The Kiss of Love (The Book of Love 6)

by Meara Platt

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No.”

  He cast her a wry grin. “Then that’s what is stopping me. I’ve never taken a woman against her will, nor will I start now.”

  “But you would be open to it if I changed my mind?”

  “Mother in heaven, yes.” He nodded. “As I said, burning desire.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s ever been in fiery torment over me before. Is it just me or does this feeling apply to all women in general?”

  “In all honesty, I don’t know. I think it’s just you.”

  “Oh, dear. You don’t seem happy about it.”

  He arched an eyebrow and regarded her quite grimly. “Would you be? I’m the hunter, you’re the prey. So why do I have the feeling I’m the one who’s about to be snared?”

  Chapter Two

  Honey Farthingale wasn’t certain why she’d decided to accept Lord Wycke’s house party invitation. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t kissed her at Lord Goring’s musicale. And now she was sorry he hadn’t, because if she was going to spend the rest of her life as a spinster, shouldn’t there be one moment of excitement to carry her into her dotage?

  And who better to provide that excitement than Thomas Halford, the Earl of Wycke, easily one of the handsomest men in London?

  The handsomest, in her opinion.

  He’d come to pick her up from her Uncle John and Aunt Sophie’s house on Chipping Way, where she had been staying during her come-out. Although only her aunt and uncle escorted her to the carriage, there was an entire regiment of cousins inside the house, peeking out the windows to catch a glimpse of the earl. They’d all come over earlier in the morning because they were not going to miss out on what they termed the event of the season.

  Which was ridiculous, because she was as unimportant in society as a person could be.

  Had he noticed them?

  Truly, it was humiliating, so many grinning faces staring out from every room in the house. Upstairs, downstairs. She had no idea if there were more Farthingales dangling from the rooftop.

  Oh, Lord, help me.

  Her cousin, Lily, and her husband’s sheepdog, Jasper, had just turned down the street. Lily now lived in Scotland with her husband, Ewan Cameron, but was in London to present a lecture at the Royal Society. They were staying with Ewan’s grandfather, the Duke of Lotheil, at his grand London manor, Lotheil Court. The duke also happened to be chairman of the Royal Society, which explained why a society that allowed no women into its ranks was allowing a woman in as a lecturer.

  Oh, no. Jasper was unleashed.

  “Honey, look out!” Lily cried as Jasper gave a happy wroolf, wroolf and made straight for her.

  There was nothing she could do as a massive, hairy weight came flying at her, landing its big paws all over her nut-brown travel outfit. Her fashionably French modiste had referred to the beautiful, golden brown color of the velvet as noisette, which sounded much fancier than brown and meant she could get away with charging more for it. No matter, the fabric now had paw prints all over it.

  She gasped and gave a small shriek as Jasper landed heavily on her, toppling her back. She expected to take a painful tumble but surprisingly landed in Lord Wycke’s strong, solid arms. She thought he’d be furious, for Jasper was now happily jumping on both of them.

  Lord Wycke seemed to take it all in good nature. He was smiling as he steadied her. He put himself between her and the still leaping dog, then released her once she was secure on her feet. To her surprise, he knelt to pet Jasper and briefly play with him, not seeming to mind that he now had dog hairs all over his elegant jacket, and Jasper was licking him with his sticky, wet tongue.

  Honey brushed dirt off her chic pelisse that now looked as though it had been dragged through the mud.

  Lily ran over to help her. “I’m so sorry! We thought we’d finally trained him. I think he’s just so excited to be back in London. Who ever heard of a sheepdog preferring the city to the Highlands?”

  “Jasper is one of a kind,” she said, trying to ignore that his thick tail was now smacking against her legs while he happily allowed Lord Wycke to dote over him.

  Did he regret inviting her yet?

  “Miss Honey, this might help,” said the Farthingale butler, running out to her with a wet cloth in hand.

  “Thank you, Pruitt.” She rubbed the stains off her pelisse as best she could. The dirt came out, but she was left with a large wet spot over her right breast, where Jasper had planted one of his paws and then drooled on it. She’d had to soak it thoroughly and may as well have drawn an arrow pointing straight to her breast.

