The Song of Love

by Platt, Meara

  The Song of Love

  Book of Love, Book Four

  Meara Platt

  © Copyright 2019 by Myra Platt

  Text by Meara Platt

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  ceo@dragonbladepublishing.com

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition November 2019

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Meara Platt

  The Book of Love Series

  The Look of Love

  The Touch of Love

  The Taste of Love

  The Song of Love

  The Scent of Love

  The Kiss of Love

  Dark Gardens Series

  Garden of Shadows

  Garden of Light

  Garden of Dragons

  Garden of Destiny

  The Farthingale Series

  If You Wished For Me (A Novella)

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  To all whose hearts are filled with the song of love

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Meara Platt

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Excerpt from The Scent of Love

  Also by Meara Platt

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  London, England

  May 1820

  One hour.

  Romulus Brayden could not have been in his new townhouse on Chipping Way for more than an hour before the Chipping Way curse did him in. He’d heard about it. Had laughed it off. So, he had only himself to blame for being caught in his kitchen with the delectable Miss Violet Farthingale, both of them reeking of vinegar, and her gown unlaced.

  “I can explain, Uncle John,” Violet said as his neighbor, John Farthingale, and two of his brothers charged in on them while Violet sat on the lone kitchen stool, and Romulus knelt beside her, his hands too far up her legs to shrug off the appearance of impropriety.

  “Blame it on the bees,” Violet said with a huff as two more uninvited guests barged in. “Oh, good day, Lady Dayne. So nice to see you, Lady Withnall.”

  Lady Eloise Dayne resided at Number Five Chipping Way, and the Farthingales resided at Number Three. Romulus had just purchased the townhouse known as Number One, which was divided from the Farthingale home by a large, stone wall…obviously, not large enough.

  Lady Dayne and the Farthingales had lived on this usually quiet street for years, but the ink was hardly dry on Romulus’s new purchase. It was so new in fact, he had yet to have the elegant residence properly staffed or furnished. For this reason, he and Violet were found alone in his home.

  Romulus knew he was done for. He removed his hands from Violet’s legs and rose to stare down at the diminutive Lady Withnall, London’s most prolific gossip, silently imploring her not to spread word of this completely innocent misunderstanding.

  He supposed he ought to put on his shirt. Or help lace up Violet’s gown now that they were gathering quite a crowd.

  “What bees?” John Farthingale intoned, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at Romulus as though he wanted to kill him. He then turned his scowl on Violet, looking at her as though he was going to lock her in her bedchamber for the rest of her life.

  Romulus moved to stand protectively beside Violet who appeared quite calm about this whole unhappy affair. His own heart was beating so hard and fast, it was about to burst. To make matters worse, he could not look at Violet in her state of undress without fireworks going off inside his body, and everyone but Violet seemed to know it.

  “You see,” she started, taking a deep breath that caused his eyes to bulge as they darted to the magnificent swell of her bosom. Her gown was unlaced—he could explain—exposing the creamy softness of her shoulders along with said magnificent swell of her bosom.

  Avert your gaze, you arse.

  But it was too late. He’d been caught looking by everyone presently standing in the kitchen. Again, everyone but Violet who took no notice of him as she pressed on with her explanation. “The children were playing with their slingshots in the garden, shooting rocks at the acorns in the oak tree. Well, they were pebbles, really. I was reading under the tree. You know, it was that book Poppy gave me.”

  Romulus glanced at the red-leather tome now innocently sitting on his kitchen table, the one Violet had used to smash his nose as she swung at a bee and then strike him in the jaw to swing at another bee. Her aim was execrable. He now sported a bruise to his jaw. Thankfully, his nose was not broken, although it had bled a little when that binding had caught his nostrils.

  “I hadn’t gotten very far into reading the book, a most interesting scientific exposition of–”

  “Violet,” Lady Dayne said gently, “you are getting off the topic.”

  “Oh, do forgive me. There’s so much to get out all at once. Well, the children were shooting th
eir pebbles, trying to knock off the acorns, but they hit the beehive instead. Oh, the bees were so angry.”

  She paused a moment to roll her eyes.

  Who knew Violet had such beautiful eyes? Well, he supposed everyone did now that he’d crushed her spectacles beneath his boot after she’d accidentally knocked them to the ground while swatting at more bees.

  Her eyes were violet.

