Heaven Scent

by SpursFanatic

  “What about you, Miss Worthington?” Rafe asked. “Would you vote for him?”

  Suddenly, the room sounded as though a swarm of bees had escaped into it. Then, as abruptly as the noise appeared, it vanished.

  Tarin stared at him, trying to gauge whether he mocked her or waited for a serious reply. Her heart did a flip in her chest when she saw only sincerity in his dark eyes.

  “Mr. Sutherland, you know as well as I that this country, which boasts liberty and justice for all, does not allow women to vote.”

  “This country, young lady,” her father’s voice boomed from the other end of the table, “was founded by men and built by men. Women play their part – just not in politics.”

  “You’re right, Lady Worthington.” Rafe frowned at Henry a long moment, before turning his attention back to Tarin. “Women can’t vote. But they have the ability to influence the men around them, as I’m sure every U.S. President can attest with their wives.”

  “A real man would not allow a woman to influence his decisions,” her father announced, earning him nods from the other men at the table. “A real man makes decisions for his wife.”

  Shaking his head, Patrick groaned under his breath.

  Rafe totally ignored her father. He leaned towards her, his eyes swirling. She could see him grinding his back teeth, his jaw tight.

  “Again I ask you, Miss Worthington, would you vote for Taylor?”

  She couldn’t believe he persisted despite her father and the consensus at the table. He made her heart soar.

  “At this point, no,” she replied, eliciting the buzz all over again. She leaned forward in her chair. “I am not convinced he is educated enough to lead our country. While I admit he is a great military leader, his political skills have yet to be proven. But his stance against slavery is certainly worthy of further deliberation.”

  By the time she finished, Tarin’s breath came in shallow spurts. Rafe stared at her across the table, his eyes glittering in admiration. He grinned suddenly, his teeth stark white against the golden tone of his skin. He had one dimple hiding within the scar on his cheek, adding a boyish air to his otherwise purely masculine appearance.

  She could not pull her eyes from him, feeling wonderfully shameless as she basked in the esteem he directed at her. She did not question why it mattered so much, only that it did, and it felt heavenly.

  “Are you always this passionate about your interests, Lady Worthington?”

  Isabel gasped. The ladies snatched up their napkins and fanned themselves, their faces flushed.

  “That’s enough, Rafe.” Patrick scraped back his chair and stood.

  George and Timothy rounded the table to see to their wives. Henry sat at the other end, smiling.

  “I don’t believe I’ve replied yet, Patrick,” Tarin cut in.

  “Tarin!” Patrick cried.

  She ignored him and all of the noise around her. All that existed in that moment was Rafe as he smiled at her with encouragement.

  “Actually, Mr. Sutherland, I am quite passionate about my interests.”

  Utter pandemonium erupted. Rafe’s eyes glowed a rich ebony as his eyebrows rose. His smile was private, seductive as he pulled her farther into the web of his scandalous influence.

  Nothing about the evening remained remotely proper any longer. With stiff backs, George and Timothy escorted their wives from the room, Isabel fast on their tails. Patrick stared at Rafe with a look that would terrify a lesser man. Rafe didn’t acknowledge him.

  The next thing Tarin knew, her father pulled her from the chair. Rafe rose abruptly, his eyes narrowing in on Henry’s hand clamped tightly around Tarin’s arm.

  Henry loosened his hold quickly and placed his hand against Tarin’s back.

  “We must go,” he said, glancing back and forth between the two brothers before his smiling eyes settled on Rafe.

  She squinted at her father. Why was her father smiling? She had disrespected him in front of the entire group. Word of what happened here tonight would be all over Boston by this time tomorrow. She had disgraced them all.

  “Henry, I hope - ” Patrick began, rubbing his forehead.

  “Do you play whist, Rafe?” Henry cut in.

  “I do,” he said, crossing both arms over his chest. “Do you play draw poker, sir?”

  “Draw poker?” Henry replied with a frown. “No, I can’t say that I do.” He glanced from Rafe to Patrick and back. “Be at my house Friday evening at seven and a half. You can teach me then.”

