The English Aristocrat's Bride

by Sandra Field

  A car was parked in her driveway. She slewed to a stop.

  It looked just like Steve’s car.

  A whimper of fear burst from her lips. Wasn’t that what the dream was about? And wasn’t that, irrationally, still her living nightmare? That, somehow, Steve hadn’t really died. Instead he’d been lying in wait for the last year, playing with her, cat and mouse. Wanting her to build a false sense of security before he knocked it to the ground and engulfed her once again.

  There was a man standing in the shadow of the lace vine that had entwined the front porch. As he sighted her, he walked down the steps toward her.

  A man with black hair. Not blond. It wasn’t Steve. It was Rafe.

  Very slowly Karyn climbed out of her car.

  Rafe took one look at her face and grabbed her by the arm. “Karyn! For God’s sake, what’s wrong?”

  His voice, the breeze flattening his shirt to his chest, the concern in his face: had she ever forgotten anything about him? “I—I thought you were someone—I mean, it startled me, seeing you there.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who did you think I was?”

  She tugged her arm free and took refuge in anger. “Nobody! What are you doing here, Rafe Holden? I don’t recall inviting you for a visit.”

  He suddenly grinned at her, a boyish grin so full of charm and so laden with male energy that she took an instinctive step back. “You didn’t. I figured if I asked, you’d say no. So I came anyway. Just like you with the Talbots. That worked, didn’t it?”

  “You’re so right—I would have said no.”

  “I’m taking you out for dinner.” He looked her up and down, from the toes of her mud-caked, steel-toed boots to the streak of dirt on her cheek. “Not many restaurants would let you in the door right now.”

  “Some of us work for our living.”

  His grin widened. “You can’t insult me that easily, Karyn.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  “You do that.” Before she could duck, he reached out and ruffled her hair. “It’s great to see you.”

  It was a huge effort not to smile back. “I wish I could say the same. You realize you’ve turned up one day after Fiona told me she’s going to marry John.”

  “No sense in wasting time.”

  “Are you looking for sympathy?”

  “I’d already decided I couldn’t possibly marry Fiona.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “I’d prefer you did…it happened the first time I saw Fiona and John together. They looked so gloriously happy, so wrapped up in each other.” He hesitated. “I figured if Fiona could break every one of her parents’ rules, I could damn well drop in to see you. So here I am.” He looked her up and down, laughter lurking in his dark blue eyes. “Did you spend your day mud-wrestling?”

  With an exasperated sigh, Karyn straightened her aching back. “I vaccinated thirty-three sheep, not one of whom wanted to be anywhere near me or the syringe. You should try it sometime. It’s a humbling experience.”

  He laughed outright. “Looks as though they won.”

  “There was one ewe who nearly did.” She wouldn’t smile. She wouldn’t. “I’m going inside, having a hot bath and ordering a pizza. You can drive right back to the airport and fly home.”

  “That’s not very hospitable of you.”

  Now she did smile. “You can’t insult me that easily, Rafe.”

  “I can’t fly home. I have pictures of Fiona and John. She’d never speak to me again if I didn’t show them to you.”

  “Pass them over. Then vamoose.”

  “Not a hope,” he said. “We’re going out for dinner, I have it all planned.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This was your mother’s house, wasn’t it?”

  “My neighbor, Bob Camden, used to be a fullback. If I tell him you’re bothering me, he’ll turn you inside out.”

  “I scarcely think so. Have you heard of a black belt in karate? Oh Karyn, you look so cute when you’re angry.”

  “Don’t patronize me!”

  “You also look worn-out.” He took her by the arm and steered her toward the house. “Where are your keys?”

  His fingers burned through her shirtsleeve, and briefly her mind went blank. How could she think when all she really wanted to do was fling her arms around him and kiss him until she couldn’t breathe?

