The Kiss of Love (The Book of Love 6)

by Meara Platt

He forced himself to turn away before he made a leering arse of himself. When he turned back, he noticed a few soft curls had blown out of place. He set the basket aside and reached out to brush them back behind her ears. She had beautiful hair, the color of a fiery sunset. The butterfly pins she used to hold the strands in place were simple and charming. They suited her.

  There was just something about this girl.

  He wanted to kiss her again.

  But when did he not?

  “I had better go back as well,” he said, clearing his throat and picking up the basket again. “My guests will certainly be looking for me by now. I’d rather they not find us together.”

  “I understand.”

  He met her gaze. “Do you? It’s simply that I don’t like everyone knowing my business. I like my privacy, but I have so very little of it. I enjoyed my time with you, Honey.”

  Her lips were tightly pursed, as though she wanted to chide him for forcing her to face this mysterious thing haunting her. But she sighed and smiled at him. “For the most part, so did I.”

  “Good.” He looked down on her. “I meant what I said. I want us to read this book together. Promise me that we will. It’s important we do.”

  “How? Your absence will be noticed. Guests will come looking for you. I’m surprised they haven’t already. I don’t want them finding us and asking questions about the book.”

  “I could come to your bedchamber quietly tonight.”

  She gasped and curled her hands into fists. “Are you mad?”

  “Yes, I must be. But I give you my word of honor. Nothing like last night shall happen again. We’ll read. Just read.”

  “Just read?”

  “Upon my oath.”

  She snorted but did not outright refuse him.

  That had to count for something. He had hours until evening. He’d give her time to contemplate her answer. “I’ll carry the basket back to the house.” He already had it on his shoulder.

  She nodded. “Thank you. I’ll follow a few minutes after you. As you said, better that we not be seen together.”

  The hours dragged for him after he left Honey, although he was occupied with the other young ladies who fluttered around him. Lady Sarah was back and looking as though her ardent suitor Wrexham was simply a bore. Too bad. She was hard to handle. Surely one of his other friends would be glad to occupy her time, especially at night, which is what she seemed to desire of him.

  He made certain to remain close by when the easels were set up for the ladies in the garden. Honey was true to her word, as he knew she would be. She’d taken the easel closest to his mother’s and made certain Poppy took the one on her opposite side. He’d seen enough of his mother’s behavior to know when she was alert and when she was becoming scattered. He was worried. She seemed to be teetering on the edge right now.

  But he was surrounded by other guests demanding his attention and thought it best to step away and leave matters to Dora and the Farthingales. One of them would summon him if things got out of hand. He trusted Honey and Poppy especially. Smart ladies. Sensible.

  Unlike the peahens now surrounding him.

  Lady Sarah and her friends had accosted him again, tossing inane questions at him. He remained chatting with them, purposely moving them away from where his mother had set her easel. “What will you be painting?” he asked Lady Sarah, hoping to distract her attention as she dipped her brush in a pot of paint.

  He knew this breed of debutantes quite well, for their ilk never changed from season to season. They were the beautiful daughters of wealthy lords, pampered since birth, and not above belittling others to enhance their standing. They bullied and humiliated, all the while keeping their eyes on the prize they hoped to achieve. A duke, marquess, or earl.

  Lady Sarah would never settle for anything less, and she fully intended to marry her dull duke and make him a cuckold within a month of their marriage. Her witless companions, Lady Amelia and Lady Jenna, took their guidance from her. They weren’t quite as clever or beautiful as Sarah, but their family wealth would gain them equally impressive titles. “And you?” he asked said witless companions as they dipped their brushes into their pots.

  “We could draw you,” Lady Sarah remarked, tossing him another of her practiced, seductive smiles that he found about as alluring as moldy cheese. “Would you take off your clothes for us?”

  Her friends were shocked and giggled.

  “And bare my arse to the world? Not remotely tempting.”

  She sidled up to him. “Perhaps later then, when no one else is watching? If you’re shy, we’ll take off our clothes as well.”

