kettle menacingly.
    Rafe looked up at her. “Are you the one who did this?”
    She glanced at her sister. “Partly.”
    “Partly?”
    “You started to wake before we had you secured,” Felicity said, taking the kettle from her younger sibling. “I had to crown you again.”
    “Marvelous.”
    Whether it was an illusion caused by the blow or not, Felicity Harrington had the darkest, most expressive eyes he’d ever seen. And the rest of her, from her loose raven hair to her full, sensuous lips and tall, lithe form, was stunning. He simply wanted to sit in the middle of her—his—kitchen, and look at her. Every inch of her. Rafe blinked, surprised at the sudden intensity of the yearning.
    She set the kettle back on the stove. “As long as you keep your word, May and I will refrain from injuring you further, Mr. Bancroft.”
    “Rafe, please.” His fingers were bloody from touching his head, and he wouldn’t have been all that surprised if they had cracked his skull. Woozy and ill, he tried to slow the wild wobbling of his thoughts. “Might I have my deed back?”
    Felicity held the parchment out to him. “I am sorry you had to come all the way here from London just to learn that someone has treated you so poorly.”
    He pocketed the paper. “I’m sorry to learn that your own brother has treated you so poorly.” Rafe