Sweeter Than Sin (10 page)

"Oh, I couldn't! I've indulged quite enough."

"Nonsense. It's impossible to indulge enough at markets. They are all about sampling everything."

"Well, if you insist."

A cheerful
crunch-crunch
punctuating their steps, they wended their way through the kitchenwares, the stacks of nubby linen and Belgian lace, and on to the flower stalls.

* * *

Rafael had not exaggerated—the display of orchids was even more impressive than he had described. Kyra stood entranced, the profusion of subtle hues and shapes leaving her a little breathless.

"Dare I hope the pinks are pleasing?" he asked.

"More than pleasing," she murmured. "They are astounding."

He stood for several long moments studying the blooms. "Let me try to guess which one you like best." Another drawn-out pause, before his fingers slid through the foliage, and drew one of the potted flowers closer. "I daresay it's this one."

"H-How did you guess?"

"I've seen your palette, remember? It's clear which shades of rose madder and alizarin crimson you favor."

"Most men would never notice such things," she mused.

"Ah, but I am not like most men."

How true.
A clench of longing squeezed at her chest, but Kyra quickly shook it off. Such sentiments were now forbidden—she was no longer worthy of romantic dreams. Of romantic desires.

Ducking her head, she began fumbling in her reticle for her purse. "How much—"

Rafael stilled her hand. "Allow me to negotiate," he said softly. "Wait here."

He moved to the far end of the display, where the proprietor was busy trimming some yellowed leaves from a small ficus tree. A rapidfire series of gestures and grimaces ensued, then finally a gruff nod from the man. In answer, Rafael smiled and passed over some money.

"Sir, I can't allow you to pay for my purchase," said Kyra tightly when he returned. "How much do I owe you?"

A twinkle lit in his eyes. "Oh, never fear, I fully intended to ask for recompense for my bargaining skill. And it will cost you dear, Lady Kyra."

"How much?" she repeated, reaching back into her reticule.

"You have no need for your purse. I wish to be reimbursed with a watercolor sketch of the bloom."

"B-But that doesn't seem a fair exchange. Orchids are expensive—"

"Allow me to be the judge of that."

Kyra bit her lip, uncertain if it would be proper. God knows, she had transgressed enough of Society's rules for several lifetimes.

"I hope we might consider it an exchange of tokens of friendship," added Rafael.

Friendship.
Surely even a fallen lady was allowed to have friends.

"Very well. But I still say I have gotten the best of the bargain." She reached for the flower.

"Mr. Wilkins says we may leave it here we finish our shopping." He hefted his basket. "We need to visit the section where spices and exotic fruits and vegetables from the east and West Indies are on sale." Seeing she was loath to leave it, he added, "I've already made him swear a solemn oath not to sell it to anyone else."

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "It's a little unsettling how often you seem to read my thoughts. Does one of your grandmother's cacao recipes perchance confer the power of clairvoyance?"

"If so, I should bottle it and make my fortune selling it here in the market." Rafael flashed a boyish grin. "But alas, no. I have no special gifts."

Ha!
His kindness and gentle humor were special beyond words. But as she shouldn't—nay, couldn't—say so, she merely averted her gaze. But strangely enough, in that blink of an eye, Kyra thought she saw a skirl of sadness flicker beneath his show of good cheer, as if he too, were masking some inner remorse or regrets.

Surely it must have been just a quirk of the light, for the handsome Spaniard was the very soul of honor and integrity.

Unlike me.

What possible pain could be tormenting his peace of mind?

He gave her no time to ponder the question. His smile firmly back in place, Rafael kept up a light-hearted commentary on all the sights, peppering his explanations of the various sections of the markets with droll observations that kept her chuckling despite her inner turmoil. By the time the last items on Rafael's list had been purchased, they had navigated nearly all the twisting turns of the produce section.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I fear I have worn you out chasing down these vanilla pods from New Spain."

"Not at all," responded Kyra, though fatigue was starting to slow her steps. When she grew tired, her injured leg ached abominably, but she was determined not to show it. "I have learned more about New World botany from the last two fruit sellers than I have from a shelf of my Father's scholarly books."

"I don't know about you, but I am famished." Rafael spotted a nearby costermonger hawking his wares. "Ah, meat pasties! Just the sort of sustenance we need after trekking through the stalls."

Kyra was about to protest that she wasn't hungry when she realized that she was. Indeed, the scent wafting up from the man's barrow was making her mouth water. She started to follow Rafael when a sudden tangling of her skirts nearly caused her to trip.

Looking down, she saw a dark shape wiggle free of the muslin folds. With its matted fur, torn ear and oversized paws, there was nothing remotely cuddly about the gangly, overgrown pup, but as their eyes met, topaz mixing with emerald in the wink of sunlight, she felt a lump form in her throat.

"Oh, sweetheart. You're hurt..." As her fingers grazed its mud-encrusted tail, a stone thumped against the dog's ribs.

"Cripple!" An urchin, nearly as filthy as the animal, scampered around one of the stalls and hurled another stone. "Cripple!" Two other lads appeared as well, and added a peltering of rotten apples.

"Stop!" cried Kyra, shifting to shield the dog as the leader of the pack raced in and aimed a kick at its rump.

The blow glanced off her shin, causing her to lose her footing and fall to the ground.