  He rushed passed them, pushing a stunned Tarin along in front of him.

  Chapter 3

  “So help me, Rafe, if you say one thing out of line tonight, I’m kicking you back to Texas.”

  Rafe laughed as he and Patrick stood inside Worthington’s parlor, waiting for him to show. With a bottle of tequila on the table and a deck of cards in his hand, Rafe felt a sense of familiarity he hadn’t experienced since he left San Antonio.

  After receiving a tongue-lashing that would make the devil cover his ears, Rafe knew better than to tease his brother about this evening with Worthington. Patrick had been spitting mad at Rafe for his behavior the other night and was still scratching his head on how they had gained this invitation to Worthington’s home.

  Yesterday, Rafe had made a point of calling on George and Tim to apologize for his behavior the night before, and to gain their promise that no disrespect would be shown Tarin. Rafe had made it damned clear he would not tolerate any ill will against Tarin, and his friends had not argued. They assured Rafe that no gossip would come from them or their wives.

  Rafe still didn’t understand his own conduct. Within minutes of meeting her, he had broken every major etiquette rule in the book. Of course, he was out of practice, but that didn’t excuse his behavior towards Tarin.

  No, Rafe was surprised his tongue had worked at all in her presence. Patrick had grossly understated her beauty. But it was that damned spirit of hers that had drawn Rafe like a moth to a flame.

  Tarin was independent, yes, but she also possessed a delicate, innocent air. She spoke boldly while she blushed and held an intelligence above most men he knew. She had a way of saying inappropriate things with a grace and class that fooled the most attentive listener. She was unlike any woman he had ever met.

  At introductions, Rafe couldn’t take his eyes off her until forced to do so when his mother led her away. Tarin had made him forget his scars, made him remember why he loved women so much.

  On the other hand, she also made regrets and self-pity surface inside of Rafe. Made him wish for things he couldn’t have.

  He wanted no part of that. Rafe was grateful he still lived.

  That had to be enough.

  She was coming. He knew it before he heard her footsteps. The sweet scent of fresh-cut roses gradually filled the parlor like a cloud of smoke. Stopping at the foyer’s credenza, she stood before the mirror hooking her cape, her eyes studying the clasp intently.

  If he let her, she would walk out the door without knowing they were there. However, something in his male pride wouldn’t allow it.

  “Where are you off to?”

  Tarin jumped in her shoes and whirled around. She smiled with a hand to her chest.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. You startled me.”

  “Tarin,” Patrick said, with a bow. “Lovely, as always.”

  “Patrick,” she returned, with a slight nod, before her gaze shot to Rafe. “I hope you were not too hard on your brother after dinner the other night.”

  “I’m afraid my wounds are severe, Lady Worthington.” Rafe rubbed his hand over his heart. “I have the scars to prove it.”

  He and Patrick shared a laugh. Rafe could see Tarin fighting a smile of her own.

  “You are scarred, Mr. Sutherland?” she asked, with a mock frown.

  Tarin moved within a foot of Rafe, her scent overwhelming him like a dust storm. She made a production of studying his face closely, grazing over the blade’s scar on hi
s forehead, her eyes zeroing in on the disfigurement on his cheek.

  Rafe’s heart pounded like a herd of mustangs. What the hell was she doing?

  When her incredibly full, lush mouth moved to within inches of his, Rafe thought he was going to fall dead. He backed away.

  “Surely a man of your history does not consider such… scratches actual scars?”

  Scratches?!

  Patrick laughed aloud.

  “You have no idea what I went through to get these," Rafe said in his own defense.

  “No, I don’t,” she agreed lowly, her eyes soft. “Do tell.”

  Hell. He'd fallen into her trap like a bee to honey. Everyone in Boston wondered how he’d gotten injured.

  She was a sly one.

  But not as sly as he.

  “I’ll tell you - right after you tell me where you’re going this evening.”

  Her eyes widened as she ducked her head quickly. Rafe grinned to himself. So, Tarin was up to no good. Not exactly a surprise.

