The Song of Love

by Platt, Meara

  The boy obediently trotted off.

  Romulus frowned. “What’s going on, love?”

  She sighed. “Don’t be angry with me, but I’ve been meddling.”

  He arched an eyebrow, looking quite wickedly rugged and immensely appealing. “What? A Farthingale meddle? Unheard of.”

  She grinned. “The Duke of Buchan is here. I wrote to him.”

  Romulus groaned. “Violet, why?”

  “I couldn’t bear to see Innes so poorly treated…well, it’s done. He paid a call on me when he arrived in town last week. He came alone, without wife number three. The woman is awful. I think the duke is regretting the marriage, but that’s between the two of them. He wants to see his son. He loves the boy, and I cannot tell you how relieved he was to know Innes had been placed in your care. He was also most appreciative that we took the lad into our home. He’s been waiting for your return, hoping Innes won’t hate him for sending him off as brusquely as he did.”

  She eased out of Romulus’s arms. “Let me introduce him to you, and then we must give him time alone with his son.”

  The duke had been standing beside Lady Dayne and Lady Withnall. He appeared eager to meet Romulus, so Violet left their side to allow the two men a moment of privacy. “Innes and I will await you in the study. Join us whenever you are ready, Your Grace.”

  Romulus and the duke strode in very soon afterward. Violet was just about to ask the boy if he was thirsty, but held off when the men walked in. She could feel his youthful excitement and apprehension. His little heart was surely beating wildly. “Father…”

  “Innes.” Tears formed in the duke’s eyes as he opened his arms to his son. The boy ran to him. Soon, both father and son were hugging and crying.

  Violet had tears in her eyes as she and Romulus slipped out of the room. When he remained silent a long moment, Violet took the opportunity to tell him of her exchange of letters with Sister Ursula and the plans for repair of the orphanage. “And I’ve also been giving weekly recitals at the war homes and local hospitals.”

  Romulus took her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze. “You’ve been quite busy.”

  “Never too busy to miss you. I’m so glad you’re home. How long will I have you all to myself?”

  “I don’t know yet. But let’s not think of it now. I missed you so very much. I went on deck every evening at sunset and watched the golden light fade over the water. I heard your song carried on the wind. It was as though you were standing beside me, smiling up at me.” He grinned. “Singing to me. Yes, singing. Because even though you think I detest music, the truth is I love you.”

  He took a deep breath and caressed her check. “I’ll love you forever, no matter where in this world fate and fortune take my ship. You will always be with me, my love. My sweet, beautiful Violet. How did I exist without you?”

  “You managed quite well, I’m sure,” she teased.

  But his expression remained serious and achingly tender. “No, never. I still cannot believe my good fortune. You are so special to me. You are the sweet song of my heart.”

  “Does this mean you wish me to sing to you?”

  He groaned.

  “Because I know how much you love it, especially in the morning. Before you’ve had your morning coffee.” She was still teasing him, wanting to coax a smile to his lips.

  He shook his head and laughed. Then he bent his head and gave her an exquisitely bone-melting kiss. “How fast can we get rid of our guests? My low brain is in a spawning frenzy.”

  She blushed and eased away, putting a hand over her stomach. “Speaking of spawning…Romulus, my love. I have something quite wonderful to tell you.”

  READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT THE SCENT OF LOVE!

  Chapter One

  London, England

  August 1820

  “Mr. Brayden, I know you hoped never to see me again,” Belle Farthingale said, gazing into the sharp, assessing eyes of Finn Brayden as he set down his quill pen and came around his desk to greet her. Despite the heat of this particularly unpleasant summer afternoon, he appeared cool and collected.

  She stared up at him, hoping he would not toss her out of his office. He could easily do it, for the man was big. Built like a warrior and quite muscled. Why hadn’t she noticed this the last time they’d met?

  To be precise, the first and only time they’d ever met.

  What a disaster that had been.