  She fumbled in her backpack for the house key and inserted it in the front door with a clumsiness that horrified her. In a wash of the same terror that had overwhelmed her the night before, she looked up at him and said with raw truth, “Rafe, you scare the life out of me. I can’t afford to be hurt again, I just can’t!”

  So she was still grieving her husband, Rafe thought; vehemently he wished it were otherwise. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

  “Then go home and leave me alone.”

  “No. Not yet,” he said, a note in his voice she’d never heard before, and that terrified her with its implacability.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” she cried.

  “Waiting for you to get ready so we can eat. It’s four hours later for me—I’m hungry.”

  She let out her breath in a hiss of fury. “There are lots of restaurants in Charlottetown that’d be delighted to feed you. Then you can get the first flight to Halifax and catch the red-eye to England—you’ve got plenty of time.”

  “I traveled in my own jet,” Rafe said calmly, “it’s at the Charlottetown airport. While you’re unlacing those godawful boots, I’ll start a bath for you.”

  “Pardon me, of course you’d have your own jet,” she snarled. “And they’re very practical boots—you try being stepped on by a 1,700-pound bull.”

  She dumped her pack on the porch floor. It was just as well Rafe didn’t know that underneath her green man-tailored shirt and her taupe canvas pants—work clothes that served her well when she had to wrestle sheep—she was wearing an ivory silk bra lavishly decorated with lace. Sexy underwear was her one indulgence—that, and her scent. She’d always loved frivolous underclothes. But Steve hadn’t approved of them; in one of his vicious flares of rage, he’d accused her of being on the make when she went to work at the clinic with lace hidden under her work clothes.

  As if she’d had the time or the inclination to look for another man. But to keep the peace she’d put away all her pretty underwear, wearing cotton jockey shorts and grey cotton bras instead.

  “You’re a long way away,” Rafe said.

  Her lashes flickered. “Oh. Yes. Sorry.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “I’m tired, that’s all,” she said shortly, and bent to undo her laces.

  Light as gossamer, Rafe’s lips slid across her nape. Before she could react, he walked away from her, crossing the hall and starting up the stairs. Of its own accord her hand reached up to cup the back of her neck and her eyes closed. Nothing had changed. She still wanted him.

  Although wanted didn’t seem in any way to express the tumult of longing and desire that had flooded her at that briefest of caresses. She could add panic to the mix, she thought helplessly. The man scared her out of her wits.

  Steve had scared her out of her wits. Oh God, what was going on?

  After unlacing her second boot, she lined it up on the mat with the first one. She could hear footsteps overhead, then the sound of water filling the tub, ordinary domestic sounds that reignited her fury. Okay, so Rafe had taken her by surprise, and she’d thought he was Steve. But she’d had time to recover and be damned if he was going to have it all his own way.

  She marched up the stairs. The bathroom was engulfed in steam and the glorious fragrance of freesias. She read the label on the bottle standing on the vanity, and said blankly, “Where did that come from?”

  “I brought it with me.”

  “That stuff costs the earth.”

  “Hardly.”

  “You can’t go giving me expensive presents!”

  “Wear something casu
al,” he said. “You’ll like where we’re going.”

  In a low voice Karyn said, “Rafe, don’t ride over me like that. As though I don’t exist.” Wasn’t that what Steve had done, time and time again?

  Rafe stood still, gazing at her. She looked exhausted, he thought with compunction. When she’d first seen him this evening, she’d been terrified; he’d swear to that in a court of law. So was he in danger of hurting her just by being here? Leaning over to turn off the taps before he had a flood on his hands, he said, “I have more money than I know what to do with, and that’s a very small gift. All I want is to give you pleasure, Karyn—and don’t ever think you don’t exist for me.”

  She didn’t know what frightened her more, his gentleness or his willpower. “Where were you planning to eat?”

  “Will you trust me enough to put yourself in my hands?”

  “That’s one heck of a big question,” she said with a flash of defiance.

