Sweeter Than Sin (11 page)

At last, his hand brushed up against a coarse curling of fur. He felt the dog stir and as a wet warmth licked against his skin, he chuffed a sigh of relief.

"
Si, si, amigo
, I am happy to meet you, too. But let us leave off formal introductions until I have you safely out of here." Rafael felt around and found where the dog's paw had become trapped within a crack in the floorboard. "Try to stay still."

The dog whined but ceased its struggling.

Splinter by splinter, he gingerly pried away at the half-rotten wood, slowly widened the opening just enough to release the prisoner. The dog scrabbled forward and nuzzled Rafael's cheek, and despite his bleeding palms and bruised shoulders, he couldn't repress a grin.

"I've got him—all is well," he called to Kyra. Which was, he admitted wryly, a bit of an exaggeration. To retreat without bringing the heavy timbers crashing down on their heads would be no easy feat.

"Oh, please be very careful," she whispered softly, as if afraid the merest breath would cause the wreckage to collapse.

"I—" One of the beams shivered at the touch of his boot, and emitted an ominous groan. "I assure you, I have no intention of sticking my spoon into the wall just yet."

Holding the dog tight to his chest, Rafael backtracked with painstaking precision through the maze of debris. His shirt suffered several rips, his trousers were caked in mud, and his cravat caught on a loose nail and was lost along away. But somehow he emerged unscathed.

"You had better keep your distance until my
amigo
and I have had a bath," he said dryly as he levered to his feet. "Or maybe two.
Dios mio
, it will likely take a hogshead of soap to scrub the stench—"

Ignoring his warning, Kyra flung her arms around his shoulders. "Oh, sir, you are a true hero! You deserve a medal for valor!"

A muffled bark seemed to second the accolade.

Her smudged smile was reward enough.
Rafael knew what an odd picture they must present, standing there spattered with grime, hugging a half-starved stray. Still, he couldn't help feeling absurdly proud of himself.

"Hardly." Mindful of ruining her clothing, Rafael tried to gently fend her away. "There is nothing heroic about crawling around in the muck."

Her eyes flared open at the sight his scraped and bleeding hand. "Dear Lord, you're hurt!"

"Just a few scratches. It's nothing—"

A strange heat suddenly thrummed against his skin as Kyra pressed her palm to his cheek. It was as if some powerful magnetic force was holding them flesh to flesh.

He couldn't move. He couldn't speak...

* * *

"Y-Your face is cut, too." Kyra had only meant to brush a bit of dirt from the nick on his cheekbone. But an elemental current seemed to take hold of her, and before she could think, before she could react, it drew her closer, closer...

Close enough to see the subtle play of hues swirling in the depths of his sapphire blue eyes. Close enough to be mesmerized by the sweetly sinuous shape of his mouth.

Close enough to find her lips hovering just a hairsbreadth from his. "I've never seen anything more heroic in my life than what you just did. It was... quite wonderful."

You
are quite wonderful
.

Kyra wasn't sure whether it was Rafael or she who moved—or whether some invisible magic brought them together in a gossamer kiss. For one exquisite instant, she simply savored the sculpted contours of his mouth, strong yet velvet-soft, and the sense of gentle warmth that suffused her senses.

Then, thank heavens, reason reasserted itself in the form of the squirming dog.

Shame made the wondrous warmth turn in a flash to a wicked burn. Ducking her head to hide her flaming face, Kyra fumbled with freeing the rescued stray from the tangled folds of fabric.

Through the scrim of her lashes, she saw that Rafael, too, was looking embarrassed. And with good reason. Though he was too gentlemanly to say so, he was probably horrified at having a wanton jade wrap herself around him. At that moment, she would have given all the tea in China to have the ground beneath her open up and drop her straight to Canton.

"Halloo, sweetheart," she crooned, stroking the dog's floppy ears to keep from meeting Rafael’s gaze.

"He needs a proper name," he murmured.

To Kyra's surprise, he didn't back away from her, now that he was no longer ensnared.

"My guess," Rafael went on, "is that this ragged little imp will grow into those big, ungainly paws. A Spanish
hombre
would be greatly shamed by being called 'Sweetheart.' I daresay an English one would feel much the same."

"You are sure it's a male?"

"
Si
." A twinkle of amusement lit in his eyes. "Very sure."

Kyra did not ask him to elaborate. She thought for a moment. "Then I shall name him Hero. Surely no
hombre
could object to that."

"Hero." Rafael reached out and ruffled his fingers through the dog's matted fur. "Perhaps he will grow into his name as well as his feet."

"At least he will have a chance to prove himself." She hadn't really considered the ramifications of running after the half-starved dog. As was her wont, she had acted on impulse. But as Hero began to suckle and chew on her finger, the decision was oh-so clear.

"But first I must get him something to eat. He's starving." After running a hand over his protruding little ribs, Kyra added, "And a blanket for the carriage ride home."

She rather expected him to make all sorts of reasonable objections to adopting a scruffy stray.

But instead, Rafael merely nodded as he plucked his coat from where she had hung it on a protruding nail and tugged it on. It was cleaner than his torn shirt, Kyra noted thankfully, and would provide him with some protection from the damp chill that was settled over the alleyway now that the sun had passed its zenith.

"Here, let me carry him," he offered.

"But your coat, sir." Her nose crinkled as Hero rubbed his whiskered snout against her cheek. "We've already caused the ruin of your other clothing, not to speak of your boots." His valet would like swoon if asked to clean them. "And as you've discovered, he has some rather foul things encrusted in his fur."

"To the Devil with my coat," answered Rafael cheerfully. "I was never fond of this particular shade of grey. It will be vastly improved by mixing in a bit of brown." He lifted Hero from her arms, and was rewarded with a series of slobbering kisses to his chin. "Yes, yes, you smelly little imp, I rather like you, too." Unfazed by the needle-like teeth now attacking his lapels, he went on, "I think with some proper nourishment, he will make you a very fine country hound."