  “Miss Farthingale, what brings you here?” For the past three months, Finn Brayden had been purposely avoiding her, and he did not look happy to see her now. It was all her fault, of course. “I’d offer you tea…” He glanced at a side table that held a pot and cups on a silver tray.

  “No, safer not to, don’t you think?” At their first meeting, she’d accidentally spilled tea down the front of his pants.

  Unintentionally, of course.

  Then, while muttering effusive apologies, she’d unthinkingly reached out to blot the spill with her handkerchief. That was when her hand accidentally touched…obviously a spot no gently-bred, young lady should ever touch on a man who was not her husband.

  She knew she’d done something wrong the moment his gorgeous eyes had bulged and then he’d sucked in a breath.

  She hoped enough time had passed that he’d forgiven her.

  “Right, better to avoid hot liquids around you. How have you been?”

  “In good health, thank you. No more embarrassing attacks.” Amid the excitement of the spilled tea, she’d further scared the wits out of him by suffering a paroxysm of labored breathing. She suffered these attacks on occasion, and they were never pretty.

  She’d collapsed, falling to her knees. Perhaps passing out.

  She couldn’t recall.

  She never remembered what happened when in the throes of one of those episodes.

  Some guests must have come upon them in Lady Dayne’s flower garden in the midst of her tea party. Belle only knew that she’d come around to find her body under his, and his mouth on hers as he attempted to blow air into her lungs. His hands also happened to be on her chest, to pump her heart when he feared it had stopped.

  A small shudder ran through her. It did not bear reliving. “And may I ask how you have been, Mr. Brayden?”

  “Well enough.” He grinned. “No one’s hit me over the head since you.”

  Oh, did he have to bring that up, too? She’d only hit him over the head with a sofa cushion to prevent him from doing the idiotically honorable thing and proposing to her. He meant to save her from ruin.

  It wasn’t necessary, as it turned out. No scandal had ever developed, as she was certain it wouldn’t once he explained the circumstances to one and all.

  One might say that by hitting him, she’d saved him from a forced and unwanted marriage.

  One might also say she’d done him a good turn, and he was now obligated to do one for her.

  “What brings you here now?” The glint in his eyes revealed he had not forgotten a moment of what had happened.

  She hoped he was not angry with her still. “I’ve come to ask a favor. I am in dire need of your help.”

  There, I’ve asked him.

  The worst he can say is no.

  “My help?” He folded his arms over his chest, awaiting her explanation.

  His arms were massive. Why hadn’t she noticed how daunting he was before? The man seemed more suited to carrying a sword and shield, or wearing armor instead of the fashionable Savile Row clothes he had on. In truth, he looked splendid in those as well. The cut of his jacket, the fold of his cravat, everything was perfection. The colors were dark, muted. The superfine of his jacket molded to his shoulders and enhanced their broadness.

  “Yes.” She spoke the word with assurance, confidence, hoping not to start eeping like a demented bird, for she was neither assured nor confident. “Honey and I are worried. We don’t know where else to turn.”

  He offered her a chair in his very large, very elegant office overloo
king the Thames near the Parliament building. “Miss Farthingale, how may I be of assistance?”

  He spoke with surprising courtesy, his voice deep and resonant, showing no trace of impatience or simmering irritation. One might believe he was genuinely concerned about her situation.

  Instead of returning to sit behind his desk, he took the chair beside hers, and at the same time with the mere nod of his head, dismissed the clerk who’d escorted her in. For the sake of propriety, his door remained open so Belle’s maid could see them from her chair in the waiting room.

  “I won’t take up much of your time.” She was a little overwhelmed by the man now that they were seated side by side. Finn Brayden was much handsomer than she’d realized. His eyes were an alluring mix of smoky gray and forest green. His dark hair framed a ruggedly attractive face. “I’ll get right to the point.” She licked her lips, finding his nearness quite unsettling. “I think someone is stealing from my father’s business.”