  “I only meant as far as dinner’s concerned,” Rafe said with very little regard for the truth; and to his relief saw her slow nod of agreement. If only he knew more about Karyn’s husband; then maybe he wouldn’t have the sensation that with every move he made, he was stepping into a minefield.

  Surely her husband wasn’t anything to do with the white-faced terror with which she’d greeted him?

  Now that he was here, he was going to make it his business to find out about Steven Patterson. While he could have set his investigator on Steve a long time ago, something in Rafe had shrunk from such a course. Yes, he’d needed to investigate Karyn, for Fiona’s sake as well as his own. But he wanted Karyn herself to tell him about Steve. “I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Rafe said, and suited action to word.

  He didn’t want to be waiting downstairs, Rafe thought as he wandered through the pleasant, unpretentious living room to the small dining alcove that overlooked the birch trees and a field of new corn. He wanted to be in Karyn’s bed. But all those years ago when he’d been learning to ride cross-country, hadn’t he been warned never to rush his fences? It was advice he should take to heart right now.

  He glanced around at the eclectic collection of books and magazines, at the brightly colored cushions and the few carefully chosen ornaments. On the stereo-stand there was a photo of a smiling couple in their forties: Karyn’s adoptive parents, he’d be willing to bet. But although he prowled through the whole downstairs, he didn’t find a single photo of the man who’d been Karyn’s husband.

  One more piece of evidence that Karyn was so deeply sunk in grief she couldn’t bear to be reminded of Steve.

  Feeling restless and unsettled, Rafe went outdoors to wait for her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  KARYN came downstairs ten minutes later. Her hair was an aureole of soft curls around her face; her brief blue denim skirt was topped by a figure-hugging sweater in soft pink mohair. Her legs were bare, her feet in flat, thin-strapped sandals. For a moment that was outside of time Rafe stared at her. For six years he’d had his defences firmly in place. He’d dated, had brief affairs and had never allowed anyone to tap the deep well of passion that Celine had desecrated. Everything easy, and according to his own rules.

  The woman standing in front of him could breach those defences all too quickly. Or had she already done so?

  Karyn said uncomfortably, “Am I too dressed up?”

  Rafe pulled himself together. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Isn’t that the wool you bought in Hart’s Run?”

  “I unraveled the sweater the first time, it would have fit me if I’d been pregnant with triplets. The second time it came out a bit small, but I couldn’t be bothered to try again.”

  “I like it just as it is,” he said, and managed to keep his gaze above the level of her breasts.

  She blushed, lowered her eyes and muttered, “I just wish I knew why—”

  “Dinner first,” he said. “We’ll talk later. I want to go in the general direction of Stanhope.”

  As she got in his rented car, she thought out various routes, instantly discarding the one that went past the house she and Steve had lived in. “I’ll navigate,” she said. “Have you made a reservation in Stanhope?”

  “You’ll see.” He got in the driver’s seat and took an envelope out of the dash. “Fiona sent this. With her love.”

  The envelope was tied with pink ribbon, smelled faintly of lilies of the valley and contained several photos. In each one, Fiona looked radiant, her arm linked with a pleasant-faced, bearded man not much taller than she, who also looked extremely happy. Karyn spoke without thinking. “I’ve never seen Fiona look like that…he must be quite a guy.” Then she added awkwardly, “I didn’t mean that you—”

  “Thinking I could marry Fiona was a classic case of self-deception,” Rafe said dryly. “You were the one who said there wasn’t any chemistry between us, and you were right. Luckily Fiona met John. You can imagine Clarissa and Douglas’s reaction—but Fiona stood her ground as though she’d been defying her parents since the day she was born.”

  “She said you helped.”

  “I pointed out a few basic facts to Douglas—but Fiona took him on first. All by herself.”

  “Good for her,” Karyn said. “Anyone who can make an impression on Douglas Talbot has my undying admiration. Which doesn’t include you,” she added. “All you had to do was wave your money in front of him—that doesn’t count.”

  “Pity,” Rafe said, his smile crackling with energy. “I’d like to have your undying admiration.”