With a frightened yelp, the dog bolted off and squeezed through a gap between two big wooden casks just as its tormenter lunged for its tail.

"Don't let it escape!" yelled the urchin to his friends. Slippery as eels, they darted through the gathering crowd and chased after their quarry.

Chapter 7

Rafael spun around at the sound of Kyra's cry. He saw her tangle with the urchin and go down, but what with the jumble of crates and the press of onlookers crowding in, it took him a moment to reach her side.

"What happened—" he began as he reached down to help her up from the muddy ground.

She brushed away his hand. "Never mind me—please, you must save the dog!" she gasped. "They mean to harm it!"

"Those little spawns of the devil are always making trouble," added the man at the neighboring stall. "They hared off that way." A wave of his pipe indicated one of the alleyways heading toward Seven Dials and the rookies of St. Giles.

"Please!" repeated Kyra.

Gentlemanly scruples made him hesitate, but the note of emotion in her voice persuaded him. It was far more than anger, far more than outrage.

It was desperate need, as if saving a forlorn little animal was a sort of penance for the past.

"Stay here," he ordered. Dropping the heavily laden basket beside her, he turned and pelted off after the urchins.

Pushing his way free of the crowd that had gathered around them, Rafael swerved through the parade of shoppers, ignoring the aggrieved curses and the pain shooting through his own injured limb.

Dios Madre
, it if would bring a smile to her face, he would run to the very depths of Hell and back.

The alleyways began to narrow and twist like the Devil's own tail. Clenching his teeth, he lengthened his stride. The uneven cobbles gave way to malodorous muck, making it even harder to keep his footing. His boots were slipping and sliding, yet still, through the grimy shadows he could see that he was managing to close the distance between him and the three urchins.

The leader of the pack ventured a glance over his shoulder and, seeing their pursuer closing in, he squeaked out an order to abandon the chase and darted down a side passageway, his companions following hot on his heels.

Rafael slowed, and then swore as a rotten apple sailed out from the gloom in a parting shot and knocked his hat into a mound of foul-smelling garbage. After taking another squishy step or two in its direction, he decided to leave it where it was.

Chest heaving, he sucked in a lungful of the fetid air and slowly looked around.

Now that the predators were dealt with, time to find the prey.

"Imps of Satan," exclaimed Kyra in a ragged gasp as she stumbled to a halt behind him. "Oh, I fear your hat is quite ruined."

"My hat is not my primary concern at the moment," replied Rafael. To his eye, she appeared too pale beneath the flush of exertion, and she looked to be favoring her bad leg, though she was taking great pains to hide it. "You should have stayed in the market." He knew it would only add to her agitation to mention her injury. "This area is not safe for a lady."

"Be damned with my safety," she uttered under her breath. "It's horrid that a defenseless little dog be frightened half to death by those boys." Tears pearled on her lashes. "And now the poor thing is hopelessly lost—"

"We'll find him." It was, he knew, a reckless promise to make but at that moment he was ready to take apart the surrounding rookeries brick by crumbling brick.

Kyra looked around uncertainly. "B-but I don't see how, sir."

"Nonetheless, we shall try." Taking her hand, he led the way a little farther into the stygian depths of the alleyway. All around, the shadows seemed to take on menacing shapes, and the creak of the overhanging eaves bounced evil echoes off the sooty walls.

The threat seemed so palpable that it seemed like a fist pressing against his chest. But he was not afraid of confronting physical danger.

He let out a little whistle and called to the dog in Spanish. "Hallooo,
Amigo
!"

Was it his imagination, or did a faint
woof
sound in answer?

Kyra, too, cocked an ear. "Did you hear something?"

Rafael called again.

The sound was a little louder, and seemed to be coming from just beyond the next turn.

"This way." Keeping firm hold of her hand, he edged forward, muscles tensed, his senses on full alert for any lurking menace. They rounded the bend, only to find the tumbled-down ruins of a wood and brick storage shed blocking half of the way.

A timid bark, follow by a whimper.

Kyra dropped to her knees, heedless of the ooze seeping through her skirts. "I think I see him," she said, peering between the splintered slats. "He looks to have fallen through a hole in the floor boards."

Woof, woof.

"I-I fear he may be trapped."

One look at her stricken expression and without a word, he stripped off his coat. "Kindly hold this." The gap in the rotten boards was just large enough for him to try squeezing through it.

"You mustn't, sir," she protested, casting a dubious look at the sagging timbers. "It's too dangerous."

Crouching down, Rafael surveyed the wreckage. On close inspection there looked to be a way to crawl through the jumbled wood and brick without bringing the whole structure toppling down.

"I'll be careful." He had already rolled onto his back and was inching under the jutting beam. Was he mad to risk his life for a mangy mongrel? Saving a nameless stray wouldn't bring Jack back from the dead.

And yet, against all reason, the task had become a touchstone, a talisman of sorts to prove that hope could triumph over despair.

Holding his breath, he slowly slithered through a treacherous tangle of broken rafters. The dog's woofs had stopped, and the ensuing silence only amplified the ominous cast of the ink-dark shadows shrouding the depths of the wreckage.

Just a little farther
, he calculated, making his way by touch rather than sight to the spot where the animal was trapped.
Slowly, slowly.
The mud was chill, the splinters sharp against his fingertips, but he dared not rush.