  He arched a dark eyebrow but said nothing.

  Feeling even more unsettled by his silence, she cleared her throat and continued. “My sister and I attempted to review the ledgers last week, for we are active in the family perfume shops. But our father caught us and snatched them away. We knew at once something was wrong. He’s never hidden the accounts from us before. However, these past few months he has become quite secretive.”

  Finn stretched his long legs before him and steepled his fingers under his chin. “And you wish me to have a look at these accounts? Will he allow me to do it?”

  Belle shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then how can I help you? I cannot order him to turn the ledgers over to me.”

  “I know. But Honey and I have come up with a scheme to get them into your hands.”

  “A scheme?”

  “Well, a small deception really. A necessary one if we are to save the family business. We hear you are brilliant with finances and can spot a fraud immediately. This is why I have come to you. He keeps the ledgers locked away in his desk at our home in Oxford. We have a lovely house just outside of town.” She toyed with the strings of her reticule, suddenly wondering if this idea she and her sister had hatched was utterly hare-brained.

  “You want me to go to Oxford?” He glanced around at his surroundings, the gesture pointing out the obvious. They were in London. In his impressive office. One had a clear view of the boats sailing along the Thames. Indeed, the scent emanating off the river carried on the wind through his open window. While the breeze was refreshing, the odor of murky water was not.

  However, she had a particularly sensitive nose, a necessity for a successful perfume business. The odors probably affected her more than it did others.

  “Are you asking me to break into your home and steal the ledgers?”

  “Goodness, no. If I’d wanted that, I would have hired a professional cutpurse or other local blackguard. The company books must not leave our father’s study. Which is why we hoped you might join us there for the week.”

  “You are inviting me as a guest?”

  She nodded.

  “And you think your father won’t immediately suspect the reason for my presence?”

  “Honey and I gave it considerable thought. We first came up with a business excuse, that a client of yours was interested in purchasing our perfume shops and sent you to negotiate with my father. But we dismissed the possibility. He won’t ever sell. He’d simply send you away.”

  He shifted his large frame and leaned toward her. “So, you’ve come up with another excuse? I gather this one is more personal. You are blushing.”

  “It is quite personal.” She nodded again, blaming the tingles suddenly running up and down her spine on the uncomfortable request rather than his extremely good looks. “He would not suspect anything if he believed you were courting me.”

  Finn threw back his head and laughed. “Miss Farthingale, we’ve only met twice now. The first time, I was ready to propose to you. This second time, you are proposing to me. Are The Fates trying to tell us something?”

  “No. Please don’t jest about it. I only want your help.”

  “What you want me to do is lie to your father.”

  If he weren’t the size of an ox, she’d wrap her hands around his neck and throttle him. “It would only be a small, harmless twisting of the truth. After all, courtship is the reason I’ve been sent down to London. My parents hope I’ll find myself a husband. And this August heat is the perfect excuse to return to the country for a house party.”

  “Gad, why do I not like the sound of that?”

  She pursed her lips to stem her irritation. “We’ll invite a few friends, of course. And some family members. Would you like us to invite your brothers, Joshua and Ronan?”

  “And have them spy on me as I pretend to court you?” His eyebrow shot up again, and his lips twitched in the hint of a smile. “Hell, no. They’ll tattle on me to our mother. She is desperate to see me married. She tried to foist a cross-eyed duchess off on me just last week and the pigeon-toed daughter of an earl the week before that. I think she just wants me out of the house…even though it is my house and she and my brothers live there as my guests.”

  She sighed. “I’m trying to be serious.”

  “So am I.”

  This was more humiliating than she’d expected. Truly, what had she and Honey been thinking? The man was smart, wealthy, and handsome as sin. And though he was determined to make a jest of his situation, it was obvious he could aim as high as he wished for a bride. Indeed, over the course of this season, she’d seen him dance with a host of beautiful young ladies, including a duke’s daughter and a foreign princess.

