Chapter Eight

S he jerked bolt upright at his words. "I'd say you were mad, Lord Carroll! You're just embarking on a grand new life. The fact that we were once friends…" she swallowed hard, "dear, dear friends, is no reason to ask me again now."

He stroked her back, trying to coax her into relaxation again. "Remember that I'm Rafe, not Lord Carroll. I'm asking now because it's now the right thing to do, and the right time to do it."

He paused to choose his words because they might be the most important of his life. "When I learned I'd inherited and reluctantly came to the castle to see the countess, it all felt wrong. Now that I've found you, everything has become magically right. The inheritance, the castle and the responsibilities—with you at my side, in my bed, and sitting across from me at the breakfast table, everything will be right."

She slid off his lap to sit next to him, her body still stiff. "When we first met, we were not so far apart in consequence. Now you're a peer of the realm and I'm a servant!"

"You are well born and well educated, and every inch a lady." He cautiously reached out and found the back of her head so he could stroke her hair. It was silky and sensual under his fingers. His hand curled gently around her delicate nape.

"But you don't even know what I look like!" she exclaimed. "I'm not a beauty and never will be. You deserve better!"

He laughed. "Like Lady Cynthia Howard? Yes, she's a diamond of the first water, and as cold and sharp as a diamond. I don't even want to be under the same roof with her, much less in the same bed."

"I grant that you can do better than Lady Cynthia…"

"That's what I'm doing now!"

"…but there are many other suitable young women in the ton. Young ladies with looks and intelligence and style."

"As long as you look like Sarah Wesley, I require no more." He moved his hand to her face so he could lightly trace the lines and planes of her face with his fingertips. Her wide forehead with a lock of hair falling over one side. Her charming little nose, delicate cheekbones. His touch lingered on her soft, tempting lips. "You feel exactly like my Sarah should look."

"Rafe, I have freckles!" she exclaimed.

"I always thought they were adorable. I'm sure they still are."

He slipped his hand to her shoulder and gently tugged her back into kissing range. "And don't forget that there's this."

He bent into a kiss, this time putting all his desire and caring into it. Sarah gasped, then leaned into him, her mouth opening under his as she matched his desire. He had the dizzy feeling that she had always been his fate and now he'd truly come home.

He drew her onto his lap again so they could press even closer as they continued kissing. When he paused for breath, he said raggedly, "I don't ever want to let you go, my sunny Sarah! Have I mentioned that I'd like to marry you?"

She gave a choke of laughter. "You have, and it's beginning to seem more…possible. But your judgment might be distorted by the fact that you've just returned to the castle and we're trapped in a black and freezing attic. This is like a time away from time. We need to get out of this attic and you need to see me as I really am now, not just as a pleasant memory of childhood."

He slowly skimmed his hand from her shoulder to her knee. "You don't feel like a child to me."

Sarah batted at his hand. "Behave! This is serious. One of the most serious decisions you'll ever make."

"It's equally serious for you, Sarah," he pointed out, as he brushed the silken lock of hair from her forehead.

"True, but the stakes are higher for you, and you were always inclined to being impulsive," she said seriously. "I won't hold you to your proposal if you decide you want to look further before you choose a wife."

"You know me so well, Sarah." He took her hand. "Which is why I can't imagine a better choice to be my countess."

Her fingers tightened under his and he realized that she found the prospect of becoming a countess daunting. Since his Great-Aunt Agatha was probably the only countess she'd ever met, he could see her point. He'd have to work on that.

"Are you sure this is what you want, my lord Rafe?" she asked seriously. "You're not just acting from our shared memories?"

He kissed her again, lingeringly, before he said, "No dream has ever felt so real, my love. Because I do love you. I think I've loved you since the first time we met, when I was drowning in darkness and you led me to light and joy. Please do that again." He hesitated, before daring to ask, "Do you love me, or am I deceiving myself?"

"You're not," she said softly. "I've loved you ever since we met. But you never seemed possible! I'm having to adjust to believe in you. In us ."

He released her with reluctance. "You're right. We need to get out of this darkness and into the light."

"Should we try the west end door, or the east end?" she asked.

He considered. "My intuition says that we should go to the west end. I know how solidly it was locked, but now that we've talked about feline ghosts, that might have changed."

