On the Wings of Love. Elizabeth Lane
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followed Rafe’s gaze out across the sunsplotched expanse of lawn to the rise of the dunes where the aeroplane had been dragged and abandoned. “Was it the right choice? Was the end worth it?”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.
“Come on,” said Buck. “I’ll help you back to your room. Tomorrow we’ll go out and look at your machine, eh? We’ll see how much of it can be salvaged.”
He took Rafe’s weight on the right side and they moved off the balcony and through the door, into the hallway. In spite of the pain and difficulty, Rafe strove to move mostly under his own power. He had never been one to lean on others.
They had almost reached Rafe’s door when Alex came out of her room at the far end of the hall. She was dressed in pale yellow organdy trimmed with ribbons that fluttered when she moved. Her hair, freshly brushed, shimmered loose over her shoulders. Rafe caught his breath as, ignoring them both, she swung around the newel post and skimmed down the stairs in her low-heeled slippers.
Bromley, he realized, was studying him again, with that slit-eyed gaze of his. “So you like her, do you, lad?” he murmured. “Of course you do. What man wouldn’t? She’s beautiful…intelligent…spirited, and heiress to everything I own. Isn’t that right?”
Rafe swallowed, taken aback by the man’s bluntness. “She’s all that, and well beyond my reach, sir,” he said carefully. “As a pilot and a man, I know where my limits lie.”
“Do you, now?” Bromley’s left eyebrow slid upward. “Judging from the way you look at her, I’m not so sure you do. My daughter isn’t to be trifled with, Garrick. I’m saving Alex for a man who can keep her in style and keep her in line—a man who’ll breed grandsons to run my company someday. And since he won’t get a penny of her fortune, he damned well better have money of his own—preferably old money and plenty of it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.” Rafe had no problem with anything the man had said. He’d had his share of experience with rich, spoiled, beautiful girls. They liked playing around with the bad boy from across the tracks, but in the end it came down to one thing—money. Alexandra Bromley was prettier than most, but she was no different from the others and this was no time for games.
From here on out, Rafe resolved, he would put that blistering kiss out of his mind and give the girl a very wide berth. For him, Buck Bromley’s daughter could be nothing but trouble.
Chapter Four
Maude’s white-gloved hands clung helplessly to the side of the open-topped Pierce-Arrow. “For heaven’s sake, slow down, Alexandra! You’re going to get us both killed!”
Alex eased back on the gas pedal of the elegant black automobile. “I was only going thirty miles an hour, Mama. It’s a perfectly safe speed.”
“Not on this road. You can’t see around the curves. You could hit a cow or a horse or even a child. And you’re throwing up dust all around us. Use some sense!”
Alex sighed. Since Felix, the chauffeur, had gone home sick, it had fallen to her to drive herself and her mother to tea at the Townsend mansion. Ordinarily she would have been pleased. But after her encounter with Rafe Garrick, she was in no condition to sit behind the wheel of a dangerous machine.
“What’s bothering you, dear?” her mother asked. “I’ve never seen you in such a state.”
Alex’s only answer was a tightening of her jaw. The yellow ribbons on the shoulders of her dress streamed out behind her like battle flags. Her heart was pounding like the pistons on a runaway locomotive. She could still feel the burn of Rafe Garrick’s kiss on her lips and the raw, masculine pressure of his body against hers. Heaven help her, she didn’t want to feel this way. She didn’t want him, or any man, to have this kind of power over her. Anything would be better than ending up like her mother—a faded ghost of a woman, cowed and emotionally frozen.
She swerved to avoid a white leghorn rooster that ran squawking out of her path. The auto lurched as its left front wheel hit a pothole. Alex cursed. Her mother gasped.
“Alexandra! Wherever did you learn to talk like that?”
“Where do you think?” Alex sighed and eased back on the gas again. The engine slowed to a chugging purr. “Maybe you should learn to drive, Mama. It isn’t hard at all. In fact, it’s fun. I could teach you today, on the way home from the tea.”
“Goodness gracious!” Maude shook her head. “I could never do that! What would people think?”
“They wouldn’t have to know. Papa wouldn’t even have to know. It could be our secret.”
“The very idea! What will you think of next, Alexandra?” Maude sank lower in the seat, adjusting her protective veil as if she didn’t want to be recognized. “It strikes me that you have too much time on your hands and too much energy for your own good. A husband and babies would take care of that. Elvira Townsend’s nephew will be at the party today. He has excellent prospects, and he’s keen on meeting you. Promise me you’ll be nice to him.”
“All right, Mama. I promise not to scratch or bite or spit.”
“You’re impossible!”
“Yes, I know.” Alex swung the auto through the wrought-iron gate and up the long drive toward the palatial neo-Roman-style house. Her organdy gown felt damp and itchy, and her lips burned where Rafe Garrick’s stubble had roughened her skin. She could feel the beginning of a headache moving upward from the clenched muscles at the back of her neck.
It was going to be a very long afternoon.
Rafe was sitting up in bed, wolfing down a late lunch of cold ham, deviled eggs and fresh, buttered rolls when Buck Bromley strode into his room.
“Feeling better?” Buck placed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and two crystal glasses on the nightstand. Then he sat on a leather-covered side chair next to the bed.
“Much better, thanks,” Rafe said, trying not to talk with his mouth full. “Maybe I was just hungry.” He put his fork down and gazed levelly at his host. “I meant it when I said I didn’t like being obligated to anyone. I plan to pay you for every bite of this meal, and all the rest as well.”
“All in good time, lad.” Buck leaned backward, clasping his broad, hairy hands around one knee. His tan trousers were cashmere, Rafe noticed, and the white shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled up was exquisitely tailored linen, the monogram on the pocket sewn in ecru silk.
“Cigar?” Buck opened a drawer in the nightstand and produced a gold case, monogrammed with the same ornate B that graced his pocket. “After you’ve finished your meal, of course.”
“I’ve just finished, thanks.” Rafe put his tray to one side. It had been, literally, years since he’d had a really good cigar between his teeth. That was just one of the sacrifices he’d made to get his aeroplane built.
“Here.” The golden lid swung open at a touch. The molasses-sweet aroma of expensive tobacco filled Rafe’s nostrils. He selected a cigar and balanced it between two fingers for a moment, enjoying its weight, its perfect symmetry. Then, with exquisite deliberation, he placed one hand between his lips.
The match flared in Buck’s hand. Rafe inhaled, feeling the mellow, bittersweet sensation trickle through his body. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment.
“We hauled your aeroplane into the old carriage shed out back,” Buck said. “From the looks of it, I’d say you’re damned lucky to be alive.”
Rafe’s eyes opened. Buck was watching him intently, the way a cat watches a bird. Rafe sucked pensively on the cigar, meeting the older man’s gaze head-on. Life had taught him to be wary, and right now his instincts were on full alert.
“I looked at the engine,” Buck said. “Can’t say