  Lily let out a merry trill of laughter. “Well, my work is done here.” She called to Jasper, no doubt intending to take him into the Farthingale home where he could wreak more havoc.

  Honey was too embarrassed to look at Lord Wycke as she handed him the wet cloth to wipe his hands. “You can change your mind,” she whispered once he’d handed the cloth to Pruitt. “I don’t have to join you. It isn’t too late.”

  He placed his hands around her waist to lift her into the carriage. “Get in, Miss Farthingale.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” he said with a deep, gentle rumble to his voice. “My life has been far too dull lately.”

  He introduced her to his mother, Lady Wycke, and her companion, Dora. Whatever humiliation she was feeling melted away as the ladies greeted her warmly and had nothing but sweet remarks for Jasper, who was now rolling in the grass and then leaping in the air to entertain his audience.

  Honey breathed a sigh of relief as they turned off Chipping Way and onto one of London’s main thoroughfares.

  Fortunately, the next few hours passed without incident.

  Lord Wycke rode alongside the carriage on a handsome chestnut gelding.

  She peered out the window to watch him, concentrating on him and not the two elderly women who’d fallen asleep in the seats opposite hers shortly after the well-sprung conveyance had rolled out of town and into the countryside.

  He must have sensed her staring because he turned suddenly and smiled at her, one of those caught-you-looking, saucy smiles that made her feel like a rustic fool. She gasped and looked away, feeling heat rush into her cheeks now that he knew she had been gawking at him.

  When she peeked again, he was still gazing in her direction. The grin was gone and in its place was a thoughtful expression. The sun shone down on the waves of his golden hair and seemed to flatter the already fine angles of his face. The ease with which he sat his horse, as though horse and rider were one, accentuated his magnificence. Even his clothes were perfection, the cut of his dark jacket in particular, molded to his broad shoulders and tapered to a trim waist.

  Was it possible he looked forward to her company?

  He did not appear in the least put out by this morning’s scene. How could he not be? Why did he want her anywhere near him?

  She wondered what was going through his mind.

  Oh, she knew so little about men.

  As the carriage rolled past sheep-dotted meadows and graceful trees, she glanced down at the faded red leather book in her hands. The Book of Love. Her newlywed sister had given it to her, insisting it would help her find the man of her dreams. Belle had found Finn Brayden and was firmly convinced this tome held magical properties.

  Honey was not prone to idle fancies.

  Nothing was going to fix her situation.

  She had tried to hand the book back to Belle, only to find it on her bureau again the next morning. She’d then tried to return it to her cousin, Violet, who also credited this book for her happy marriage to Captain Romulus Brayden. “I’ve had my turn,” Violet had said. “You’re the unmarried one. Stop sulking and find the man you’re meant to love. If he truly loves you, he won’t care about your secret. You must tell him before you marry, of course. But it won’t matter to him because he’ll love you more than life itself.”

  She sighed.

 
No one was going to overlook her secret shame.

  Not even a meeting of the Farthingale cousins had gone according to her plans. Everyone from Rose, the eldest, to Heather, the youngest, had looked at her askance. “I would leap at the chance to marry an earl,” Heather remarked to the approval of all at the meeting.

  Hence their presence this morning, all of them happening to stop in for breakfast when all they really wanted to do was make sure she did not run off.

  So here she was, riding to Halford Grange, and about to spend four days in the company of England’s most sought-after bachelor, the Earl of Wycke.

  She frowned at the red leather binding. “Fine, I’ll read you.”

  But not in the carriage, because the jouncing would only make her eyes cross and give her a headache. No, she’d read a few chapters in bed tonight. If the weather held up, she’d take a picnic basket and read beside the river tomorrow.

  The carriage halted at one of the finer coaching inns outside of Oxford.

  Honey set the book aside and helped Lord Wycke escort his mother and her companion out of the carriage and into the quaint inn. His mother appeared a little confused by their surroundings. She’d been sleeping quite soundly and must not have shaken off the haze of sleep.

