But all he said was, “You’ll see what I mean.”
He turned into the high, gated entrance to the castle a few minutes later. The guard on duty greeted him by his title—his former title, he thought grimly as he made the drive through the forested grounds and out through the expanse of lawn to the circular drive that fronted the enormous old keep.
He hoped his father didn’t think this visit was made for the purpose of effecting a reconciliation, because nothing could be farther from the truth. The castle might be an outstanding example of Norman architecture, but Roland could have the moldy old ruin—and all the others—as well as the yoke of responsibility that went with them.
As they walked up the wide marble steps of the castle, memories battered at his brain. He’d come up these steps many times as a child. His father would be standing at the top, waiting, and the little boy he’d been dreaded those first words.
Fell from your horse in the polo match. Fell from your horse! If you want the King of Wynborough to consider you a suitable match for one of his daughters, you’ll have to do better than that.
The little boy in his memories nodded docilely, but behind the blank face resentment brewed.
“You look positively ferocious.” Elizabeth laid a small hand on his arm. “What on earth are you thinking?”
With an effort, he shook off the past. “Just reliving the happy scenes of my youth. Come on, let’s get this over with.”
But she didn’t move forward with him and he stopped and looked at her. “Uh-oh. You don’t think we know each other that well, but I already know exactly what you’re going to say next.”
“You do not.” But her voice was indulgent.
“What scenes from your childhood were you reliving?” He did his best imitation of a cracked feminine voice, and she laughed.
“All right. I confess. Maybe it’s just that women in general are invariably nosy? And I’m just like every other woman.”
“Not a chance.” Rafe took her hand and pulled her nearer. “Believe me, there’s no other woman on earth like you.” He raised her hand to his lips. “And I mean that in the best possible way.”
She swallowed, and the rosy blush he so loved warmed her cheeks. He hadn’t thought a simple compliment, if it even qualified as such, could unsettle her like that.
“Thank you,” she said. But as the heavy door began to swing open, she smiled at him, flashing the little dimple in her cheek he found so fetching. “Don’t think you’ve sidetracked me. We’ll get back to this conversation later.”
A butler in formal dress opened the door and Rafe noted it was the same stodgy old coot his father had employed for eons.
“Good afternoon, Trumble. How have you been?”
“Very good, my lord. Welcome home.” The old man’s face was a study in blank disapproval, a look he’d worn since the days when Rafe was a young boy trying to sneak in the kitchen door with the garden snake he’d captured. “May I take your wraps?”
Rafe stepped behind Elizabeth and removed the car coat draped over her shoulders, then handed over his leather jacket. “We have bags in the car. Could you have them taken to a guest suite, please?”
“Certainly, my lord. If you’ll follow me…?” As the man turned and started down the hallway, Rafe spoke again.
“Don’t bother showing us in, Trumble. I know the way. Family in the drawing room?”
“As you wish, sir.” The aged servant nodded stiffly, and Rafe could see his insistence on informality was a source of irritation. Some things never changed. As they moved down the hall, Rafe leaned close to Elizabeth’s ear. “Trumble’s been here since the place was built. He was born that age and he wins yearly awards for his personality and charm.”
She laughed, a soft, musical sound. “He certainly seems a bit on the…sour side.”
“Lemons are sugar in comparison, believe me.”
They continued down the hall and turned left, heading for the room where he knew the family would be gathered, having their pre-dinner drink. Routine rarely, if ever, varied in his father’s house. As they passed a large linen closet, Rafe paused and opened the door. Ha! Empty. Grabbing Elizabeth’s wrist, he dragged her behind him into the small, dark room, reaching out to flip on the single light.
She turned her face up to his and her green eyes were wide and alarmed. “What are we doing in here?”
He looked down at her and smiled. Then his gaze dropped to her lips, the luscious field of soft pink slightly parted as she waited for his response. He could see the instant the intimacy of their position dawned on her. Slipping one arm around her, he drew her close while with his other hand he covered her hard little tummy, his fingers nearly brushing the top of the warm feminine mound below as he cupped the small bulge. He slipped one hand up to the back of her neck, drawing her up on tiptoe against him while he still held his other hand over her unborn baby. “Stop thi
nking so much,” he growled as he bent to her lips. “Turn off your brain and go with your instincts.”
Then he kissed her, and just as it had every other time he touched her, the world fell away and all he could feel, all he could smell and taste and touch was her, surrounding his senses so that he could think of nothing else. But this time there was a new element of intimacy in the meeting of their mouths, a recognition that this was meant to be. It was as if each of them had realized in their one day apart just how much they needed each other.
“You have to marry me soon,” he said, and his voice was so rough and deep and hoarse that it didn’t sound like his at all.