Sweeter Than Sin (8 page)

Rafael hesitated, then pointedly said, "And allow me to introduce Lady Kyra—"

"We are acquainted," sniffed Lady Leverett. A frosty glance barely acknowledged Kyra.

His expression tightened.

"Since you are in London, sir, I do hope you will attend our soiree tonight," went on Lady Leverett. "I know all of Society is very eager to meet the new heir to the Hendrie earldom."

"Actually, I am simply visiting the city for the day. After my visit here, I will be returning to Hendrie Hall," he replied.

"What a pity. When might you be returning? I would love to hold a ball in your honor."

"At present, I have no plans to return to Town anytime soon. I am quite content to spend my time at my uncle's estate."

The marchioness looked a little taken aback. "Naturally you will wish to acquaint yourself with its running, as you are now the heir."

Kyra watched another shadow of emotion ripple through his eyes.
Was Lady Leverett oblivious to her tactless words?
But of course she was. He was a handsome, eligible bachelor—a rich and titled bachelor—and the marchioness had two daughters to marry off.

"But the quiet of the country will no doubt become rather boring, so you must come enjoy the gaiety of Town life, too," continued Lady Leverett as she shot a coy look at her daughters. "All young men take pleasure in the festive swirl of Society—and the company of the young ladies."

Out of the corner of her eye, Kyra saw that Rafael did not crack a smile. Indeed, his expression had lost any hint of humor, and his blue eyes had darkened to a stormy hue.

"Actually, the quiet of the country suits me very well." He touched a hand to the brim of his curly beaver hat. "And now, if you will excuse us, I must escort Lady Kyra back to her maid."

The marchioness exhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring in irritation.

"Good day, ladies," added Rafael, inclining a small nod to her daughters. He then curled his gloved hand around Kyra's elbow and guided her forward.

She kept her spine straight, even though she heard the huffing and whispers behind her back.

"Are all English aristocrats so unconscionably rude?" he muttered once they were out of earshot.

She clenched her teeth, too embarrassed to answer. Spotting Anna and William at the crest of the hill, she tried to quicken her steps, anxious to escape... though no matter how fast she might run, she could never outpace her shame. It would always be there, clinging to her skirts like a shadow for the rest of her days.

However his grip tightened, holding her back.

"Lady Kyra—"

The sting of tears prickled against the back of her lids. "Please, I am late and I must hurry," she said in a rush.

"Another few minutes will make no difference," he said gently. "I don't understand—"

"Milord..." It hadn't occurred to her to call him by Jack's title and she couldn't quite bring herself to do so now. "You have no need to trouble yourself about it. Truly, it is no concern to you. And I—I would prefer not to talk about it."

"But it
does
concern me," he replied. "Those ladies were unkind to you."

As they rounded the tall hedge, Kyra came to a halt. Her throat felt too tight for words, yet she forced herself to speak. "Surely my uncle has explained why."

Rafael's mouth pinched in at the corners. "He has mentioned your accident."

"You are being tactful, sir. But I am sure he has also mentioned my ruined reputation." She hugged her arms to her chest, and tried to keep her voice from sounding too brittle. "The truth is, I am considered an outcast, a blot on the family's honor. As you saw, I am shunned by Polite Society."

She blinked, refusing to seem even more pitiable by letting the tears pearled on her lashes spill down her cheeks. "I should have known better than to come here. To venture out in public is to invite scenes like you just witnessed."

He stood silent, his gaze downcast so it was impossible to see his eyes through the thick fringe of his dark lashes.

"It would be best if you avoid me from now on," she went on. "I should not wish for my own black deeds to somehow rub off on you and sully your introduction to the
ton
."

"If Lady Leverett and her daughters are any example of the cruel and callous people who call themselves the flower of English nobility, then I have absolutely no interest in becoming part of their world."

"You don't understand, sir," she exclaimed, unconsciously echoing his words. "To be cut off from Society is to be isolated, to be..."

How to describe the feeling of utter loneliness? She deserved it, but he most certainly didn't.

"To be alone?" He crooked a smile. "I don't need a ballroom full of pompous popinjays flapping around me to feel comfortable. I am very happy with just myself for company, or better yet, a circle of people whose hearts and minds I can respect."

Respect?

She swallowed hard, but before she could respond, her maid cut across the lawn, a bit breathless from hurrying down the hill. "I beg your pardon, milady, but your father's carriage is approaching." She bobbed an apologetic curtsey to Rafael. "Please come have a quick bit of sustenance before George packs up the picnic—you haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Thank you, Anna, but I would rather not delay our return home." Kyra glanced up at the dark clouds scudding in from the west. "Besides, I'm not really hungry."

Her maid clucked in concern as Rafael pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and unwrapped it to reveal several glossy nut-brown disks. "Take these for the journey."

Seeing her look of puzzlement, he broke off a small piece. "I shall explain. But first, open your mouth."

"Wha—"

He placed the morsel on her tongue.

A meltingly sweet essence tickled at her senses.
Sugar, spice, the crunch of nutmeats, the smooth richness of vanilla...

Kyra chewed slowly, savoring all the flavors. "Oh, that's divine." She swallowed. "It tastes like chocolate, but how can that be? Chocolate is a beverage, not a food."