  “For someone who’ll never have it, you look entirely too pleased with yourself.”

  For someone who didn’t know what the hell he was doing, he felt entirely too pleased with himself. And with her. Deciding to keep that piece of information to himself, Rafe said, “I love Fiona. I’ve known her since she was a babe in arms, I taught her how to climb trees and jump her first pony over a stone wall, and I’m delighted she’s found someone she adores. John’s a fine fellow—they’re admirably suited.”

  “I wired her a huge bouquet of flowers,” Karyn said. “I do so want her to be happy.”

  “She will be, I’m sure. What’s the name of this river?”

  Karyn started describing the countryside. Rafe’s questions were penetrating and his interest unfeigned; she expanded, forgetting how angry she was with him, allowing her intelligence full rein, and hearing herself being wittier than usual. Before she knew it, they’d reached the north shore with its miles of sand beaches and red cliffs. Instead of turning toward the restaurants in the area, Rafe parked alongside the beach. Karyn got out, watching as he took a large wicker hamper from the trunk. “Picnic,” he said economically. “Let’s find a table where we can see the water.”

  “A picnic?”

  “Is that okay?”

  “It’s a wonderful idea—I love picnics!”

  She looked as entranced as a little girl on Christmas morning. Rafe turned away, wanting to kiss her so badly his whole body was on fire with need. He slammed the trunk shut and walked along the boardwalk. Some picnic tables had been set on a grass verge overlooking the long stretch of surf; he dumped the hamper on the furthest one. “Let’s eat.”

  Karyn unlatched the lid and peered inside, lifting out one of the delicate china plates with its hand-painted pattern of flowering herbs. “It’s a work of art,” she marveled. “Don’t tell me those are lobster rolls—my favorite.”

  “There’s caviar and chicken, as well, and an avocado salad. Not to mention dessert.”

  “Chocolate?” she said hopefully.

  “Dark chocolate mousse with truffles and hazelnuts.”

  Karyn laughed out loud. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  He took out two crystal champagne flutes and the bottle of champagne that had been wrapped in a towel to keep it chilled. “We’ll start with this.”

  She raised her brows. “A high-class picnic.”

  “Not quite the best money can buy,” he grinned, “but getti
ng close.”

  The cork came out with a most satisfying pop, bubbles rising like foam on the shore. Rafe raised his glass and for a moment was tongue-tied. He knew what he wanted to say. At least he thought he did. But it was way too soon. He drawled, “May all the vaccinated sheep be as healthy as horses.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Then she unwrapped a crusty roll crammed with lobster, crisp celery and a deliciously tangy dressing and began to eat.

  Rafe dug into the caviar, enjoying her pleasure in what was, by his standards, a very simple meal. The wind from the ocean was playing with her curls; her eyes were a deeper blue than the sea, although just as full of mysterious depths. Color tinted her cheeks. Helping her to salad, Rafe began to talk about his newest hotel, located on New Zealand’s South Island.

  Eventually Karyn had eaten her fill. She licked the last smear of chocolate from her spoon. “That was incredible. If I ate like this every day, I’d be as fat as a barrel.”

  “You’re too thin.”

  “You’re supposed to say I’m perfect,” she responded pertly. “This was a much better choice than a restaurant, Rafe, thank you so much. I feel like a new woman.”

  “You’ve got chocolate on your chin,” he said, leaned forward and wiped it off with one finger.

  His face was so close she could have counted his eyelashes. If she’d been able to count. “Rafe, why are you here?” she blurted.

  He poured two demitasses of coffee from a thermos, taking his time. “To bring you Fiona’s photos—much as she loves you, she can’t tear herself away from John right now to give them to you herself.”

  “There’s a marvelous invention called the post office. What’s the real reason?”

  He had no intention of giving his cards away too soon; he’d learned a thing or two about strategy over the years. “I’m checking out a possible hotel purchase in Toronto and thought I’d drop in on the way.”