CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I could not resist the temptation of mystifying him a bit—I suppose it is some taste of the original apple that remains still in our mouths …
Bram Stoker, Dracula
Sage sank gratefully into a hot bath that Rafe had run for her, letting her cold body subside into the hot, arnica-infused bubbles filling the huge claw-foot tub.
Hal had been put to bed after giving them a detailed account of his day that had lasted throughout tea, his bath and a trip down to the drawing room to say good night.
Even after that, he had subsequently interrupted his bedtime story several times with further previously forgotten anecdotes.
Finally, closing Winnie-the-Pooh in defeat, Sage had kissed him in exasperation and the exhausted child had fallen asleep before Rafe had even turned off the lights.
‘I think Hal had a good day!’ she called through to Rafe, who was sitting in an armchair in the adjoining bedroom, reading the papers.
‘What makes you think that?’ Rafe asked wryly, one eye still on the Racing Post. He rustled the page as he turned it. ‘My mother hasn’t shut up about their day either. It’s rather sweet. And I think she’s a big fan of yours, too.’
‘Are you sure? I’m worried that she wanted more for you than a single mother with a failed marriage under her belt.’
‘Oh, do give her some credit, Sage. Besides, I’ve already told her that I love you.’
Sage was struck dumb by this declaration and after a moment of absolute silence, Rafe padded into the bathroom to check she was all right. The look of astonishment on her face made him chuckle.
Taking pity on her, he sat on the side of the bath.
‘I love you,’ Rafe said simply. He stroked her cheek softly with his hand, the rough surface of his strong, calloused fingers light on her smooth skin.
‘I love you too.’
His fingers slid to her chin and he tilted her mouth upwards, meeting her lips as he leant towards her. She kissed him deeply, allowing herself to melt into him.
Some time later, Sage stood in front of the looking glass, dressed for dinner in a long silk skirt and a linen shirt that she had borrowed from Betsy. She hurriedly applied mascara and hooked on her pearl earrings.
Rafe looked at his wristwatch and slipped his feet into his shoes. He appeared behind her in the mirror’s reflection.
‘I am going to go and make us a couple of stiff drinks. Come down in your own time.’
Sage clung to him for a moment, drawing strength from him.
‘How did I get so lucky? Seriously, what made you choose me?’ she wondered aloud.
He smiled at her fondly.
‘It’s the way that you sit on a horse. You have got the best seat.’
Sage burst out laughing.
‘The funny thing is that you probably mean it!’ She stepped away from Rafe and went to put on her shoes. ‘I’m ready now, we can go down together,’ she said brightly and, steeling herself for Mary Dunbarton and the night ahead, she moved him towards the door.
They were late going down; the others had finished their drinks and were waiting by the time they arrived in the drawing room. Constance, resplendent in black velvet, looked relieved when she saw them.
‘Right, chaps, we can go in for dinner now,’ she said, marching into the dining hall.
‘Sage dear, you can sit next to Walter, with Louis on your other side. Rafe, you can sit at my end next to Vanessa. Mary, please may you look after Reverend Haviland and his wife?’ she asked, not waiting for a reply or noticing Mary’s sullen expression.
Instead, she flapped her hands at Sage – who was hovering beside her, reluctant to leave Rafe’s side – and ushered her to her place before turning to urge several more guests, none of whom Sage recognized, to be seated.
Rafe gave Sage a helpless shrug, then moved along the table and pulled out Vanessa’s chair, politely gesturing for her to sit down.
Sage dug her nails into the palm of her hand at the sight of Vanessa’s megawatt smile, but he appeared oblivious.
Louis appeared at her side, smirking like a tiger contemplating a deer.
He, too, pulled back a chair for her. Sage ignored him ungraciously, sitting down with an audible huff.
‘Come now, I’m not that bad. Give me a chance …
I’ll win you over.’ Louis’s eyes glinted in the candlelight.
His leg brushed against hers as he sat down.
He was, as usual, scruffily dressed, wearing jeans and a ripped grey T-shirt that had a very faded Harrow School rugby team logo pressed onto the back.
His hair was darker than normal, still wet from his bath, and his flawless skin glowed in the candlelight.
‘Why are you so tanned?’ Sage asked grumpily.
‘I’ve been in Corfu, shooting a film. It was hot,’ Louis said simply, ignoring her sniping. ‘Red or white?’ he asked, a bottle in each hand.
‘Red, please.’ She thawed slightly at the sight of Rafe, seated four places along the table, fighting a yawn while Vanessa leant closely towards him and eagerly chattered in his ear.
‘Good girl. That’s better,’ Louis said, filling up her glass. ‘Did Hal go down all right?’
Sage was surprised that Louis would have even retained such information as her son’s name, let alone ask after Hal. She took a sip of her wine and checked herself; perhaps she had judged him too harshly.
‘Oh yes. Hal. He settled down eventually – thank you.’
He met her gaze with sky-blue eyes that looked sincere and almost a little unsure of himself. She was startled again by the Dunbarton family resemblance; for a fleeting second, he looked so like Rafe in the flickering light, just as Kestrel had.
Sage ate her soup in silence until Louis leant in again towards her.
‘There’s a reason I invited Mary down.’ He spoke softly, and Sage had to tilt her head towards him in order to hear him properly. ‘I saw her with Santiago Deverill a few nights ago.’
Sage’s blood ran cold.
