Sweeter Than Sin (17 page)

"Not that I had any right to dream that the future might hold happiness."

An insistent scratching on the other side of the door stirred her from her depressing thoughts.

Woof.

Setting her basket on the worktable, Kyra turned and released the latch. Hero's shaggy snout nosed the door open wider and a moment later his oversized paws were leaving muddy streaks on her skirts.

"Oh, you naughty hound."

Looking wholeheartedly unrepentant, he began to bat at the flounces that trimmed her hem.

She crouched down and hugged him, unsure whether she was laughing or crying as his tongue licked the salt from her cheeks.

"What a pair we are," she mumbled, scratching behind his ears. "Two outcasts, who have been a bit bruised by life."

His tail thumped the floor, beating a jolly tattoo. It was hard to stay downcast in the face of such exuberance.

"But we have each other, and you are right." She rose, reminding herself that the herbs and cuttings were there to be put to good use in making healing salves and potions for the estate tenants. "We must not allow adversity to defeat us."

* * *

Rafael followed the duke's butler through the stately entrance hall, careful to sidestep around the trio of maids at work waxing the wainscoting. Preparations for the upcoming ball were in full swing throughout the manor house and its grounds. Servants were everywhere, a buzz of festive excitement filling the air as they went about their appointed tasks.

Kyra, however, had proved maddeningly elusive over the course of the past week. On several occasions, he had spotted her from afar on his daily walks through the estate, but she had disappeared into the greenery of the gardens, like the fairie woodsprite of their very first encounter.

Today, he had determined to take a more direct approach. She wouldn't come to him, so he would have to take the battle to her.

She would fight him, of course. Or rather, retreat into her private world, where shadows and demons choked off the light and laughter that should be an integral part of her life.

As they turned down a side corridor, the butler cleared his throat. "If I may be so bold as to say so, sir, the viscount's return is cause for great celebration among all the servants here. Having known him since he was a young boy, we are all very fond of him." Another rumbled sound in his throat. "Despite his occasional outrageous pranks."

Rafael smiled. "I shall pass on your felicitations, Gorman. And you may rest assured that he also drove Wellington's staff to distraction at times."

This time the cough sounded more like a smothered laugh, but the butler maintained a straight face.

"No need to announce me to Lady Kyra," he added, taking two small packages from his coat pocket. "This is an informal visit—I simply wish to hand over a little something she might find amusing."

Gorman hesitated, but only for a fraction. "Very good, sir. Shall I leave you to find your own way out?"

"Please." Rafael waited for the other man's steps to recede before he continued on to the door of her workroom. She would likely not welcome the intrusion...

He knocked and then took the liberty of opening the door a crack.

A paw pushed it opened wider and an instant later, Hero's teeth caught playful hold of his coat and tugged him into the room.

The commotion caused Kyra to turn from her easel. "M-Mister Greeley," she stammered. Now that jack had resumed his rightful title, Rafael had insisted that he be addressed as a mere “mister” rather than his Spanish title. "I-I didn't expect—"

"Did Hero not tell you that he had invited me to visit?" In his experience, humor was always an excellent way to defuse an awkward situation. "He asked me to bring him some morsels of our Cook's special creamed beef stew." Crouching down, he unwrapped the oilskin packet and set it in front of the hound. "It's his favorite dish."

She tried to look stern but a hint of a smile appeared to be hovering on her lips.

"So, I thought I would also bring a few treats for you as well." Rafael held out the other package, a pasteboard box festooned with a jade green ribbon he had chosen to match her eyes. "Assuming, of course, that you haven't lost your appetite for chocolate."

"I have missed... your confections," replied Kyra softly.

"I have missed... your assistance in the kitchen. I am all thumbs when it comes to mincing nutmeats."

That elicited a reluctant laugh. "I have a feeling that a skilled cavalry officer is quite capable of wielding a small chopping knife."

"No, no, I make quite a hash of it. Your morsels are so much more picturesque than mine."

"Fie, you are doing it too brown, sir!"

"But of course. My grandmother's chocolate recipes deserve no less." He watched her curl the satin ribbon around her fingers. "Won't you open it? I've tried a few new creations and I would value your opinion."

Kyra slowly unknotted the bow and lifted the lid.

"Oh!"

Dismay or delight?
He had pushed himself to make the selection unique and different—something that would appeal to her artistic nature. But had he gone too far?

"They look far too beautiful to eat."

Rafael released his pent-up breath. "This one is filled with a special raspberry-infused buttercream," he said, pointing to one of the quartet of confections nestled inside the box. "Beside it is a praline-coated chocolate biscuit. The round disk below it is a pastille studded with crystallized ginger, and lastly you have a ball of almond paste dipped in vanilla-scented chocolate."

Her eyes widened. "I'm tempted to sketch them."

"I'd rather you ate them."

"But they are all so lovely! It is impossible to choose one over the other."

"That is a simple problem to solve. I shall choose one for you." He flexed his fingers. "First close your eyes."

Her lashes fluttered, setting off a winking of tiny sparks. The air between them seemed to crackle with heat.

"Now open your mouth."