He reached down and caught Sarah's hand. "The pathway through the furniture isn't wide enough for two, so you'll have to stay behind me."

"Very well, my lord," she said demurely. "Remember to release my hand if you trip and fall on your face."

Hearing the smile in her voice, he said, "If I do pull you down, at least you'll land on top of me!"

Rafe turned and started edging back toward the door. Since he'd come this way earlier, he managed not to trip. Slivers of light outlined the door, so he guessed that the lamp he'd dropped when the ghost cat lunged at him was still burning on the landing.

He released Sarah's hand and grasped the knob. Hoping for the best, he turned it—and the door opened easily. "Well, well, well," he murmured. "Do you think the ghosts are happy with us?"

"So it seems." Sarah followed him out to the landing. After the absolute darkness of the attic, the lamp seemed positively bright. "Let there be light! Now let's descend to a room that has a fire!"

"In a moment." Rafe turned and set his hands on her shoulders and studied her. The coat he'd draped over her couldn't conceal her elegantly slim figure. She didn't have the dramatic beauty of one of the diamonds of the first water, but her face was lovely and her gentle eyes were entrancingly warm.

She looked absolutely and wonderfully Sarah-ish.

"Beloved," he breathed. "You look exactly the way I knew you would. Lovely and warm and quite utterly irresistible."

Her brows arched. "You really don't mind my freckles?"

"They're adorable. You're adorable." He brushed a light kiss first over her her left cheekbone, then the right, because they both had a light dusting of golden freckles.

Then he straightened and braced himself as he asked, "Are you sure you aren't repulsed by my scarred face?"

"Quite sure." She brushed her fingertips across the scar. "Seeing it, I am reminded that your survival is a miracle. The scar makes you look very masculine. Heroic." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Even more dear and desirable."

Their gazes caught and held. He could feel the bond that pulsed between them. It had been forged when they were children and it had only become stronger with the years and fears for each other. Sarah was his miracle. "Now that we've come out of darkness and can see each other," he said in a husky voice, "I'm going to ask you again if you'll marry me. And don't you dare use your charming freckles as a reason to refuse!"

"As long as you're sure…" She drew a deep breath, " Yes! You've convinced me that marriage is possible." After a long moment, she said slowly, "Perhaps it has been inevitable ever since we met."

"It has!" With a shout of laughter, he caught her up in his arms and swung her in a circle. She clung to him, also laughing. Then he gently set her back on her feet and kissed her. This time neither of them held anything back. The kiss went on and on, and he realized dizzily that not only was Sarah his best friend, but her sensual responsiveness set his blood on fire.

He had to catch his breath after releasing her. "Let's go down and announce our betrothal to any of the guests who remain and are awake."

"Some of the husband hunters will probably still be dancing. They'll not be happy to find you've made your choice." With a hint of mischief, Sarah added, "I will try not to gloat about the fact that the plain librarian has won the prize."

"You're not plain, I'm not a prize to be won, and you're too much a lady to gloat openly," he said firmly. "But a smile of modest satisfaction would be acceptable."

"I will be very modest," she promised, "but very satisfied!"

Rafe took her hand and turned to the steps, then looked down in surprise at the sound of a feline yowl. Mroowp! A very long black cat with white paws and whiskers was rolling acrobatically across the landing, paws waving.

"It's the Black Rogue!" Sarah exclaimed as she bent and scratched the cat's tummy. "You're looking very happy, Sir Rogue. Have you heard that there are lobster patties in the kitchen?"

An even louder Mroowp! sounded as the cat rolled even more wildly, his long legs slashing around him. One clawed paw caught Sarah's skirt. As she laughingly disentangled him, Rafe studied the cat thoughtfully.

"Sir Rogue, do you have two forms, one of which is a ghost cat who locked me in the attic?"

Mroowp! The cat rolled again and sunk one set of claws into the toe of Rafe's well polished shoe. "Cats never give straight answers," Sarah said thoughtfully. "But I suspect that he may be one of the matchmaking ghosts who brought us together."

"If so, you have my sincerest thanks, and there will always be treats in the kitchen for you and your friends." Rafe inclined his head to the cat respectfully. "Shall we now descend, my love?"

