Page 27 of A Sporting Affair (The Corinthians #1)

As the sky darkened and the lamplight shone brighter, the evening breeze sharpened, crisp and cool. Or Rafe’s heart had frozen. He could not be sure which. Too desolate for conversation, he watched the couple dance a merry jig. Her feathery curls jounced with her rhythmic steps. Each time she laughed, the pit of Rafe’s stomach lurched and fell somewhere at his feet.

If only Karras were a sloppy dresser. Not only did the man have a finer cravat than Rafe this evening, he now also had the lady. Lord Karras made love to her with half-lidded eyes. A lump lodged in Rafe’s throat. At least neither Genevieve nor Mr. Slade yet knew Lord Karras sported a courtesy title, his father being the Earl of Silverton, the ancestral estate situated in northwest Devonshire, while Karras spent most of his time in one of the family’s holdings, Teasleigh Park, on the outskirts of Eurwendin. Someone else could divulge that information, perhaps Karras himself. Rafe refused to contribute to the dazzle.

“She’s even more beautiful when she’s happy,” observed a voice behind him. “Not that she’s ever unhappy. At least, not that I’ve known. But she’s a greater degree happier than usual, I’d say.”

Startled out of his spycraft, Rafe turned to see not Mr. Slade standing at his side but Alan Thorpe. A quick glance showed Slade had pursued Sir Courtney while Rafe was preoccupied with the dancers.

“She’s always beautiful,” Rafe replied, “but please don’t say she’s happier than usual. A cut to the esteem, that.”

Thorpe’s brows met. “I only wish for Di—Miss Headley, I mean, to be at her happiest. How is this a cut?”

Rafe looked askance at Thorpe. “Ah, right. Diana. Yes. I thought you meant Genevieve.”

“Ooh, I see.” He looked from the dancers to Rafe, studying them both at length before saying, “That explains it.”

“Ugly sight to witness,” Rafe admitted.

“Your complexion, you mean? Positively peaky. Green with envy, as they say?”

“That too. I was referring to them dancing.”

“Ooh.” After a few false starts and hmms , Thorpe asked, “Does this not work in your favor? He’s the very sort to tempt Mr. Slade from holding to the betrothal agreement.”

“You took the words from my lips.”

When Rafe offered nothing more, Thorpe again looked from the dancers to Rafe, hmmed to himself a few more times, then asked, “Have you told her your sentiments have changed?”

Rafe scoffed, which sounded almost like a snarl. “Don’t be daft. She resents being forced into this. If I align myself with her father, she’ll feel that much more trapped, that much more manipulated. My only hope is for her to find me so droll she forgets I was to blame and becomes fond of me.”

“I’m the last person to offer advice.” Thorpe stuttered a laugh. “But I do have the advantage of knowing Miss Slade longer. If I were in your shoes—and what exquisite satin they are, I might add—I would be bold in speech, plainspoken. Without your honesty, I fear she’ll think you’re being kind from obligation, not from the stirrings of your heart.”

“Poetic,” grunted Rafe.

Karras took advantage of one of the turns to whisper something into Genevieve’s ear. Pink dotted her cheeks, but she laughed heartily. Rafe swallowed.

Under his breath, Rafe said, “ Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo . If I cannot bend the will of Heaven, I shall move Hell.”

“The way I see it,” Thorpe continued, “if her head is so easily turned, she’s not for you. But I never took Miss Slade for one such.” He rocked heel to toe. “Plain speak is best, I say. Tell her your devotion is genuine.”

Easy for him to say. It was not his heart on display.

“I would offer my services in whatever way they may be useful, Mr. Fitz-Stephens, except I leave on the morrow.”

Startled, Rafe tore his eyes from the dancers to take in the sheepish expression of Mr. Thorpe. “Tomorrow? Leaving? Whatever for?”

Flushing scarlet, he looked down at the buckles of his pumps. “I have some, er, traveling to do. That is, rather, I must confer with my grandparents on a matter of some importance before returning for an interview.”

“An interview? Would it not be more prudent to conduct this interview first, while in the area, before proceeding home?”

“Yes, well, that it would, except, well, you see, it’s a matter of some delicacy. This is not a task one undertakes without full familial support. You see, I intend to offer my hand.”

So stunned, Rafe stumbled one step back. “ Your hand ? In marriage ? To whom?”

It struck him before Thorpe answered. Diana Headley. By Jupiter! Rafe blanched. Had Thorpe misconstrued Diana’s friendly nature and planned to pursue her unbidden? What a disaster. His mind whirring like a timepiece, he tried to find the right words to dissuade Thorpe before he not only found his heart broken but likely also his nose, and once Headley had his way, possibly an arm or leg. Rafe could not allow poor Alan Thorpe to face this fate without at least an attempt at intervention.

Before Thorpe admitted the name, Rafe lobbed his arm around the man’s shoulders and guided him down one of the garden paths. “Say no more. I’m more observant than I seem and have seen the two of you much in each other’s company of late. The thing is…” now was his turn to hmm . “The thing is, Alan, I feel it’s my duty as your friend to recommend not acting in haste, not when the feelings of the other party could be… um… otherwise engaged.”

Thorpe listened, nodding, but then slowed his pace to look sidelong at Rafe. “There’s no reason to wait. When a gentleman knows himself to be in love, he knows . I have no reason to doubt, second guess, or wait.”