  “Sarah! You are shameless,” Amelia said but eyed him avariciously. By her cat-like grin, he knew that she’d go along with the ridiculous proposition.

  It was possible he was turning into a prig, for he would have enjoyed such games only a few years ago. He thought briefly about what Honey had read to him out of her book. What did he see when he looked at Lady Sarah?

  She was considered a beauty, but there was an ugliness to her character that he could not overlook.

  He left them to their painting and took his time wandering among the other ladies. The rest of them were quite pleasant. Some of them intended to sketch flowers and others attempted to draw the manor house. Lavinia decided to draw Periwinkle.

  He smiled, no surprise there.

  Poppy had decided to paint a portrait of Pip. He suspected it was a ruse to keep her eyes on the boy and keep him out of mischief. Pip was delighted when several other ladies politely asked if they could draw him, too. Of course, there were none of the lewd overtones he’d received when speaking to Lady Sarah and her friends.

  Those three needed close watching to keep them out of mischief.

  Well, Sarah’s father was the Duke of Remson, a widower. He’d brought his daughter and her friends to the party and was obviously unprepared to deal with them now that they were old enough to enter society. Tom would have a quiet word with him if they got out of hand.

  As the ladies settled in to paint, he sauntered over to his mother’s easel and peered over her shoulder. He was curious to see what she was drawing on her canvas.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, turning to glance at Honey in dismay.

  She cast him a sympathetic smile in return. “It’s all right, my lord.”

  No, it wasn’t. His heart sank, for his mother had yet to place a drop of paint on the canvas.

  Honey set down her paintbrush and joined him beside his mother. “Lady Wycke, why don’t you draw something nice for your son? What do you think he might like?”

  “Oh, Tom always loved his horses.”

  “I noticed his beautiful chestnut gelding. He rode it here from London. Would you like to draw his horse? I shall try to do the same, and we shall compare.”

  His mother cast her a hesitant smile. “Yes, that’s a lovely suggestion. Chestnut, you say. I’ll have to mix my paints. Oh, dear. Will I have time to finish it?”

  Honey took the lid off one of her pots. “We’ll pick it up again tomorrow if we need to.”

  Tom placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You have the entire weekend, my darling. There’s no rush. Take all the time you need.”

  The distant shrieks and derisive laughter coming from Lady Sarah and her friends startled his mother. She immediately lost her concentration and became agitated. Honey took hold of her hand. “I think a butterfly must have landed on her nose.”

  His mother laughed and appeared to calm down, but the blasted peahens shrieked again.

  Poppy now came over. “Lady Wycke, I’ve started to draw Pip. Come have a look? What do you think? Isn’t he a handsome, young fellow?”

  To Tom’s relief, Pip struck a pose, first appearing quite serious, then making funny faces that had all the ladies laughing, including his mother. When she turned back to her canvas, she’d forgotten what they’d agreed to draw.

  Honey still had hold of her hand. “It’s
quite all right, Lady Wycke. Perhaps something simpler might be better.”

  “Yes. Simpler.”

  Once certain his mother had calmed, Tom left them to join Nathaniel in his study for a few minutes. He thought it would be safe enough. Some of the bachelors he’d invited were now standing beside Lady Sarah and her friends, occupying their attention. He expected the conversation to be bawdy if the leers on the men’s faces were any indication. He didn’t care. So long as they kept Sarah and her peahens occupied and away from him.

  He strode into the study and poured himself a brandy.

  “She’s going to be trouble,” Nathaniel said, peering out the window toward them. “Lady Sarah, I mean. She’s been trying to gain your notice and is frustrated that you’re not interested. To her, you’re the ungettable get, if you know what I mean.”

  Tom joined him by the window. “I know. She likes a challenge. The more I resist, the more determined she is to lure me into her bed. I feel sorry for her donkey of a duke.”