  “May I help you, Lady Wycke?”

  “Where’s Tom? Where’s my Tom?”

  “He went ahead with Dora to arrange a private dining room for us. He’ll be right back, I promise.” She took gentle hold of her arm to calm her agitation and slowed her pace to accommodate the older woman as they made their way from the entry hall into the common room. The private dining rooms were located at the back.

  Lady Wycke stopped and looked around in panic. “Where are we? I don’t know this place.”

  Perhaps they’d changed the decor since she had last stopped here. Honey saw, by the way the staff hurried to attend to Lord Wycke, that the family was well known here. “We’ve stopped at the Four Roses Inn to stretch our legs and have a light refreshment. Would you care for tea? Or would you prefer a lemonade?”

  “Tea,” she said, still looking a bit confused.

  “Ah, and there’s your Tom. See, he’s come back to fetch you.”

  She brightened immediately. “Tom, where have you been? I thought we’d lost you.”

  “Nonsense, my darling. I’m right here. Where else would I be?” He glanced at Honey.

  She had expected another one of his seductive smiles, for this is how he was known as a carefree, roguish bachelor. But his expression was serious and filled with concern. He seated his mother and Dora, placed their order, and then turned to her. “There’s a lovely garden in the back. Would you care to take a walk with me?”

  He held out his arm to her.

  She didn’t wish to be rude, so she accepted. “Yes, it’s a lovely day. I would enjoy being out in the sunshine.”

  They hadn’t gone far before he turned to face her and emitted a light groan. “Thank you for what you just did.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You were gentle with my mother.” He sounded pained as he spoke. “She must have been napping in the carriage. She’s been waking up confused lately.”

  She smiled at him. “You ought to spend more time around the Farthingales. We are all confused on a daily basis. The scene you witnessed this morning is an everyday occurrence. If that didn’t frighten you off, I don’t know what will.”

  He chuckled. “Well, thank you anyway. Not everyone would have been as kind to her.”

  They finished their turn in the garden and joined the older ladies for tea, cold ham, and a basket of freshly baked breads and biscuits. Lady Wycke appeared to be back to her delightful self, talking to Honey about her daughter, Anne, and her daughter’s husband, Malcolm MacLauren. “What a big, handsome Scot he is. He met my daughter at Sherbourne Manor and simply swept her off her feet. He met her and proposed to her in the span of an afternoon.”

  Honey was shocked. “That’s awfully fast.”

  “Indeed! Tom refused to give his consent, of course,” his mother continued. “But after they’d courted for six months, and she and Malcolm remained keen on marrying, Tom gave in and agreed to their union. It is a good match. He’s heir to the Earl of Caithness.”

  Lord Wycke said nothing but appeared decidedly uncomfortable as his mother continued. “At least Anne found her happiness. Poor Tom was not as fortunate. He—”

  “Well, look at the time.” He shot to his feet. “We’d better get moving if we’re to make it to Halford Grange before nightfall.”

  The elderly ladies drifted back to sleep shortly after the carriage took off again, no doubt due to its soft rocking. At times, Honey found it hard to keep her eyes open. But she was too excited to sleep. She hadn’t attended many house parties. Belle had been invited to this one as well, but now that she was married to Finn, his duties required them to remain in London.

  She would be properly chaperoned by her sweet cousin, Poppy. They’d have a lovely time together, catching up on family news and keeping each other company during the festivities. Perhaps of all her cousins, Poppy was the most levelheaded. Not that any of them were foolish, but Poppy, in her own quiet way, always seemed to come up with the most sensible solutions to any problem.

  Perhaps she’d confide her secret in Poppy.

  She’d think about it.

  “Here we are,” Lord Wycke called out as they passed an open gate and started down a long drive.

  Within moments, Halford Grange came into view.

  Honey could not stop staring at it.

  “It’s beautiful,” she mouthed, hoping he could read her lips. She didn’t want to shout to him and startle Lady Wycke and Dora.