Kyra felt a surge of elation well up in her chest. "Oh, you truly think it is alright if we take him with us?"

"I don't see why not. He's clearly been abandoned."

"It is exceedingly kind of you to allow strays and... outcasts to attach themselves to your..." She was suddenly aware of his steadying hold on her arm. "...Your coat."

"My coat is already greatly improved." A grin as he indicated the shredded fabric and missing button on his collar. "Perhaps, like your famous Beau Brummel, I shall start a new style in gentlemen's fashion." Rafael gave a mock wince as Hero nipped at his ear. "Shall we call it the Hungry Hound?"

Kyra laughed. "I know there are Tulips of the
ton
who spend hours in front of the mirror perfecting the knot of their cravats, but I am not sure they would be quite as tolerant as you are—not even for the sake of appearing an arbiter of style."

"You underestimate the vanity of most men," he murmured.

No
, thought Kyra.
I don't.
Which was why Rafael de Villafranca Greeley was so...

How to describe him?
No single word seemed adequate to capture the complexity of his character. Whimsical, yet serious... strong, yet sensitive... reserved, yet kind... handsome as sin, yet—

She made her stop.

"Have a care, Lady Kyra." His grip kept her upright as she stumbled over a broken crate. "Another turn and we will be out of the alleyways."

They walked on in companionable silence and were soon back to the bustle of the Covent Garden market. The man selling meat pies from his barrow had promised Kyra to keep their shopping basket, and as they approached to collect it, the vendors at the nearby stalls seemed highly bemused by their disheveled appearance.

"All that trouble for a flea-bitten cur?" The turnip seller scratched his bulbous nose. "Seems daft te me."

"Aye," agreed the fellow selling smoked hams. "Look at them garments—they ain't fit for aught but the rag picker anymore."

"That may be true," murmured Kyra as she slanted yet another look at Hero's lolling tongue and blissful expression as he bestowed another lick to Rafael's chin. "But I consider their demise well worth it."

"Perhaps the wee doggie is Royal favorite, and they are going to receive a king's ransom as a reward," chimed in the dairy merchant. "Ha, ha, ha."

A chorus of laughter followed.

"Looks to me like the ragged little rascal is more likely a Royal pain in the arse," muttered the turnip seller, which sparked even more hilarity.

Rafael grinned at the teasing. "Oh, come, you have to admit the scamp is rather endearing." He held up Hero, who wagged his scruffy tail. "Or will be once he puts a little meat on his bones."

"Scrawny thing, ain't he?" The ham vendor looked at Kyra and cleared his throat. "Here, I've a few scraps for him."

"I suppose I can spare a bit of milk," piped up the dairy merchant.

"Here, ye can add some of these stale crusts to the milk," offered a woman selling bread. "But mind, missy, not te feed him too much at once, else he'll shoot the cat."

"Shoot the cat?" She glanced at Rafael, who seemed equally puzzled.

"Cast up his accounts," explained the ham vendor as he held out a piece of oiled paper piled with a generous helping of meaty scraps.

"Sick to his stomach," added the costermonger.

"Ah." Rafael nodded.

"Feed him slowly," counseled the woman.

Hero seemed to sense he was the center of attention and played shamelessly to his audience, eating with surprisingly genteel manners and whuffling contented little noises as he shifted his skinny body on his oversized paws.

The crowd was quickly won over, and a pelter of advice and suggestions followed on how much he should be fed at the present moment, and what should be done to keep him comfortable during the carriage ride to the country. A blanket appeared, along with a battered bowl for water, and by the time she and Rafael were ready to take their leave with their new companion, they had made fast friends with the vendors.

"Come back soon, missy and bring yer Hero with ye," said the bread woman. She pressed an extra package of crusts into Kyra's hands, along with several fragrant sultana muffins wrapped in a square of paper for her and Rafael to enjoy during the trip home. "And yer handsome gent," she added in a lower voice.

"We will," she promised, trying not to blush. "And thank you all for your kindness." With them, she hadn't been treated as a reviled outcast, a subject of sidelong stares and nasty whispers.

"Indeed," said Rafael. He had, she noticed, discreetly passed out a generous number of coins to all those who had offered to share their wares. "Though the next time you lay eyes our little imp, he will likely be as big as an ox."

More laughter and cheery waves as they took their leave, a contented Hero already fast asleep in Rafael's arms.

"Wait, we have one more stop to make," he murmured as she started toward the passageway leading back down to the Strand.

"Surely we've acquired enough items for one trip," said Kyra, unable to hold back a small frown. "Besides, I doubt you could fit one more thing in that basket." She had offered to carry it, noting that his leg seemed to be troubling him, but he had refused.

"Your orchid."

She had completely forgotten about the bloom.

"We can't leave that behind."

That he had remembered, despite all the tumult of the chase, brought a lump to her throat. "We can, and we will," said Kyra softly, "unless you will allow me to carry it. I won't have another burden weighing down your..."

She nearly said 'step,' but caught herself.

"Arms," she finished lamely.

"My arms are stronger than they look, Lady Kyra."

"Nonetheless, I insist."

"
Bueno
," said Rafael after a slight hesitation. "I have learned from my Grandmother not to argue with a lady when she gets that glint in her eye."

In short order, the orchid was collected and they made their way back to where the duke's carriage was waiting. The coachman's face betrayed a spasm of surprise at their raggle-taggle appearance, but he quickly cleared it away with a brusque cough—or was it a laugh—and jumped down from his perch to help them with all their various items.

"The basket may go in the boot, John," said Kyra. "But have a care that you pad it well so it doesn't get too jostled during the journey."