The Taste of Love
Page 21
“I also see intelligence in your eyes. Strength of purpose. Kindness. Honor.” She blushed, no doubt realizing she’d said too much.
He liked her flattering description of him. After all, he prided himself on doing his best for his family and those who worked for him. He cared about his neighbors and the residents of Wellesford. That Poppy realized it and admired him for it was quite satisfying. But she didn’t know the rest of it and would be quite shocked when Sherbourne family secrets came to light.
“What do you see when you look at me?” she asked.
He was about to say a moppet with unruly curls and big, blue eyes, but there was a thoughtful intelligence about her that he’d never noticed before.
He eyed her from top to toe.
“What do you think, Nathaniel?”
Think? He wasn’t thinking. He was suddenly caught off guard. Poppy was beautiful.
Stunning, actually.
Why hadn’t he realized it before? “The sun’s in my eyes. I can’t see you clearly. Let’s put it off for later.”
“Very well.” She shrugged her shoulders and resumed walking into town. “It’s amazing what one sees when one bothers to look closely. Or rather, what one misses when one isn’t really looking carefully. I think that is the strength of The Book of Love. It makes you notice things. It makes you feel sensations you’ve overlooked for most of your life.”
“Right.” He’d known the girl for ages and was taking notice of her for the very first time. Just when he should not be taking notice of her.
Perhaps there was something to this book.
Poppy placed a hand on his arm, her touch soft and gentle, for the blasted girl did not know how to be any other way. He wanted to find her cloying and dull, but she wasn’t. She was just nice. And apparently more perceptive than he’d given her credit for. “You’re looking a little pale, Nathaniel. Are you not feeling well?”
“I’m fine.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, you’re not. I’m a quiet person by nature. An observer of the life going on around me. Sometimes, I observe too much. I can see that you are anything but fine. However, I also expect you are not ready to talk about whatever it is that is troubling you.”
“I’m not troubled.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to deny it, especially since Poppy did not believe him.
“I think we would both benefit by The Book of Love. I have a proposition for you, Nathaniel.”
He groaned inwardly, knowing it could only be more trouble. “What is it?”
“I need to experience more of life. You’re the perfect one to help me. I trust you and know you will always protect me. You need to look at your problems differently in order to find a solution. It is obvious that you’re stuck and don’t know where else to turn. So why don’t we work together toward our mutual goals? The book will help us both.”
“Or lead us both to ruin,” he said dryly.
“No, it isn’t possible. This book is about the power of love to make things right. And where’s the harm? At worst, it will leave you right where you started. At best, it could fix your problem.”
He ran a hand through his hair in consternation. “No.”
She sighed. “Very well, suit yourself. But I shall be reading the book tomorrow morning by the pond. Join me or don’t. It is entirely up to you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I shall kiss Andrew Gordon.”
“He’s a horse’s arse. Blast it, Poppy…very well, I’ll join you. I’ll give you four days to work whatever mischief you intend on me. Four days and no more. We’re done with those stupid spells in The Book of Love once Lady Charlotte arrives. Agreed?”
She nodded reluctantly. “Agreed.”
Nathaniel groaned inwardly. Why did he feel as though he’d just struck the worst bargain in his life?
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Chapter One
London, England
May 1818
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 their clothes mostly off.
“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 he knelt beside her, his hands too far up her legs to shrug off the appearance of what was transpiring with a careless laugh.
“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.”
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 within his chest. 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 faded red leather 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 track.”
“Oh, do forgive me. There’s so much to get out all at once. Well, the children were shooting their 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 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’d mentioned that 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 naval officer. 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. So 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 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. Violet 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 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. Then 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. But 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.
She had a nice voice, too. 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’ll 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’ll have 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. My aunt Sophie told me about him. But what must you tell him so urgently?”
Romulus cleared his throat. “That I am about to be married.”
“You are? Congratulations.” Violet’s eyes suddenly rounded in horror. “You can’t possibly mean…are you mad? Why in blazes would you wish to marry me?”
The Song of Love coming soon – please subscribe to www.dragonbladepublishing.com for updates
Also by Meara Platt
FARTHINGALE SERIES
My Fair Lily
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
Rules For Reforming A Rake
A Midsummer’s Kiss
The Viscount’s Rose
Earl Of Hearts
If You Wished For Me
Never Dare A Duke
Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron
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
De WOLFE “ANGELS” SERIES
Nobody’s Angel
Kiss An Angel
Bhrodi’s Angel
DARK GARDENS SERIES
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
THE BRAYDENS
A Match Made In Duty
Earl of Westcliff
Fortune’s Dragon
PIRATES OF BRITANNIA
Pearls of Fire
About the Author
Meara Platt is a USA Today bestselling author and an award winning, Amazon UK All-star. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart award winning story released as Book 3 in her paranormal romance Dark Gardens series. If you’d like to learn more about the ancient Fae prophecy that is about to unfold in the Dark Gardens series, as well as Meara’s lighthearted, international bestselling Regency romances in the Farthingale Series, please visit Meara’s website at www.mearaplatt.com.
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