  Not just violet, but a vivid, sparkling violet.

  Which explained why her parents had thought to name her…Violet.

  “I was surrounded by the swarm, trying my best to avoid being stung.” She stuck out her arms and craned her neck to expose its slender curve and the red welts covering her skin. “They got me everywhere. That’s when Mr. Brayden came to my rescue. He covered me with his body and–”

  “He did what?” her uncle Rupert said with a growl. He’d run in behind her Uncle John but had remained silent until now.

  “He sheltered me and took the brunt of the bee stings.” She turned to Romulus and smiled up at him. “You were brilliant. I cannot thank you enough for what you did. I was certain I was done for.”

  George Farthingale, Violet’s other uncle, chuckled lightly. “I fear it is Mr. Brayden who is done for.”

  Romulus knew George fairly well. He was the doctor who had saved his brother’s life. For this, Romulus would be eternally grateful to the man. Wasn’t it George who had mentioned General Allworthy was selling his townhouse? Romulus had jumped at the chance to acquire it, for he’d just returned from his latest naval assignment and felt it was time to set down his own roots.

  He’d be called into service again, no doubt.

  The Royal Navy had no wish to lose him. He was a decorated sea captain. He was also four and twenty years of age and needed a place of his own.

  “He tried to return me to our home, but the bees were a solid wall of anger amassed at our front gate.” Violet turned to Lady Dayne. “We attempted to make a run for your home, but the bees blocked us there as well. Mr. Brayden picked me up and made a run for his house.”

  “He lifted you into his arms?” Lady Withnall asked.

  Violet pursed her lips and nodded. “Well, yes. I stumbled, you see. So, he caught me up in his arms and carried me inside. Then we had to rush to close all the windows that he’d opened up only minutes before to air out his home.” She glanced at Romulus again. “It does smell like General Allworthy’s cigars.”

  “I know.” He tried not to look at her lips, but they were quite extraordinary. Full and plump and heart-shaped. They were a deep, pinkish-red. The sort of color on a pair of lips that had been thoroughly kissed. Only no one had ever kissed Violet, that was quite obvious.

  The girl had no experience with men.

  Nor any understanding of them.

  Which is why she must have been given that book by her sister. Violet had been rambling about it when he’d grabbed it out of her hands so she’d stop hitting him with it. The Book of Love it was called. She had only gotten a few chapters into it before the bees had struck, but she was already gushing about its scientific insights and muttering something about him making a perfect test frog.

  What the hell was that about?

  “The bee stings were beginning to burn. Mr. Brayden feared I would go into shock. So, he led me into his kitchen.” She waved her hand to point out their surroundings. “He soaked a cloth with vinegar and began to rub it all over me.”

  Romulus groaned silently.

  Could she not phrase that a little better? “I applied it to her arms and neck.”

  Violet nodded. “Then he had me roll down my stockings and–”

  “He had you do what?” Her uncle John was still fuming.

  “How else was he to get at my legs? He had his hands on them when you burst in. You know he did. He rubbed them down with vinegar. He did the same to my shoulders. I had to return the favor. I simply had to, Uncle John. He was going into shock. His eyes were bulging and his breaths became quite strained.”

  Lord help me.

  She was describing his arousal.

  And everyone but Violet knew it.

  “I’ve read that bee stings can kill. I insisted he remove his shirt so I could apply the vinegar to his neck, shoulders, and back. That’s what we were doing to each other when you all came in. I’m sorry if I alarmed you. I suppose I was shrieking quite a bit when the bees first attacked me. Is that what you heard? And brought all of you running in here? Were you following the sound of my screams? You needn’t have worried. Mr. Brayden came to my rescue, and thanks to him, I am as you see me now.”

  Romulus ran a hand across the nape of his neck.

  The girl certainly had a way with words.

  And a lovely, lilting voice as she spoke. Not the cloying, feigned sweetness so often used by debutantes who sought to gain his notice.

  No, Violet’s voice was cheerful and pleasant as she blithely led him to the gallows. “Mr. Farthingale, if you will allow me an hour to wash and dress, I shall call upon you at your home.”

  John nodded. “We will await you in my study. Do you wish me to send word to your brother? I think he ought to join us.”

  “Yes, why not? I ought to tell him immediately anyway.”

  “Who is your brother?” Violet asked, still clutching her gown to her bosom to keep it from sliding off her body, for it remained unlaced and the sleeves were hanging precariously off her cream-soft shoulders.

