The gentleman's identity was quickly revealed by Jack's next words. After tossing the stick for Hero, his cousin shifted his stance and fixed the fellow with a coolly apprising stare. "What brings you out from London, Matherton? Country pursuits are not your usual pleasure, as I recall."
Matherton. Rafael felt his jaw tighten. So this was Kyra's former fiancé. He, too, wondered what the devil the man was doing here.
"To begin with, I wished to be one of the first of your friends to welcome you back from the grave," said Matherton smoothly. "I was absolutely elated to hear of your survival."
Jack's expression turned a touch sardonic.
"As for enjoying a sojourn to the country..." Matherton cast a sidelong glance at Kyra. "I find it has its own unique charm."
She seemed to shrink from the ice-blue glitter of his gaze.
"And of course, I had heard about the gala ball to be given in honor of your homecoming and naturally I wished to be part of the festivities. Indeed, Kyra was just inviting me to attend, isn't that so, my dear."
"Yes." There was barely any breath behind her response.
"So although I must return to Town to attend to some matters, I shall be returning here again quite soon," finished Matherton.
"Be sure to bring a large trunk of clothing with you," quipped Jack. "Country life appears be a trifle rough on your usual sartorial splendor." His brows waggled as he regarded the ripped trousers. "Dear me, those look to be tailored by Weston. Does he still charge exorbitant price for his handiwork?"
A small flicker of annoyance pulled at Matherton's smile. "That dog is wild and menace to polite company. It could do with a good beating to teach it some manners."
"Whips and cudgels teach nothing but hate and resentment." Rafael couldn't keep from speaking up. "Earn a dog's respect and it will gladly obey you."
Anger flared in the other man's eyes, though he kept his smile frozen in place. "I didn't know you had hired a new kennel master here at Pierpont Manor, Kyra."
Jack responded before she could muster a reply. "I don't believe you have met my cousin, who prefers to go by his English name, Mr. Greeley, rather than his Spanish title of Count Olivito." To Rafael, he said, "Allow me to introduce Lord Matherton, who is a baron—or is it baronet? "
Jack's subtle emphasis on his modest title turned Matherton's expression even more hostile. "A count, eh?" he sneered. "How very impressive. However, from what I've heard, in Spain, unlike England, even base-born paupers can purchase a title."
"I wouldn't know about such things," said Rafael. His august lineage wasn't something he chose to wave around in public like a gold-threaded banner, but in this case, he made an exception. "My family is one of the oldest Grandees of Spain."
"Which is the highest and most aristocratic of all the nobility," murmured Jack.
Matherton merely glowered and then inclined a small bow to Kyra. "I can't tell you what pleasure it gives me to find you looking so well. I must be taking my leave. However, I look forward to seeing you again very soon. We have so much to discuss, both about the past and the future."
He started to turn away, and then paused. "Oh, and did I mention that I shall be coming with Chesterfield. We'll be staying at his family's estate in order to attend the ball. As you recall, he was a very close friend of your sister. He's been asking about you and will delighted to hear of your recovery."
Rafael didn't miss the fact that if anything, Kyra turned even paler. Her face was now as white and lifeless as the carved marble statuary decorating the nearby fountain.
Bowing her head, she stood fussing with the cut greenery and flowers in her basket until the crunch of Matherton's footsteps on the graveled path died away. "I—I had best be going, too. These herbs need to put away properly in the stillroom."
Rafael gave a low whistle for Hero, who had been sitting across from the pergola, the watching the proceeding while gnawing on his stick. "Amigo, go keep milady company as she walks to the house." A quick hand signal punctuated the command.
The dog bounded over and nuzzled her hand.
"If your Father has need of a kennel master, perhaps he should consider hiring Rafael," murmured Jack.
Kyra essayed a weak smile. "Mr. Greeley has an excellent rapport with all fauna and flora." She hesitated. "I would invite you to come in for tea..." Another little nervous touch to the greenery. "However I really should attend to these."