"Edible chocolate has been in existence for centuries," he corrected. "The Ancient Aztecs made it into wafers for their warriors, who consumed it for strength and endurance during their long marches and battles."

"It tastes too good to be medicinal," she quipped.

"Medicine can come in many guises." Rafael handed her the rest of the confections. "The art of edible chocolate was more recently perfected by a Frenchman named Sulpice Debauve. He was pharmacist to King Louis WI and Marie Antoinette. When the queen complained about the taste of her medicines, he concocted chocolate
pistoles
such as these to disguise it. Her favorite flavor was said to be almond milk."

She broke off another bite. "You know such fascinating stories."

"Chocolate is an endlessly fascinating subject."

"Lady Kyra," murmured her maid.

"Yes, yes, I am coming." She polished off the rest of the
pistole
and put the others in the pocket of her pelisse. "I feel well fortified for the journey, though I am glad not to be tackling tropical jungles or towering mountains."

"We shall soon have you ready to conquer any obstacle, Lady Kyra," said Rafael softly.

"Let us not go that far. But thank you." She took back her satchel. "For everything, sir."

"That's a nice gentleman, if you don't mind me saying so," murmured Anna, as they made their way up to where George was waiting with the hamper and blankets. "He seems ever so kind and considerate."

"Yes," mused Kyra. "He is very nice."

The trouble was, she didn't know whether that made her want to smile or sob.

* * *

Rafael slowed his stallion to a leisurely trot. Despite the drizzling rain and chill mists teasing at the upturned collar of his riding coat, he was in no hurry to return to the manor house. Instead, he chose the bridle path leading up to the high meadow overlooking the lake. On the other side of the water, the valley stretched off to the faraway hills, their fuzzed shapes deepening to shades of purple and indigo in the fading light. The Duke of Pierpont's lands lay to the left of the thick stand of ancient oaks. Over the lofty treetops he could just make out the boundary walls of mossy stone edging the wheat fields.

Was Kyra home by now? Was she eating more than a sparrow-like peck of nourishment?

Damn the cowardly cur who had brought such a look of sadness to her luminous green eyes. Not for the first time, he found himself reflecting on the unfairness of the rules governing men and women.

"Lord knows, I have no claims to being a saint," he muttered. During the years he had spent fighting in Portugal and Spain, there had been several
señoras
who had shared his bed, but for a man, such dalliances only earned the respect of his peers, not their revulsion.

"I am lauded for my seduction skills..." His partners were never innocents, of course, but worldly widows or women whose marriages were naught but matches of convenience. They were experienced enough to know how to play the game without suffering any consequences. "But seduction," he whispered, "is a two-edged sword for females."

Rafael blew out a gusty sigh. When an innocent young lady succumbed to the charms of a gentleman, Society considered her ruined for life.

One mistake.

His hands tightened on the reins as he thought about her erstwhile fiancé, who had callously abandoned her when rumors began to fly. He knew little about their courtship, or the events that led to the terrible tragedy of that fateful night's horse race. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something havey-cavey about the matter.

He shifted in his saddle as the shadows lengthened over the landscape, long-fingered shapes that seemed to squeeze the light from the surroundings.

But why, he wondered, was he taking the matter so much to heart? There was an old English adage that his father had often repeated to him when he was a child—
Whatever bed you make, you must sleep in it.
He barely knew Lady Kyra Pinnell.

But Jack had.

The memories had come back slowly, perhaps because a shroud of pain still clouded his mind when he tried to think about his cousin. Yet he had forced himself to recall the good times, the laughter and the bonds of friendship, as well as those last awful moments in the heat of battle. And that was when the realization had struck him.

Kyra had written regularly to Jack, and her thoughtful letters, filled with funny anecdotes about home, and light-hearted accounts of the friends and parties in Town had been a source of immeasurable cheer for his cousin. She had teased him too, bringing laughter to his lips as he sat around a campfire, far, far from home.

Jack had shared her letters with him, along with stories of their youthful escapades together. It was clear that he cherished their camaraderie. And he would not have stood back and let her be destroyed by ugly rumors and innuendo. Whatever the truth, Jack would have remained a loyal friend and fought to have her forgiven.

There were ways to influence the
ton
. Her father was a duke, a powerful and respected member of Society. And Jack was extremely popular among his peers. With his support, Kyra would have had a fighting chance for redemption.

But Jack wasn't here...

"And so it is up to me to take his place," said Rafael. Lifting his eyes to the rain-dark sky, he swore a silent promise to do all he could to aid the young lady in mending her shredded reputation.

But first, he would have to convince her that she was not beyond help.

And that, he thought wryly, would be no easy task.

Chapter 6

The butler gave a discreet cough as he paused by the open doorway of Kyra's workroom. "You have a visitor, milady."

Surprised, she turned from her easel.

Who would visit—

"Forgive me for intruding, Lady Kyra." Rafael moved stand alongside Gorman. "It was such a fine day, I decided to take a walk from the folly, and the path led to here. So I thought I would stop in to pay my regards—but only if I am not intruding on your work. I would not want you to start thinking of me as an unwelcome distraction."