Her lips parted hesitantly, and at that instant she had never looked so... kissable. It was all he could to keep from leaning in and stealing a taste of her ethereal sweetness.

I am a gentleman
, he reminded himself,
not a voracious beast
.

Getting a grip on his wayward desire, Rafael gently lifted the buttercream confection. Its silky, sensuous texture was just the thing for seducing the senses. Perhaps as it melted in her mouth, it would coax her into lowering her guard.

Just enough to trust him with whatever secret was bedeviling her peace of mind. Matherton was holding some terrible threat over her head and he needed to know exactly what it was.

"Mmmm." Her blissful, sugar-scented sigh was soft as a dancing sunbeam against his cheeks. "You are truly a magician, sir."

"Nay, just an ordinary knave who enjoys toiling in the kitchen." He broke off a morsel of the biscuit. "Now try this—doesn't the difference in textures make for a rather delicious contrast?"

Crunch, crunch.
A smile blossomed on her face, and for a fleeting moment the pinch of fear was gone. "Cooking and painting have much in common," she mused.

"Both would be bland without unexpected and imaginative elements. Colors, shapes, scents, tastes—those are the sorts of things that give an artistic endeavor its own unique character."

Looking pensive, Kyra plucked the almond paste confection from the box and took a tiny nibble. "Your observations are always so thoughtful, sir. Would that I had half your wisdom."

Sensing an opening, Rafael seized the moment. "All of mine is at your service, Lady Kyra. I would be honored to be allowed to help you, in any way I can."

She swallowed hard. "I—I thank you. But I don't... that is, I have no need—"

"Let us not prevaricate." He interrupted her stammering by lightly brushing a chocolate crumb from her lower lip. "We are friends, and friends should trust each other enough to share their troubles."

Her eyes squeezed shut.

"It's clear that Lord Matherton upset you. I would like nothing more than to counter whatever mischief he has in mind, but to do so you must tell me what it is."

"I... I..." Her voice had a hollowness that made his heart ache. "I can't."

"Why not?" he asked gently.

Kyra shook her head.

If Matherton had been within reach, Rafael would have pummeled him to a pulp for bringing such a look of utter desolation to her lovely face. He placed the box with the one remaining chocolate confection on her worktable and was about to turn and withdraw when he recalled Jack's exhortation to fight for the lady he loved.

Be damned with being a proper gentleman and allowing her yet again to retreat into the dark solitude of her private fears.

In two short strides, he closed the gap between them. "Sorry." His hands set on her trembling shoulders. "But whether you like it or not, you are not alone and defenseless against that scoundrel."

Woof!

Hero leapt up and began circling them, his tail waving in the air like a battle pennant.

"Whatever hold he has on you, I will see that it's broken," went on Rafael. "On that I give you my promise."

Her eyes widened, and for an instant hope flared in their jewel-dark depths. Just as quickly it died away. "You are far more kind than I deserve, sir," she whispered. "I but fear that is beyond your power."

He tightened his grip and pulled her close—close enough that his lips caught hers in a hard, possessive kiss for one exquisite instant before he leaned back. "No, it's not,
querida
. Men like Matherton are cowards at heart. Trust me, he doesn't stand a chance."

"I wish... I wish I dared to believe that."

"Believe it," he said decisively.

She didn't respond.

Deciding that it was time for a strategic retreat, in order to let her think about what he had said, Rafael released his hold. "I won't press you anymore today to know his threat, but please think on what I have said—sharing it with me takes away his power over you."

Hero growled and licked at her hand.

"In the meantime, you have a second loyal guardian to keep watch over you. So come, dry your lovely eyes—you will soon be free of fear, and all the other torments that bedevil you."

"How can you say that?" asked Kyra. "Y-You can't possibly know what I am thinking or feeling."

"But of course I can. I, too, have been to Hell and back again," he answered as he paused on the doorway. "What I learned along the way was that if you forgive yourself, your feet suddenly sprout wings, and you fly high above the smoking fires and brimstone of despair."

Chapter 12

Free—did she dare believe him?

Lifting her skirts, Kyra climbed over the stile and picked her way down to the country lane leading into the village. She had fled her workroom, too agitated to continue painting, and decided to seek solace in the mundane task of visiting the local apothecary in order to purchase some needed supplies. The fresh scent of the meadow grasses and cheerful birdsongs that riffled through the back pastures were always calming.

Looking up at the clouds scudding across the sky, she drew in a lungful of the sun-warmed air. Free of fear? Free of recrimination? Free of self-torment? Oh, surely it couldn't be as easy as Rafael described.

He didn't know the full depths of her depravity.

A playful bark from Hero, who was thrashing through the brambles, merrily chasing butterflies, reminded her that she had vowed to put aside her worries for the moment.

"Come, Hero," she called. "Let us not dawdle." Old Mr. Rawlings was wont to shut up his shop early if the spirit moved him and she didn't want to miss replenished her stock of camphor.

Kyra and the hound reached the lane as it climbed up a sloping rise and swung around to pass through a glade of oaks. As she approached the trees, a lone rider emerged from the leafy shadows, moving at a sedate pace.

"Jack!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of his face. "I am surprised that Dr. Laskins has given his permission for you to be in the saddle just yet."