  “Don’t be. I’m sure he’ll keep a mistress in town. The beautiful wife is just for show. Also, he’ll now be connected to her father by marriage. I doubt he’ll care what she does, so long as she’s discreet about it.”

  Tom drank a little of his brandy, enjoying its smooth heat as it slid down his throat. “Hah! That girl does not know the meaning of discretion. She’s poison. I wish I could confine her to her quarters for the next few days. My mother invited them. She and the late duchess were very good friends. I wish I had struck them from the guest list. Too late now. Needless to say, they won’t ever be invited here again.”

  Nathaniel kept his gaze on the outdoors as he spoke. “Lavinia was close friends with the duchess, too. Well, it’s done.”

  “Right. Let’s hope she does nothing more to overset my mother.” He finished his brandy and set the empty glass down on his desk. “I’d better get out there and see how Honey and Poppy are managing.”

  Nathaniel set down his glass as well. “I’ll go with you. I’m curious to see what Poppy decided to paint.”

  Tom laughed. “She’s doing a portrait of Pip.”

  “And the boy is sitting quietly for her?” Nathaniel arched an eyebrow and grinned. “She’s far smarter than I am. Killing two birds with one stone. Getting her painting done while keeping watch over my wayward ward. She keeps all of us in line with such finesse. I am in awe of her abilities.”

  When they reached his mother and saw that she still had not put a brush to her canvas, Tom’s heart sank. He felt Nathaniel’s hand on his shoulder, knowing his friend was trying to calm him. He didn’t bother to deny it, for his heart was in his throat, and his hands were clenched. He wanted to pick up her brushes and hurl them into the river.

  He wanted to smash his fist through her empty canvas.

  If he weren’t in company and needing to keep his wits about him, he would have done just that. He also would have grabbed a bottle of brandy and shut himself in his study to drink himself into a stupor. He wanted to find oblivion, to numb himself from the pain of watching her bright light dim to nothing.

  “Getting angry won’t solve anything,” Honey said in a whisper, obviously sensing he was about to erupt.

  “I still want to hit something.” He noticed her frown and sighed. “I won’t. You needn’t worry.”

  The other ladies had finished their works of art. Lady Sarah and her friends were now heading toward them. He glanced at the untouched canvas and knew he did not want that mercenary shrew to see it. While he doubted those three would ever dare to utter a cruel remark to his mother’s face, they’d have a good jest about it behind her back.

  This is what he’d feared most.

  He was about to step forward to steer them away when Honey took matters into her own hands. She quietly switched her canvas with his mother’s empty one. Lord, he knew what she was doing and wanted to kiss her for it. Of course, he’d made her that damn promise not to touch her while they read that book together. Then again, he’d only promised not to touch her while they were in her bedchamber.

  He wouldn’t be breaking any oaths if he kissed her elsewhere.

  And he was going to kiss her, that was not in doubt.

  But now was not the time to be thinking of such things. He gave her hand a quick, light squeeze. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do. Let them make fun of me. I can take it. And I don’t give a fig what they think of me.”

  Standing beside her and not being able to show his appreciation was something he found surprisingly difficult. He wanted to tell her all that was in his heart, spill his bloody guts to her. But she seemed to sense his gratitude and everything else he was feeling. She gave his hand a light graze in return. “It’ll be all right, Tom.”

  As expected, Lady Sarah put on a show for her friends. “Lady Wycke, you’ve drawn such a lovely rose.”

  His mother simply smiled.

  Tom could see she was beginning to slip away, but Lady Sarah was too busy preparing to cause trouble elsewhere to notice. “Roses were always your favorite,” Tom remarked, moving between his mother and this shrew.

  He happened to glance at the painting and was caught by surprise. Honey had some talent herself.

  “Why Miss Farthingale, you’ve drawn nothing. Do you think yourself too far above us to participate in Lord Wycke’s entertainments? Or perhaps he has private entertainments reserved just for you.”

