should have known better. This was Miss Tate, after all. He bit back the first reply that came to mind and ground out an, "Aye."
"I don't suppose you can climb up?" She leaned over the edge and held out her hand.
The well wasn't that deep, only about twelve feet but too high for him to reach her outstretched hand. He felt around the walls, but the thin roots that poked through and the few remaining boards offered no help. "No, I'm stuck." All his years in Spain, all his daring raids and sorties into enemy territory, and he manages to nearly break his neck in a forgotten Kent well.
"It seems you are once again at my mercy, Mr. Danvers." If her words didn't sting, the fact that all he could see was her grinning visage was salt enough for his wounded pride.
"Would you mind going for help?" he asked.
"That depends," she called down.
Rafe held back yet another retort. He was painfully aware that he was at her tender mercies. And tender and mercy were hardly words that seemed to fit into Miss Tate's vocabulary.
"And on what would that be?" he asked as kindly as he could manage.
"That you return to London and leave this
Darby
business alone." An edge of desperation tinged her words.
Rafe could barely restrain himself from rubbing his hands together in glee. Either Miss Tate was the lady he sought or she knew who was. "I would love to leave this place, but I have a reputation to maintain, Miss Tate. I can't give up now. Not with such a fine house as Bettlesfield Park in my sights. Think of it, I'd be living here in Bramley Hollow. You wouldn't deny a new neighbor in need?"
"Harrumph. I might remind you, you'll have to find your author first before you gain your prize."
He was beginning to dislike her rampant skepticism as to his abilities.
But then again, she wasn't the one at the bottom of a well.
"Are you going to stop hunting for this author?" she repeated.
"No!" he barked. He was losing patience with her, even if she was the only hope he had of ever gaining his freedom.
"I think it is patently unfair that you think you can march into a village and demand someone stop their profession, their very livelihood, all under the guise of a gentleman. A gentleman, indeed! And what do you get for this atrocity? A broken down estate. You should be ashamed," she scolded. "If you had one ounce of nobility in your heart you would leave Bramley Hollow this instant."
But he hadn't any nobility, he wanted to tell her. His very lack of nobility had gotten him tossed out of nearly every school in England, out of the army, and on several occasions nearly out of his family.
If she wanted honor and dignity and moral integrity—the elusive virtues that supposedly came with those blessed with aristocratic bloodlines—she should go seek out his brothers, Colin and Robert. They wore theirs like a silver mantle, though even with their lofty ideals they had let theirs tarnish a bit from time to time.
No, if any of the Danvers brothers could lay claim to unarguable nobility it would have been his twin brother, Orlando.
Lando, as he'd been known, had always displayed the highest degree of courage and nobility that any single man could possess. And there wasn't a day that went by that Rafe didn't think of his lost brother. The half of his soul that would have known exactly what Miss Tate was talking about.
And agreed wholeheartedly with her.
"Well, are you or aren't you going to leave?" she was saying.
"Miss Tate, I would be more than happy to leave," he said, "if I weren't at the moment trapped at the bottom of this well." He had not agreed, he noted to himself, to give up finding his prey. "Would you please just go for help?" He decided to count on the fact that at heart, Miss Tate was a decent sort, hardly the type to leave one down a well to meet their fate.
He was wrong.
"No," came the adamant reply.
"No? You mean to say you'd leave me down here?" he asked.
"Of course not," she told him. "It's just that there is no need to go
"I don't suppose you can climb up?" She leaned over the edge and held out her hand.
The well wasn't that deep, only about twelve feet but too high for him to reach her outstretched hand. He felt around the walls, but the thin roots that poked through and the few remaining boards offered no help. "No, I'm stuck." All his years in Spain, all his daring raids and sorties into enemy territory, and he manages to nearly break his neck in a forgotten Kent well.
"It seems you are once again at my mercy, Mr. Danvers." If her words didn't sting, the fact that all he could see was her grinning visage was salt enough for his wounded pride.
"Would you mind going for help?" he asked.
"That depends," she called down.
Rafe held back yet another retort. He was painfully aware that he was at her tender mercies. And tender and mercy were hardly words that seemed to fit into Miss Tate's vocabulary.
"And on what would that be?" he asked as kindly as he could manage.
"That you return to London and leave this
Darby
business alone." An edge of desperation tinged her words.
Rafe could barely restrain himself from rubbing his hands together in glee. Either Miss Tate was the lady he sought or she knew who was. "I would love to leave this place, but I have a reputation to maintain, Miss Tate. I can't give up now. Not with such a fine house as Bettlesfield Park in my sights. Think of it, I'd be living here in Bramley Hollow. You wouldn't deny a new neighbor in need?"
"Harrumph. I might remind you, you'll have to find your author first before you gain your prize."
He was beginning to dislike her rampant skepticism as to his abilities.
But then again, she wasn't the one at the bottom of a well.
"Are you going to stop hunting for this author?" she repeated.
"No!" he barked. He was losing patience with her, even if she was the only hope he had of ever gaining his freedom.
"I think it is patently unfair that you think you can march into a village and demand someone stop their profession, their very livelihood, all under the guise of a gentleman. A gentleman, indeed! And what do you get for this atrocity? A broken down estate. You should be ashamed," she scolded. "If you had one ounce of nobility in your heart you would leave Bramley Hollow this instant."
But he hadn't any nobility, he wanted to tell her. His very lack of nobility had gotten him tossed out of nearly every school in England, out of the army, and on several occasions nearly out of his family.
If she wanted honor and dignity and moral integrity—the elusive virtues that supposedly came with those blessed with aristocratic bloodlines—she should go seek out his brothers, Colin and Robert. They wore theirs like a silver mantle, though even with their lofty ideals they had let theirs tarnish a bit from time to time.
No, if any of the Danvers brothers could lay claim to unarguable nobility it would have been his twin brother, Orlando.
Lando, as he'd been known, had always displayed the highest degree of courage and nobility that any single man could possess. And there wasn't a day that went by that Rafe didn't think of his lost brother. The half of his soul that would have known exactly what Miss Tate was talking about.
And agreed wholeheartedly with her.
"Well, are you or aren't you going to leave?" she was saying.
"Miss Tate, I would be more than happy to leave," he said, "if I weren't at the moment trapped at the bottom of this well." He had not agreed, he noted to himself, to give up finding his prey. "Would you please just go for help?" He decided to count on the fact that at heart, Miss Tate was a decent sort, hardly the type to leave one down a well to meet their fate.
He was wrong.
"No," came the adamant reply.
"No? You mean to say you'd leave me down here?" he asked.
"Of course not," she told him. "It's just that there is no need to go
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