  The manor house was breathtaking, built of stone the soft, golden color known traditionally as Cotswolds gold. The stone was unique to this region. The house was large, but at the same time, felt cozy and quite inviting. Perhaps it was the mix of elegance and rustic charm that caught her attention. The curved, almost meandering, front gardens were filled with blossoming flowers. Pinks, reds, blues, and golds. The lawn was a lush green and dotted with elegant trees.

  The front door was a vibrant red that complimented the gold of the stone. The shutters were similarly painted a vibrant red.

  “What do you think, Miss Farthingale?” Lord Wycke asked as he helped her down from the carriage, his hand warm and exciting as it briefly pressed against her waist.

  “I feel as though I am stepping into a dream.”

  He was noticeably pleased by her comment, although how could anyone not fall in love with a house such as this? Perhaps he sensed she sincerely meant it, seeing the warmth of it and not the wealth it represented. “Well, that’s the outside. I hope you’ll like the inside just as well.”

  “I’m sure I will. Would you mind if I snoop about? Just the main rooms downstairs, of course. I wouldn’t look around upstairs without your permission.”

  He laughed. “Snoop to your heart’s content. It’s what you Farthingales do best, is it not?”

  She blushed. “Yes. We have been known to poke our nose where it doesn’t belong. But only a time or two, and only for good reason.”

  One golden eyebrow shot up. “Good reason? Such as?”

  “Crime solving, for one.”

  He nodded. “That is indeed a good reason, but dangerous. I hope you don’t make a habit of it. Were these crimes successfully solved?”

  “Yes.” She began to nibble her lip, for the last crime they’d solved had led to a terrible revelation about her. She’d come here to try to forget about her situation for a few days, but it seemed it was not to be.

  “Miss Farthingale…damn it…Honey,” he said with surprising gentleness, taking light hold of her arm, “we’ll talk later. My housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, will show you to your room. Will you meet me downstairs in half an hour? I’ll take you on a tour of the house and grounds. It is more for my sake than yours. I would appreciate being in the company of someone who notice
s the charm of the house rather than counts up in her head the wealth it displays.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  She followed Mrs. Finch up the stairs to a lovely guestroom with a row of windows overlooking the house’s rear garden. Beyond the flowers was a graceful arch of trees that ended at a meadow, and beyond the meadow was the river. She noticed her trunk in the corner by the decoratively carved wardrobe. A basket of scones and pot of tea had been set out on a side table against the wall, and beside them stood a vase filled with freshly cut autumn flowers.

  “One of my girls will be up shortly to help you settle in,” she said, speaking with obvious efficiency. “There’s scented soaps beside the ewer and basin.” She pointed toward the bellpull beside the bed. “Summon us if you need anything. More guests will arrive throughout the day and into tomorrow, so my staff may be hopping about a bit, but we’ll do our best to accommodate you. I’ve assigned Lottie to attend you. She’s a sweet, cheerful girl. I hope you enjoy your stay, Miss Farthingale.”

  “You’ve thought of everything, Mrs. Finch. It’s all quite lovely.” She went over to the soaps, recognizing each scent immediately since these were produced by her family.

  Her sister was the fragrance expert, the one who developed their perfumes, soaps, and lotions. She was the one who took them around to the finest establishments in London, who made certain the most popular ones were always in stock, who supervised their shops in Oxford.

  But she did not comment on it to Mrs. Finch, uncertain whether the woman would appreciate her being involved as deeply as she was in the family business. Being in trade was not considered fashionable. Indeed, it lowered one’s standing in most circles. Sometimes, servants were the harshest judges.

  Lottie scurried in just as Mrs. Finch was leaving. After bobbing a curtsy, she immediately went to Honey’s trunk to take out her gowns and freshen them before placing them in the wardrobe. Honey washed her hands and face with the vanilla-scented soap since it happened to be her favorite and then changed into one of her afternoon gowns, a dark blue muslin that was more suited for outdoor excursions. She had brought along her more delicate tea gowns but hoped today would be informal.