  He sensed Honey was about to hurl back a retort and now purposely stepped in front of her to prevent the situation from spinning out of control. This was his house. His party. His duty to protect her. “Lady Sarah, I suggest you curb your spiteful tongue. If you insult any of my guests again, I shall toss you out on your ear.”

  “How dare you–”

  “Will you put it to the test?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I promise you, I will not indulge your pettiness.”

  “Let’s go, Sarah,” Lady Jenna said, reaching out to draw her away.

  “Fine, have it your way.” She turned in a huff, knocking over Honey’s easel and paints. She offered profuse apologies when some of the paint spilled onto Honey’s gown, but Tom had seen her sly, malicious smile and knew she’d done it on purpose.

  “That does it.” He was livid.

  He took a step toward her, taking no pains to hide his wrath. But Sarah and her friends fled like frightened rabbits. He’d hunt them down later. Right now, he was more concerned about Honey.

  He’d talk to Sarah’s father later and ask him to make up an excuse to take her away.

  Nathaniel once again placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’s inconsequential. Tend to your mother. She’s getting upset.”

  Honey and Poppy were already on the task, leading her upstairs under the guise of needing her to summon Mrs. Finch to Honey’s room. He and Nathaniel remained with their other guests, pretending all was sunshine and flowers when nothing could be further from the truth. To his relief, young Pip came to their rescue, diverting everyone’s attention by summoning Periwinkle off Lavinia’s lap and showing everyone the tricks he’d taught the pampered dog.

  Periwinkle knew how to turn on the charm as well, and soon everyone was watching his little show, clapping and laughing. Tom took advantage of their distraction to run upstairs and see that everyone was all right.

  Dora and Poppy were in his mother’s quarters, calmly tending to her. She seemed fine, no longer agitated, probably not remembering what had happened only moments ago. Since they did not require his assistance, he retreated into the hall and walked next door to Honey’s chamber.

  Her door was shut, and he heard no sounds coming from inside. He knocked lightly. “Miss Farthingale, is there anything I can do for you?”

  No answer.

  He knocked louder.

  Still no response.

  Where could she be?

  Of course, she hadn’t wanted to track paint all over his house. She must have gone to his kitchen seeking help to remove the s
tains. He hurried down there and found her seated in a corner. She’d removed her gown and was bundled up in one of his sister’s old robes while her maid and Mrs. Finch attempted to restore her gown.

  By the frown on his housekeeper’s face, he knew it was too far gone to salvage.

  Honey cast him a wry smile as he approached, his eyes only for her, and ignoring the stir he was causing by appearing in the kitchen. “Miss Farthingale, you need only provide me the name of your modiste, and I’ll send word to her at once to make you a duplicate. You looked particularly lovely in that gown. I’m so sorry it is ruined.”

  “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”

  “Is there anything else you need?” He wanted to draw up a chair and simply wait down here with her but knew it would cause tongues to wag. Instead, he knelt beside her, prepared to leave in a moment before others made more of his presence here than merely polite concern.

  He didn’t care for himself but wanted no whispers about Honey. He’d been the object of fascination and scandal for most of his life. He’d given the gossips plenty of fodder and was used to the nasty chatter that would circulate until the next scandal broke, and his misbehavior was forgotten.

  Honey wasn’t used to such treatment. It was not something a young woman could easily escape. Naughty behavior was considered manly in a man, but unforgivable in a woman.

  She smiled at him. “Your staff is taking excellent care of me. I’ll let them know if I desire anything.”

  “Very well, I’ll leave you in their capable hands.” He rose and turned to walk away, overlooking the sudden bustle of activity as Mrs. Choate and her scullery girls, as well as every footman and maid down here, pretended they hadn’t been shirking their duties and listening to every word spoken between him and Honey.

  He returned to their other guests. Lady Sarah and her friends were missing, but so were several of the bachelors, among them a few who had enough sense to think for themselves and keep those silly debutantes out of mischief.

  Lady Sarah’s father was chatting with Lavinia, obviously unaware of his daughter’s antics. He decided to take the duke aside later this evening and have a quiet talk with him.