Yes.
Lord, yes. This was how it felt to want, and be wanted.
And now that she’d known the sensation, he couldn’t expect her to settle for anything less. She didn’t want a marriage that was tame and polite. She wanted wild. She wanted wrong.
She wanted him.
Clio reached for fistfuls of his shirt, forbidding him to let her go. “Rafe.”
The bedchamber door swung inward.
“Hullo.”
Rafe, to his credit, only clutched her tighter. “Who’s there? Declare yourself.”
Oh, no.
Sir Teddy Cambourne stood in the doorway.
And he did not look pleased.
Chapter Ten
Hallelujah.
That was Rafe’s first, instinctive reaction when the door opened to reveal the stern countenance of Sir Teddy Cambourne.
Excellent. Perfect. Thank God.
The struggle was over. The jig was up. He’d been caught with his fists twisted in the back of Clio’s frock, pulling his brother’s intended bride tight against the rudeness of his hardening cock . . . and that was that.
Now he’d be called out for the villain he was. He could give up the entire wedding–planning charade. He’d allow Sir Teddy to take a shot at him in the first mists of dawn . . . and whether he was killed, maimed, or merely disgraced, he’d slink away. Disappear from Clio and Piers’s future happiness, forever.
Good.
But Cambourne didn’t seem to have read the script. He didn’t shout or rage, didn’t denounce him as a villain or a blackguard. He didn’t demand Rafe unhand his sister-in-law and name his second for a duel.
He merely stood there, wearing only his nightshirt and a blank expression, clutching a pair of black Hessians in his hands.
He held the boots out to Rafe. “Take these.”
Rafe just stared at the man. Was this some part of the dueling code he’d never learned? He thought the slap of a glove was the usual way of calling a man out, but perhaps there was a new fashion: handing him boots.
Then, from down the hall, he heard Daphne calling, “Teddy? Teddy where have you got to now?”
The man didn’t even turn at the sound of his wife’s voice. He just pressed the boots toward Rafe again. “They need to be polished by tomorrow morning. Mummy’s taking me to see a menagerie.”
“Just take them,” Clio whispered. “He’s walking in his sleep. He does this sometimes.”
Rafe took the boots.
Clio put her hands on Teddy’s shoulders and turned him back toward the doorway. “There now. That’s done. You can go back to bed.”
“I hope they have tigers. Mummy says there will be tigers.”
“Well, now. Won’t that be fine.”
He shuffled numbly toward the doorway. “Tigers are stripey. They say grrrrrowr.”
Rafe choked back a laugh.
Down the corridor, Daphne’s cries were growing increasingly frantic. “Teddy! Teddy, where are you?”
“He’s here!” Clio called. “He’s fine.” To Rafe, she whispered, “Don’t tell my sister about the menagerie. She’ll be embarrassed enough as it is.”
They met with Daphne in the corridor. “Oh, thank heaven.” She flung her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed his cheek.
Cambourne didn’t seem to notice.
Phoebe had come out of her room, too, wrapped in a dressing gown and holding a book in one hand. “It’s not surprising. We should have expected it. He’s in a new place.”
Clio nodded. “But we must find some way to keep him in his room. As big and ranging as this castle is, it could be dangerous for him to go wandering.”
“I did turn the key in the door, but I left it in the lock,” Daphne said. “I’ve learned my lesson. After tonight, the key sleeps under my pillow. Or perhaps around my neck.”
Rafe resisted the urge to suggest clapping good Sir Teddy in a ball and chain.
“I’ll station a footman in the corridor, just in case,” Clio said.
“Thank you.” Daphne turned to Rafe. “I’m so sorry. He hasn’t done this in ages.”