  “James is the Earl of Exmoor,” he replied, trying to keep from choking up, for the difficulties his brother had experienced after coming home from Waterloo still tore at his heart. He would have given anything to spare his brother the pain he’d suffered.

  Her gaze softened. “Oh, yes. Aunt Sophie told me about him. But what must you tell him so urgently?”

  Romulus stared at her for the longest moment before clearing his throat and emitting a pained groan. “That I am about to be married.”

  Chapter Two

  “You are to be wed? Congratulations.” Violet’s eyes suddenly rounded in horror as the import of his words sank in. “Wait…you can’t possibly mean…are you mad? Why in blazes would you wish to marry me?”

  Violet realized the answer to her question the moment she’d asked it. Romulus Brayden did not wish to marry her or have anything to do with her. He was offering in order to preserve her reputation. “No! It is out of the question.”

  Everyone was staring at her.

  “No,” she repeated to make certain everyone had heard her refusal the first time.

  Of course, they had. She could tell by their frowns and glowers.

  Mr. Brayden’s intense stare practically bore a hole through her. Oh, goodness! His eyes! A dark, smoldering green. The sort of eyes that would make a girl tingle with just a glance. She looked away, but still felt the heat of his gaze upon her.

  “No?” Several voices said at once, or perhaps everyone was tossing the word back at her in disbelief.

  Mr. Brayden knelt beside her. “Miss Farthingale, do you not understand? Your answer cannot be a rejection of my offer.”

  The man was big and muscled. In truth, he was daunting. It wasn’t his fault he had an imposing presence. His shoulders were broad and the bulges of muscle and sinew in his upper arms appeared to be sculpted out of hardest marble. There was no mistaking he was nicely formed. Exquisitely formed, to be sure.

  “Please, Miss Farthingale.” There was a tenderness in his regard that simply melted her insides. He was quite handsome. Built like a warrior, taut and lean, and those glorious bulges rippled whenever he moved.

  She cast him a reassuring smile. “Surely, you must realize I am turning you down for your sake. To accept your offer would be punishing you for your good deed. How is this fair?”

  He raked a hand through the waves of his dark gold hair.

  Goodness, even his hair was perfect. Mostly the color of honey, but with a few lighter blond strands shot throughout, no doubt the effect of exposure to the sun an
d salty sea air. His face was lightly tanned and had a few lines etched on it, just enough to give him character but not enough to make him look weathered.

  He reached for her hand, the one not clutching her gown to hold it up. “I don’t suppose this bargain is fair to either of us, but it must be done.”

  “That is nonsense. Everyone here understands the innocent reason for our…um, state of disarray. No harm occurred, and you did nothing untoward. Why can it not remain a secret among all of us?” She glanced at the five elders who were still frowning down at her. “It isn’t a scandal unless word gets out.”

  She trusted her uncles and knew Lady Dayne would take this to her grave. But Eloise’s diminutive companion was going to be a problem.

  A big one.

  Oh, dear.

  “Lady Withnall…please.” She licked her lips, for they suddenly felt as cracked and dry as her throat. “Please don’t ruin Mr. Brayden’s life by leg-shackling him to me.”

  Lady Withnall pounded twice on the stone floor with her walking cane. “I’ll strike a bargain with the pair of you.”

  “Anything,” Violet said, eager for the chance to wriggle out of this embarrassing situation. Mostly, she was thinking of Mr. Brayden’s future and his happiness.

  His hand tightened on hers.

  She glanced down, realizing he still held it. Their fingers were now entwined, and she was surprised by how natural and right it felt. She’d forgotten they were still holding on to each other. She smiled at him once more. “Whatever it is, we’ll do it. Isn’t that right, Mr. Brayden? For my part, I’ll do anything to save you from having to marry me.”

  She turned back to Lady Withnall and took a calming breath in anticipation of the terms she would demand. “What must I do to fulfill your bargain?”

  “Violet, my dear girl,” she said, her hawk eyes darting between her and Mr. Brayden. “You shall have one week to work it out between the two of you.”

  Violet frowned. “I don’t understand. It is worked out. As a gentleman, Mr. Brayden felt obligated to propose to me. I have refused him, thereby releasing him from said obligation. All is back to normal. We shall put this incident completely out of our minds and move on as though it never happened.”