  Lifting her chin, she stared at Rafe dead on. “I am going to visit an ill neighbor.”

  Uh, huh. Rafe gave her a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh really?” Patrick asked. “Who is that?”

  Tarin turned to him. “Mrs. Winthrop. Her arthritis has her bedridden.”

  “Please pass on our family’s well wishes,” Patrick said, with a slight frown. “It is good of you to visit her.”

  “Where is your escort?” Rafe demanded, his arms crossed over his chest.

  Tarin lifted her chin higher. “I do not need an escort,” she replied, with a dismissive wave. “I am just traveling down the block.”

  “It’s just as dark down the block as it is across the city. A lady should not travel alone at night.”

  Her green eyes darkened, but her voice remained calm. “I do so every week, Rafe.”

  Rafe? He liked the sound of his Christian name on her lips. His stance softened.

  “Well, you shouldn’t. It isn’t safe.”

  Mimicking him, she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a small smile. “There are gas lamps along the walk. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to see Mrs. Winthrop - alone.” She turned to go.

  Rafe grabbed her arm. She gasped, her eyes wide when she whipped her head around.

  “Patrick, tell Worthington I’ll be right back. I’m going to walk Tarin to the Winthrops.”

  His brother smothered a grin. "Will do."

  While she didn’t fight him, Rafe did have to drag Tarin out the door. Her brilliant green eyes blazed with anger.

  “I see Patrick received all of the charm in the family,” she huffed.

  “Yes.” Rafe placed her arm through his and covered it with his hand so she couldn’t snatch it away.

  Her posture regal, Tarin’s eyes stared straight ahead as he led them up the cobblestone walk. With a steady flush in her cheeks, she ignored him like a spoiled princess ignored a servant.

  He chuckled. Tarin did not like her independence threatened.

  “Do you find something amusing?”

  Rafe held out his hand, palm up. “I’m simply laughing at the idea of being alive. It’s nice to take a walk down a quiet street with a beautiful woman on my arm. The moon is full, the weather is perfect, and I’ve got a bottle of good tequila waiting back at your house. Right now, life is good.”

  Rafe felt her gaze on him a long moment before she pulled closer. The side of her breast brushed against his arm, creating a riot of tingling nerves along his side.

  “That is a very profound statement for a rough and wild Texas Ranger.”

  Grinning, Rafe clutched at his chest. “You wound a man who looks out for your safety?”

  “Because I know that arrogant exterior is tougher than shoe leather.” She smiled. “But I do have to admit, you make an excellent escort.”

  “And you’re no less independent than when we left the house.”

  Silence was her response to Rafe’s barb. He wanted to get it through her head that safety and independence were two completely different issues. And to have independence without safety was foolish.

  Rafe nodded at a couple passing by. “Why don’t you enlist your footman to escort you?”

  Sighing, Tarin stared down at the walk when she spoke. “He stays out with father most evenings.”

  “Then send a post and I will escort you wherever you want to go.”

  Her gaze shot to his and held. “You are far too busy…”

  Rafe stopped in his tracks. “I will make time, Tarin.”

  The lamp at the edge of the Winthrop’s walk cast a soft glow over her face, her skin like velvet in the flame. If Rafe were his former self, he would waste no time in stealing a kiss from her full, juicy lips.

  But he was different now and Tarin was as near to perfect as he had ever seen.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Reaching the Winthrop stoop, Rafe gave her a brief nod before knocking on the door. “I will be back for you in one hour.”

  Frowning, she shook her head. “That is much too soon. Perhaps three.”

  Three hours with Mrs. Winthrop? At seven o‘clock in the evening? The woman was old when Rafe left ten years ago. She wouldn’t be able to keep her eyes open for two, he had no doubt.

  Something wasn’t right. But rather than give himself away now, he’d return early and see what he found.

  Nodding, Rafe handed her over to the wide-eyed butler when he answered the door. “Three hours it is, Lady Worthington. Have a pleasant evening.”