She smiled and tightened her grip on his hand as they started down the stairs, lit by the lamp that Rafe had retrieved from the floor.

Pleased, the Black Rogue watched them as they descended. With a swift flicker of light, Lady Fluff emerged from the wall and condensed to her normal size. "Well done, Sir Rogue! You have succeeded in your mission!"

"I could not have done it without your advice and guidance," he said. On the landing below, the humans paused and kissed. The Rogue asked, "Did I really drive him to his doom?"

"Doom comes in many forms. Rafe Delafield had been wounded in his spirit. He didn't feel as if he belonged in his ancestral home, so coming here felt like a sentence of doom and he'd never be happy. I knew better, of course," Lady Fluff said complacently. "He's a sound lad and he's always loved cats. This castle and the book lady are his fate, and a very happy fate it is."

The Rogue thought about that, then nodded. It made sense. "But why do they press their mouths together like that? It seems odd."

"Because they enjoy it," Lady Fluff said. Turning her head, she began licking the Rogue's neck. "Just as cat-kind enjoys this."

Her gentle tongue on his neck sent a shock through him that ran from his whiskers to the tip of his tail. "I…I see," he said a little unsteadily. "Thank you for the demonstration, my lady."

To his regret, she stopped licking his neck and said, "Let's follow them down in stealth mode to see the final act of our mission."

Liking the idea, he nodded and the two of them proceeded down the steps on soundless paws.

Rafe and Sarah paused for another kiss on the final landing before starting down to the ballroom. He contemplated a lifetime of kissing Sarah and couldn't believe how lucky he'd become. When they finally ended the kiss, he said, "Just as you didn't believe it was possible that we might marry, I never thought it would be possible that I would someday rule here as the lord of Castle Carrollton, much less be glad about it. Yet here we are!"

She smiled up at him. "Who says dreams don't come true?"

Clasping hands again, they descended the last steps and entered the ballroom. There were fewer guests than earlier, but as Sarah had predicted, there was still dancing because most people didn't have many opportunities to dance and didn't want the evening to be over.

As they entered the room, Lady Cynthia Howard spotted them and broke away from her dance partner to approach. "Lord Carroll!" she cooed. "When you disappeared, I thought perhaps you were resting from your long journey from London. I'm so happy that you've returned to us!"

Rafe noted that she still didn't quite look in his face and she totally ignored Sarah. "I wasn't resting, I was courting my future countess." He smiled dotingly at Sarah. "Have you met Miss Sarah Wesley?"

Lady Cynthia stared at Sarah, aghast. "But she's nobody! And…and she has freckles! "

"Sarah is very much somebody," Rafe smiled peaceably before raising their joined hands and kissing her fingers. "She's the love of my life and soon she will be the Countess of Carroll. Now excuse me while I announce our betrothal to Lady Carroll."

Geoffrey and Molly Milton emerged from the group of dancers, both of them beaming. "What wonderful news!" he exclaimed, as Molly hugged Sarah. "You're perfect for each other, and you always have been."

The other guests looked shocked, but most also looked pleased, except for the more determined husband hunters. A path opened in the crowd and Rafe escorted Sarah to the table where his great-aunt was still holding court.

Rafe bowed to his aunt as Sarah curtsied. "My lady, your plan has been successful. I have found my bride among the lovely ladies here at the castle. Of course you already know Miss Wesley."

The countess turned her gimlet gaze to Sarah. "So you want to be a countess?"

"Not particularly, my lady," Sarah said calmly as she held the countess's gaze. "But I very much want to be the wife of Major Rafe Delafield."

The countess actually smiled. "That's the best possible answer, my girl. Now come and let us talk wedding plans!"

As the happy couple approached, the countess raised her gaze to the two cats who had just walked through the door, and gave them a satisfied nod.

The Rogue asked incredulously, "Did the countess put you up to this, Lady Fluff?"

Lady Fluff gave a feline smile of satisfaction. "Well, I am the countess's cat and longtime familiar." She turned her head and gave another long lick to the Rogue's neck. "Now shall we adjourn to the kitchen? I was told there would be oysters."

Shyly, the Rogue licked her neck in return. Then they turned as one and tails held high, as befitted two members of the Honorable Order of Cats Who Walked Through Walls, they moved silently through the door toward the kitchen, purring.

The End