‘The two of them were getting very cosy at Raffles.’
‘So?’
‘You can drop the defensive act, Sage. I’m on your side, honestly,’ Louis murmured hurriedly but his words felt sincere.
‘I think it needs to be nipped in the bud. Together they could be lethal. You need to try to get her on side too – or rather, Rafe does. He’ll have more of a chance – she absolutely loathes you.
’ These last words were said in terms of respect. ‘What did you do to her?’
Sage put down her spoon. ‘That’s a story for another time. Just how dangerous is she?’
‘You need to take her seriously. Deverill, too – obviously. He’s been bad-mouthing my brother all over town. It could really damage Rafe’s reputation.’
Sage looked at Louis intently.
‘Since when do you care about your brother?’
‘You’re new on the scene – I don’t expect you to understand our relationship. We may not live in each other’s pockets but we are brothers. Believe it or not, if something hurts Rafe, it also hurts me. So what are we going to do about it?’
Sage’s mind raced to catch up. She was surprised to find that her instinct was to trust Louis here in this moment.
Despite everything she had thought about him previously, she felt she was only seeing him properly for the first time tonight.
Had she changed, or had he? Had Rafe confided in Louis about the Casper fiasco too?
What could she do to prevent Santiago from harming them any more?
The seed of her earlier idea began to grow. Staring at Louis, she realized she had the answer.
She was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of her name coming from Constance’s lips.
‘Sorry, Constance – did you say something to me?’
‘Yes, dear. I asked if you’d ever ridden side-saddle?’ Constance said patiently.
‘Oh! No, why? Though I have always wanted to,’ Sage admitted.
‘Sage is a vision on a horse,’ Constance informed the table, to Sage’s mounting horror. Everyone seemed to be listening now, totally oblivious to Mary’s distaste. ‘Sage – I’ve got a side-saddle in the tack room. Will you try it on Ajax next time? I have a hunch it could be a match made in heaven.’
‘Erm … Yes, I’d love to. Thank you!’ Sage turned to Mary in an attempt to include her in the conversation. ‘Do you ride, Mary?’ she asked.
‘I can ride, if that’s what you mean?’ said Mary loftily. ‘I don’t any more, obviously. Not in London.’ She pushed away her virtually untouched plate.
‘Poor Mary is a terrible rider!’ trilled Constance gaily, ploughing on unconcerned. ‘She couldn’t stay on a three-legged donkey even if she was tied on!’
Sage’s heart sank: this was not going to help.
Mary scraped back her chair and stood up abruptly.
‘Walter, forgive me. I have a headache,’ she hissed at Walter, and with that, she stalked from the room.
Sage felt a warm hand on her knee.
‘You’d better come up with a plan, fast – and I’d lock my door tonight, if I were you.
’ Louis was laughing but there was a glimmer of concern in the undertone.
They were the same age but Louis looked older than twenty-five this evening; there were lines around his eyes that she had not noticed last time.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked him softly, and with genuine concern.
‘Me? I’m fine – thanks.’ Louis batted away her concern and lifted his glass to his lips, the mask coming down.
‘I’m just tired. I’ve hardly been to bed since I got home a couple of days ago, that’s all.
’ He winked rakishly at Sage, performing again.
It ruined their tentative rapport, the putting on of his other face; it made her turn away.
After cheese and port, Sage watched Rafe across the table, trying to catch his eye.
He was wedged between Vanessa and her mother, who had swapped places in order to ingratiate herself with him.
He half-stood, beginning to make his excuses, but Mrs Pole, the woman on his other side, pulled at his hand and urged him to sit back down.
Sage was tired and, more than anything, longed to sink between the starched cotton sheets in the enormous bed that stood waiting for her and Rafe upstairs.
Louis approached him, seemingly keen to liberate his brother.
‘Rafe, may I have a word?’
Rafe leapt hastily to his feet.
‘Yes, of course.’ Then, turning to the other guests, ‘Please excuse me.’
‘Come outside and have a cigarette.’ Louis produced a soft packet of Marlboro Reds from his pocket. Rafe wondered why he was being so polite – normally he smoked at the table – but he was not complaining.
Exasperated, Sage slipped out of the dining room. She would wait for Rafe upstairs.
After an hour or so, Rafe finally made his escape.
He found Sage lying on the bed, softly lit by a lone bedside lamp and still fully dressed, having fallen asleep waiting for him.
He slipped her shoes off and rubbed her cold, stockinged feet in his large, warm hands.
She stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes and smudging her mascara.
‘Pyjamas?’ said Rafe, holding them up. She nodded sleepily.
He gently pulled her skirt down over her narrow hips.
Sage wriggled out of her pants and stockings and stepped into the brushed cotton bottoms. She unbuttoned her shirt and removed her bra; Rafe handed her the pyjama top and she shrugged it on, stifling a yawn.
She sat back down on the bed, still half-asleep, vaguely watching Rafe who was fumbling about in her bag.
He held up a packet of face wipes triumphantly and carefully removed the smears of black from beneath her eyes.
Then, with a kiss, he bade her get into bed.
‘We can talk in the morning. We’re leaving in a couple of hours – get some sleep.’
Sage succumbed gladly, sinking with relief into the soft pillows and pulling the thick blankets up to her chin. She was asleep again within seconds. Rafe got ready for bed quickly but lay awake for a long while, deep in thought.