  Rafe groaned when he threw away a card he meant to keep. Dammit, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Tarin was hiding something.

  The grandfather clock in Worthington’s study showed he had an hour before Tarin expected him. He would leave at half past to make sure he arrived early.

  All the facts added up. The surprised look on the Winthrop butler’s face, the dark cape Tarin wore in the warm weather, the length of time she wanted to visit. Not to mention, the sly intelligence she had at her disposal. Yes, Lady Tarin Worthington was up to something, his gut told him so.

  His gut was never wrong.

  Rafe threw down his cards. He hadn’t played worth a damn since he really started to worry about her. What reason could she have for being out alone at night? He’d mulled it over for hours now and could come up with only one solution.

  She had a lover.

  Tarin was certainly independent enough to live such a lifestyle, and damn, she was very passionate about her interests.

  Rafe had no doubt the woman would enjoy herself in bed.

  His blood pumped faster. Hell.

  “What bothers you, brother?” Patrick asked, as he shuffled the cards.

  Rafe’s gaze shot to Henry.

  “I suppose he is impatient to talk business,” Henry baldly stated, as he sipped his tequila. “I had a visit from Kent today.” He eyed them both. “You know he has an interest in Tarin.“

  Patrick nodded as Rafe’s gut twisted. Was Tarin with Kent now? Kent was twice her age and an opium user, Rafe was certain. He’d had to twice decline Kent’s offer for the drug when he first came to town.

  Could Tarin be interested in someone like that? Kent did support her cause.

  Good God, Rafe didn’t even want to contemplate it.

  “Kent also told me he’s got his eye on your business,” Henry said, as he glanced at them over the top of his glasses. “He’s waiting for you to get desperate enough to sell.”

  Patrick flopped back in his chair with a sigh. Rafe leaned forward to give Henry a hard stare.

  “That bastard will be waiting on his death bed for that day,” he declared. “Any business would go through hard times after the loss of its owner. I’m here to help Patrick get Sutherland Shipping back on track and make it stronger than ever. And we will.” He pointed his finger at Henry. “You can count on it.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Henry said, “because Hunter has not im
pressed me for a long time now. I need a shipper I can count on.”

  Patrick sat forward in his chair and folded his arms on the table. “Is there anything we can do to assure you that using Sutherland Shipping is a profitable move? Our company has a good reputation and is one of the largest on the east coast.”

  Henry’s gaze was on Rafe when he spoke. “Yes Patrick, I have followed your father and his company closely. I am well aware of his success. What I question is whether you two have inherited his talent for business.”

  Patrick stiffened before glancing at Rafe.

  Worthington was a conceited ass, Rafe decided. If Worthington was going to play tough, so was he.

  “Do you allow Tarin to roam the streets at night often?”

  Henry stilled, his eyes narrowing on Rafe. “How dare you speak of her like she was some common street tart.”

  “Henry, Rafe didn’t mean – “

  “Rafe, I learned a long time ago that my daughter is going to do whatever she wants to do, regardless of what I tell her.”

  Rafe sincerely hoped it was the tequila talking and he had not just heard Worthington’s general policy on Tarin’s comings and goings.

  “Surely, you jest, Worthington?”

  Henry’s stare turned hard.

  Good God, he wasn’t kidding. Rafe clenched his jaw.

  “You give far too much credit to the criminals and rakes of Boston, Worthington. One could easily learn her habits and wait for her one night. I thought you had more sense.”

  Patrick groaned aloud and mumbled “not again” under his breath.

  “She only went next door,” Henry cried. “But a few feet away.”

  The man was a fool. “If your daughter is as independent as you say, what makes you think she wouldn’t wander without your knowledge?”

  “Tarin has more sense than that,” Patrick added.

  Rafe heard the front door open, then murmured voices. Tarin’s scent and her light footsteps announced her arrival home.

  He glanced at the clock. She was fifty minutes early. Tarin had purposely given Rafe the three hour mark to keep him from knowing her whereabouts. He cursed mentally.

  Damn, she’d outsmarted him.