by Platt, Meara
The Scent of Love
Book of Love, Book Five
Meara Platt
Copyright © 2020 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
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition March 2020
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.
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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
The Hope 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)
*** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***
www.dragonbladepublishing.com
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To Aviva, who fills us all with 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
Epilogue
Also by Meara Platt
About the Author
Chapter One
London, England
May 1820
Finn Brayden had only himself to blame for being caught quite spectacularly in Lady Eloise Dayne’s flower garden in the midst of her tea party with Belle Farthingale in his arms. She wasn’t in his arms precisely, more twisted under his body.
He hadn’t been kissing her, either.
Nor had he…there was no polite explanation for what he had been doing.
He and Belle had not even been properly introduced.
Not that a proper introduction would have fixed anything.
“Chipping Way curse,” he heard someone mutter as a gathering crowd began to close in around them.
“No, it’s that book Violet gave her only this morning,” Hortensia Farthingale intoned in her doom-and-gloom, dowager voice that was immediately recognizable. “I knew it would lead to disaster.”
Finn growled. “Can you not see? She’s having trouble catching her breath. This is no jest. Fetch her sister. Quickly!”
He stared down at Belle, this girl who had accidentally spilled tea down the front of his trousers, setting off this series of innocent events that might end up in her ruin. Of course, no Brayden would ever allow such a thing to happen.
Braydens were honorable.
He—damn it—would not be the cause of Belle Farthingale’s fall from grace.
“You seem to be having trouble breathing as well, Finn,” someone intoned.
“I’m fine.” But he wasn’t.
After spilling his tea, and while muttering effusive apologies, Belle had unthinkingly reached out to blot the spill with her handkerchief. That was when her hand accidentally touched him where no gently bred young lady should ever touch a man who was not her husband.
His bollocks were now on fire.
Well, not literally on fire.
Whether it was because of the tea or Belle’s touch, he did not know.
Realizing what she’d just done, she’d stopped breathing. Utterly and completely. Restoring air to her lungs was all that mattered to Finn right now. They’d sort the rest out later, assuming there was anything to be sorted out. “Belle, speak to me. Please.”
He tried to keep his voice calm, but the blood was pumping hard through his veins, and he found himself anything but in control. To his relief, she finally began to inhale. Well, more of a wheeze. He glanced up at the group gathered around them. “Where is her sister?”
He’d heard sitting up helped when someone was in this sort of distress, so he carefully propped Belle up, allowing her to rest in the circle of his arms. “Take slow breaths. There. Well done. Try to take another. I won’t leave you. You’ll be all right.”
He repeated the words, for he noticed they were having some effect. Her chest was heaving less now, and her erratic heartbeat appeared to be regulating.
“Belle!” Honey Farthingale rushed toward them.
Finn felt a flood of relief. “Your sister wasn’t breathing. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Oh, dear. It happens sometimes. I think she’s coming out of it.”
Belle must have heard her and responded in a strained, raspy voice. “I am.”
Finn wasn’t so sure, for she was trembling violently, and her breaths were not all that steady. He caught sight of London’s most prolific gossip, Lady Phoebe Withnall, staring at him with her beady eyes. “Why are your pants wet?” Her nose twitched as though she’d caught the scent of scandal.
There was no scandal.
Only the scent of grass and flower blossoms and… Belle smelled nice, too. Sweet and subtle as a lavender flower.
He scowled at the incorrigible snoop. Was she seriously going to ruin Belle when the poor girl was in obvious physical distress?
“Let’s take her indoors,” Honey said, nudging everyone out of the way. “Belle, everyth
ing’s going to be all right.”
Belle nodded, closing her eyes and resting her head against Finn’s shoulder when he lifted her in his arms.
To Finn’s relief, she appeared to be over the worst of her attack. Perhaps the sight of her sister had reassured her as nothing else could.
“Put your arms around my neck,” Finn said, now carrying her toward Lady Dayne’s parlor, but there were too many guests chatting and taking tea, so he changed course and took her into the library where they would have more privacy. “It’s quieter here.”