“Yes, but women are complicated creatures, and although they may be friendly, even flirty, this behavior can be deceiving to us more simple gents, who then fancy the lady in question, and thus ourselves, infatuated, when—”

“But she’s already accepted my offer.”

Rafe stopped dead in his tracks. “Diana? Accepted ?”

The situation was worse than he feared. Diana was toying with Thorpe, and Headley was going to rip the man limb from limb.

“Before you say it’s only been a week,” Thorpe protested, “I repeat that when a gentleman knows, he knows.”

“I must urge caution. Her brother is a force to be reckoned with on the best of days, and if he—”

“He’s already given his approval, Mr. Fitz-Stephens.”

Rafe gaped. What the devil had he missed this week?

“We’ll not proceed until my grandparents meet her. And I still must ask permission from her father before I can officially offer marriage. But I don’t foresee any difficulties. Only the usual nervousness I’ve come to understand accompanies being a prospective bridegroom.” While Rafe continued to gape, Thorpe clasped his hand and pumped it. “I have you to thank. You and Miss Slade. I’ll always be of service to you both. Say the word, and I’m by your side. Without the two of you, Diana and I never would have met.”

As though arriving on cue, Diana flounced towards them. “Has the wassail bowl made its way this direction? I’ve been searching between dances but can never find it. I refuse to miss my turn. Oh! Rafe! Your expression!” She tittered giddily. “Naughty, Alan! You must have told him. I insisted I wanted to tell him. I can see I’ll have to take you in hand if you’re going to ignore my requests and spill all my best secrets the moment my back is turned.” Tucking her hand into the crook of Thorpe’s arm, she probed Rafe with, “Why have you not danced with Genevieve? What must she think to have her own betrothed neglect her?”

“I’ll collect her for the supper dance.”

With a doubtful frown, Diana warned, “I hope she knows that. More to the point, why are you only wanting the supper dance? A lady is likely to think you don’t care.”

“Uh, the dictates of good etiquette make the rules, my dearest. A gentleman ought not dance more than—”

“Fiddlesticks. Come, Alan. Let us show him how wrong he is. You’re mine for the next three dances.” With that, she pulled him behind her towards the dance floor.

Rafe had little time to consider the conversation or search the crowd for Genevieve and Karras. Headley swaggered down the garden path, nodding to his sister and Thorpe as he passed, then headed for the bench a few paces behind Rafe.

“Di insists we return home tomorrow. Impetuous chit.”

Rafe joined him on the bench, the wood cool enough to be felt through his satin breeches. “More to the point, Thorpe ? How the devil did I miss this? How is he not displayed on the pillory, tarred and feathered? I like the man, but this is Diana we’re talking about.”

“I’m amusing her while offering him the opportunity to prove himself. Don’t be fooled, Fitz-Stephens. You won’t be attending a wedding any time soon. At least not until I’ve closely supervised a strict courtship.” He laced his fingers behind his head. “I’ve encouraged him to return home first, give them both time to cool their heads, give me time to speak with Father and Mam so they don’t feel blindsided or think some rogue has been philandering under my watch.”

“You’re serious? He’ll return, you know he will, and he’ll court her. Then what?”

“Then… fancy a stay in Glanvale to attend my sister’s wedding?”

Rafe laughed incredulously. “I never thought I would see the day. You’re turning soft in your dotage.”

“Speaking of weddings—and I ask not because I’m interested but because talking about my sister at an assembly is not top of my list—when’s yours? Spoken with that doddering fool of a vicar yet about the banns?”

“About that.” Rafe tugged at the ends of his hair, fighting the urge to comb his fingers through his locks in fear of disassembling the careful styling he had spent nearly an hour perfecting.

“Trouble in paradise? Already? ‘Fess, Fitz-Stephens. What have you said to upset her? Does Di need to play mediator? She’s fluent in ‘woman,’ you know.”

“Oh, it’s not that. Not exactly. I…” He pulled at the tips of his gloves, instead, to avoid disheveling his hair. A tug to each finger, and then a flex for a tighter fit, then a tug, repeating the whole again, a nervous delay tactic if he was honest with himself. “I’m smitten, truth be told. Couldn’t say how or when or why, but a bug bit me when I wasn’t looking, and now I’m good and truly smitten. Only, she’s… not as taken with me as I am with her, I fear.”

He wanted to scan the gardens for her—was she sitting out the next dance to spend more time with Karras? He resisted, not wanting to look quite so lovesick in front of Headley. A man did have his pride.

“Thorpe shared pearls of wisdom with me,” Rafe divulged.

Beside him, Headley’s shoulders shook with laughter. “I never dreamt I would say this, Fitz-Stephens, but whatever he said might be worth heeding. In one week, he came, he met, and he wooed. What a woman sees in him that we don’t is beyond my comprehension, but the fact remains, his success speaks for itself.”

“That’s depressing.”

“My pleasure.”

He hesitated to admit this, but if he could not to Headley, who else? “She danced with Karras. Seemed taken with him. So was Mr. Slade.”

“ Mmm , I see.”

“That was Thorpe’s reaction, more or less.”

Headley slapped Rafe on the back none-too-gently. “You are smitten, my good man, to allow the green-eyed monster to rear its head over that pompous popinjay. If you of a few months ago could hear yourself talking now…” Standing, he added, “Stop moping and go dance with your lady. What would the Rafe Fitz-Stephens of old have done? My guess is l’ étreinte by moonlight—that would solve most of your problems.” He waggled his eyebrows before leaving Rafe to consider this sage advice.