  Countless women swooned over him.

  Elegant, sophisticated, well-connected women.

  Who would ever believe he was interested in her?

  She scrambled to her feet. “Mr. Brayden, I’m so sorry. I see now my request is quite ridiculous and I do apologize for intruding on your busy schedule.”

  He rose along with her and took her gloved hand. “Miss Farthingale, wait.”

  She blinked. “Why?”

  He cast her a heart-melting grin. “If I am to court you, we have some preparatory work to do. How are we to convince your father we are falling in love if we know nothing about each other?”

  She felt like a mole just come out of its burrow and staring into the brilliant sun. She blinked once more. He was that brilliant sun. Apollo, the Greek god embodiment of that golden orb. “Then you’ll do it?”

  Smiling, he cupped her chin in his hand and held her gaze to his. “I will admit, I’m intrigued. But I’d also like to set down some terms.”

  “Anything you wish, Mr. Brayden. If it is within my power.”

  “Anything?” He laughed softly and shook his head. “Miss Farthingale, I gather you are not the negotiator in the family.”

  She winced. “Is it that obvious? No, I’m the fragrance specialist.”

  “What is that?”

  She felt a momentary disappointment as he released her. But his gaze remained on her, the hot gleam in his eyes making her bones melt. Or was she imagining it? This was simply his look. This is why women swooned over him. He was not paying her any particular notice. “I create the perfumes, soaps, and bath oils we sell in our shops.”

  “You create them?”

  She nodded. “Honey’s strength is in making the sales. I stay mostly in the back room, experimenting with various fragrances. Fruit, spice, floral. I have what my family calls a common nose, although they mean it as a compliment. I know what will appeal to the ladies who purchase our scents.”

  He glanced over her head to gaze at her maid who had her eyes closed and seemed to have fallen asleep in her chair. “Sit down, Miss Farthingale. Tell me more about this talent of yours.”

  She took her chair once again and tried to remain calm as he settled back down beside her. The glorious heat of his body so close to hers affected her insides. Butterfl
ies began to flutter in her belly. “What do you wish to know?”

  “What is the scent of my cologne? Can you tell?”

  “Yes, this sort of test is quite simple for me.” She did not know what it had to do with their temporary courtship, but she obliged him. In truth, she had a sensitive nose and had been drawn to his divine scent the moment she’d first walked in.

  She put her nose to his neck. Oh, this man! Her lips accidentally grazed the rough skin at his throat where his beard was just starting to grow back in after this morning’s shave.

  Perhaps it wasn’t an accident that her lips had strayed.

  Her body seemed to respond to him in ways her brain could not control.

  This could be a problem.

  It would take all of her concentration to keep their courtship strictly business. How long would she have to endure? One week, just until their country house party ended and everyone returned to London? Their pretend romance would be over as soon as he discovered who was stealing from their shops.

  Perhaps he would figure it out in a day.

  That would be a relief, for he was much too handsome for her liking, and she was in danger of doing something very foolish. She needed to save the family business, not ruin her good name.

  She’d escaped scandal at their first meeting.

  She had no wish to tempt fate.

  Although why would he bother to seduce a perfume maker with bad lungs? “Your cologne is called Claudius and it is sold exclusively at Harrington’s. I know because it is one of our products. Bergamot and sandalwood. I matched the fragrances myself. We also use bergamot in our soothing oils. It has some excellent healing properties.”

  He smiled. “I think I’m going to enjoy spending the week with you, Miss Farthingale. You are not the typical London debutante. Perhaps I ought to be worried.”

  “Worried? Ah, yes. Beware or I shall steal your heart away.” She’d need to be far more beautiful and sophisticated for that to ever happen. “No, Mr. Brayden. I promise you, I will stick to our bargain.”

  He eased back in his chair and emitted a low, deep chuckle. “I wasn’t worried about you, Miss Farthingale.”