Honey had followed them in after shooing everyone else away. “Honestly, must they all gawk?” She shook her head and sighed. “Stay with her a moment, Mr. Brayden. I’ll have tea and lemon slices sent in. Belle knows what to do now. I’ll see if Lady Dayne has some ginger or honey, too.”
“I’m so sorry,” Belle whispered, opening her eyes and glancing around when they were once more alone. The library door was open, and there were guests lingering in the hall, but no one dared come in. Honey had a no-nonsense way about her that had the others jumping to obey.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he muttered, ignoring the feeling of rightness that flowed through him while he still held her in his arms. He supposed he ought to set her down. “Belle, what happened to you?”
He’d heard about people who suffered from breathing distress but had never seen this sort of attack before. Braydens were built like oxen. Big. Powerful. Never sick a day in their lives.
“I’d rather not discuss it. I never meant to touch you.”
It was poor form to show his amusement, but she had to own the situation was ridiculous. He couldn’t help grinning, even though her predicament was no laughing matter. “I know. You only meant to help when the tea spilled. It was a kind impulse. No harm done.” Other than his burning bollocks, but those did not bear mentioning.
She emitted a groaning laugh. “I don’t even know your name. How do you know mine?”
He sat her on the sofa and settled beside her. “Finn Brayden, at your service.”
“You’re Finn?” Her eyes seemed to brighten, but he could not be sure. She had pretty eyes. “I’ve heard about you.”
Was that good or bad?
She smiled at him so sweetly; he decided it had to be a good thing. “But how do you know me?” she asked again.
“There is no mistaking a Farthingale. Magical blue eyes. Beautiful in an unsophisticated way, and I mean it as a compliment. Yours is not a cold, studied beauty, just natural and warm.” He grinned again. “Plus, Violet pointed you and Honey out to me when you first entered Lady Dayne’s parlor. She meant to introduce us, but you disappeared. I met Honey, though. She seems quite nice.”
“She is. We’re very close.” She pursed her lips, drawing his attention to them and reminding him that his mouth had been on hers only moments earlier. He wasn’t certain Belle remembered. Had she been aware of anything while in the throes of her attack? It did not matter. His mouth pressing on her soft lips was not a kiss. He’d only been trying to force air into her lungs.
“Did my sister send you into the garden in search of me?”
“No, I only meant to get away from the crowd in the parlor. Then I saw you bending over one of the flower beds and thought you might have dropped something in it. I wanted to offer my assistance in retrieving it.”
“I didn’t drop anything. I was trying to catch a ladybug and hold it on my finger.” A blush now stained her cheeks.
“A ladybug?” All this chaos because of an insect?
“It is said they bring good fortune. Obviously, not true.” She cast him a pained glance. “You surprised me when you came upon me. Your footsteps were silent on the grass. Perhaps I was distracted by the ladybug. In any event, I’m sorry I knocked over your tea. I’ve ruined your clothes. I’ll pay for the damage, of course.”
“No payment required. I’ll take care of it. I should have made my presence known to you sooner.” But he’d been enjoying the sight of her nicely rounded backside and was in no hurry to reveal his presence.
He couldn’t explain why.
He didn’t usually ogle women.
But there was something about Belle that caught his attention and quickened the beats of his heart as he’d watched her bend and twist. She’d given him an eyeful of her slender shoulders, lush chest, slim waist. Long legs.
Then she’d sensed his presence and suddenly turned to face him.
That’s when he’d noticed her sparkling eyes and felt the hot liquid spill down the front of his trousers when she’d knocked over his cup.
He could count a hundred debutantes with blue eyes and blonde hair, but Belle’s features captivated him. Her eyes were an ensorcelling blue, swirling and ever-changing, like the waters of the ocean. He could swear there were drops of gold in them, too. They were dangerous eyes, capable of drowning a man in their depths.
Her hair was an incredibly rich, molten gold. Perhaps the flecks of gold he’d noticed in her eyes were merely a reflection of her hair.
