“I shall retract nothing,” Rafe added. “Never will I deny Katharine’s truth, or pretend she never happened because that makes you feel more comfortable.”
“You selfish boor!” Ventnor hissed. “What about my younger daughter? Daphne is satisfactorily married now, but no man would have chosen her had I allowed your stories about Katharine to stand unchallenged. And I daresay you never spared a thought for my future grandchildren. Can you imagine what cruel treatment they might endure if people knew?”
“Then use your influence to change people’s views. Then we can treat those afflicted as Katharine was with compassion, rather than locking them away in horrendous conditions in shame.”
“Naive fool!” Ventnor spat. “It is easier to convince the world that you are a witch than that madness is not to be feared. So what if it is nonsense? Most people could not get out of bed if they did not have some nonsense to sustain them. I will do what I must for my family.”
Rafe looked at him steadily. “How afraid you are, Ventnor.”
“How dare you!” His whole head quivered. “Those rumors might die away on their own if you behaved like a normal human being, but instead you fuel them, by hiding away on your estate, brewing strange concoctions with heathens and foreigners. But then you always were odd. How your father puzzled over you, the dark, silent boy who preferred to run through the woods like a commoner than behave like the son of an earl.” He sighed. “Shame.”
Ventnor stalked back to his carriage, where the trio of matching footmen still stood to attention. He paused as he stepped onto his little carpet.
“Oh, and you have not yet thanked me,” he added to Rafe, in the affable tone of a man doing another a favor.
“Hmm?”
“For the orchids. If not for me, you would never have come by such fine and rare specimens. So thank me.”
“Hmm.”
Looking uncertain, Ventnor emitted one shaky “ha.” He glanced up at the window, at the indistinct faces of Thea and the bishop. “And for your merchant bride, of course. How desperate you must be for a body in your bed.”
As the viscount climbed back into his carriage, Rafe sauntered over to Percy Russell. Shamelessly, Rafe used his greater size to loom over the younger man, who stretched up like a weasel, leading with his chin.
“I don’t like you, you miserable, sniveling—”
“You cannot harm me,” Russell whimpered. “My father won’t allow it.”
“Hmm.”
Rafe didn’t move. The youth sidled away crabwise, then leaped into the carriage. The footmen performed their ritual in reverse, and the coach trundled off.
On his way to the door, Rafe realized he still held the bills from Thea’s shopping expedition. Her purpose was plain enough, and he secretly applauded her ingenuity. And yet… It would be highly diverting to see what excuses she offered. Just a little teasing would do no harm, and it would take his mind off Ventnor and Katharine and the blasted hopelessness of the lot.
Feeling suddenly and uncommonly light-hearted, Rafe headed back into his house.
Chapter 8
Rafe found Thea in the hallway, tugging at the bow of her bonnet, letting the ribbons flutter against her throat. As she lifted the bonnet from her head, her bosom rose and fell. A hairpin clattered onto the floor and a thick lock of chestnut hair tumbled down her neck.
Rafe twisted the bills in both hands. “Has the bishop gone?”
“Yes. He’s unusual, isn’t he? For a bishop.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I don’t recall.”
She put down the bonnet. One by one, she released the five buttons of her pelisse, the fabric parting to reveal the summer gown below, pale blue with a shiny royal-blue ribbon under her bust. Perhaps he should help her, slide the pelisse off her shoulders and down those smooth, bare arms.
He did not move, except to concentrate on untwisting the bills. He ran his eyes over the words and numbers so he would not think about shiny ribbons and satiny skin.
“I shall retire, my lord,” she said. “I am terribly tired.”
“Too tired to tell me how much of my money you spent today?”
She tossed her head. “I’m sure I have no idea. The best countesses never count money.”
“But the best earls always do.”
He waved the sheaf of bills meaningfully, earning a thrilling glare.
“How utterly detestable to ask a question to which one already knows the answer.” Her chin came up. “I shan’t stand for it. Because you did that, I refuse to reply. No, do not argue. You have brought this upon yourself.”
She whirled about and marched for the stairs. Her exaggerated hauteur magnified the sway in her hips. Rafe sauntered after her, watching the fine cotton of her gown swirl around her legs and ankles. Her fabulously, famously fascinating ankles.