Her mouth was slightly too wide and ended in a soft pout at the corners.
He wanted to kiss her.
Not here and now, of course.
Hell, yes. Here and now.
“Why does that little woman with a walking cane keep pacing up and down the hall in front of the library?” Belle asked. “I’ve seen her before, but we were never introduced. Do you know who she is?”
“Yes. She is Lady Withnall.” The little snoop was not going to extort either of them with the threat of ruin. He managed her investments. He’d discharge her as a client if she so much as whispered Belle’s name. As though sensing he was glaring at her, the harridan started toward them. “Do not speak to her. Let me do all the talking.”
“Why?”
Finn heard the thuck, thuck, thuck of Lady Withnall’s cane. “No time to explain. Just trust me.”
He rose to politely greet the woman as she marched in and plunked herself down on the chair opposite the sofa. “What is it with you Brayden men?”
Finn cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”
Hen’s teeth.
He knew exactly what she meant. Hadn’t she caught his cousin, Romulus, with his hands up Violet Farthingale’s gown? And now Romulus and Violet were married.
In truth, they seemed deliriously happy.
Belle looked as though she was about to have another attack. Since she was Violet’s cousin—close cousin—Violet had likely told her everything about that incident. She had to know what was coming next.
Without thinking, Finn resumed his seat and took Belle’s hands in both of his.
Hers were small and trembling again.
He refused to look at her magnificent chest but knew it was heaving again. He could hear Belle’s soft, gasping breaths. “Belle, it’s going to be all right.”
“Lady Withnall…” She coughed. “You can’t…you can’t burden any man with me.” She coughed again. “I’m not desirable like Violet.”
Finn groaned.
He had been ready to fight, to threaten, even to cajole Lady Withnall into keeping her mouth shut about this incident. But Belle had just ruined it for him. He had to marry her now. Wasn’t it obvious?
To his surprise, Lady Withnall looked uncertain. “Don’t, Finn. I have no intention of spreading gossip about the two of you.”
“Thank you,” Belle cast her a brilliant smile in relief. “You are safe, Mr. Brayden.”
No, he wasn’t.
This lung inflammation capable of sending Belle into paroxysms of labored breathing was known to men of medicine. The Latin term for it was asthma. This illness had not only stolen Belle’s breath but damaged her spirit and her sense of self-worth.
She was like a kitten who had been kicked hard.
Repeatedly.
And when had a Brayden ever passed up saving an injured kitten?
Even one who was now glowering at him as she sensed his purpose. “Mr. Brayden, don’t you dare
.”
“The name is Finn.” He bent on one knee before her.
She grabbed a cushion off the sofa and hit him over the head with it.
Chapter Two
London, England
August 1820
“I know you hoped never to see me again, Mr. Brayden.” Belle Farthingale ignored the heightened pounding of her heart as she gazed into the sharp, assessing eyes of Finn Brayden. He set down his quill pen and rose to come around his desk to greet her.
Despite the heat of this particularly unpleasant summer afternoon, he appeared cool and collected, his expression unreadable. “Miss Farthingale, what brings you here?”
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 and built like a warrior. 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.
She wished she could wipe that day from his memory and hers, perhaps start over again. Of course, how could he ever forget their encounter in Lady Dayne’s flower garden or the chaos she’d created in the midst of the kindly dowager’s tea party?
For the past three months, Finn Brayden had been purposely avoiding her, much as one would avoid a dog with fleas.
Perfectly understandable.
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!” Despite her unease, she managed a laugh. “Safer not to, don’t you think?”
She hoped enough time had passed that he’d forgiven her.
He arched an eyebrow and cast her an appealing smile. “Right, better to avoid hot liquids around you. How have you been?”
“In good health, thank you. No more embarrassing attacks.” She blushed, recalling the incident of her labored breathing that must have frightened the wits out of him. She suffered these attacks on occasion, and they were never pretty. She remembered falling to her knees, then passing out amid a bed of bluebells. Quite ironic, for her given name was Bluebell. Belle was the pet name used by her family.