"But of course," said Jack heartily. "We had no intention of interrupting you. We were merely enjoying a constitutional stroll along the lake and thought we would head home by way of the upper pathway."
"The walking is doing both of you a world of good. You are looking very well."
Unfortunately, the same could not be said of her, observed Rafael. She ready to swoon on the spot.
"Stronger every day," Jack cocked a jaunty salute as she and Hero headed off down the side path leading to the kitchen gardens.
"Something is, you do you say it in English, havey-cavey here," muttered Rafael as soon as he was sure she was out of earshot.
"Aye, very havey-cavey," agreed his cousin.
"That fellow frightens Lady Kyra."
"I've always thought him to be a thoroughly dirty dish."
Rafael wasn't familiar with that bit of cant, but its meaning was clear enough. "Have you indeed?" He lapsed into a thoughtful silence for several long moments. "Then we shall have to discover what nefarious plans Mr. Matherton has up his sleeve." A mirthless grin. "Had they been up his trouser leg, they would have been revealed."
"Clever dog," said Jack. "But we shall have to be even cleverer to best a scoundrel at his own sordid game."
"And so we shall be," vowed Rafael. "The predator may seek to prey on a lone lady, thinking she is helpless to defend herself, but he shall soon find there are sharp teeth and claws stalking his own worthless hide."
"Your sentiments appear edged with a flash of fire." A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of Jack's mouth. "It seems you have developed a rather warm friendship with Kyra."
He felt a flush steal to his cheekbones. "I... that is, you..." Damnation. This was a deucedly awkward subject. "I am aware that you have a very high regard for the lady—"
"The very highest," interrupted Jack. "I love her like..." There was a pause as he drew in a deep breath.
Rafael shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. By every code of honor, his cousin had first claim to Kyra's affections. He would, of course, gracefully withdraw...
"Like a brother," finished Jack, a twinkle lighting his still-sunken eyes. "You have my blessing—nay, my encouragement—to offer yourself as her two-footed Hero."
"I don't think she would accept me if I did," he mumbled. "Yes, we have come to be friends." A grimace. "At least I think we have. But she seems determined to keep me at a distance."
"Hell's bells, can you blame her?" exclaimed Jack. "She's been badly hurt by a scoundrel. It's up to you to win her trust, and convince her that not all gentlemen are callous louts."
"I—I am not sure how."
"You've always been far too modest, my dear cuz. Trust me, I've watched women flutter around you like moths drawn to a flame."
"All those women can't hold a candle to Kyra. She is different," said Rafael softly. "Special."
"Of course she's special." Jack grinned. "She's the lady you love."
Love.
Rafael had shied away from admitting his feelings, even to himself. But the truth was, he did love Kyra. He loved her courage, her compassion, her strength. He loved her artistic spirit, her inquisitive intelligence, her luminous beauty. He loved her smile, her laugh, her grace.
Squaring his shoulders, he stared off into the gardens, watching the subtle play of sunlight and shadow bring the textures and colors of the plantings to life. "Si, I love her."
"Thank God," Jack cut a flourish through the air with his cane. "I thought I might have to knock some sense into your thick skull, and my arm is still a trifle weak."
&
nbsp; "But I fear—"
"No buts, no fear," counseled his cousin. "If you wish to be worthy of her, then fight for her. And vanquish her tormentor in the bargain. We are warriors, you and I. We know how to fight. And we know how to win."
Chapter 11
After carefully securing the latch to the stillroom door, Kyra slumped back against the age-dark oak and tried to steady the trembling of her limbs.
One impetuous error of judgment.
Tears pooled in her eyes. Which had led to an even more grievous mistake. How could she have let herself be seduced by a serpent's forked tongue? Matherton had encouraged her to be rash, to be reckless. His words still echoed against her skull—a daring lady is deliciously alluring.
And she had believed him. But at heart, the fault lay with her, not with him. She could have said no to temptation.
"I am wicked," Kyra whispered, a wave of self-loathing cresting up inside her. "Wicked, wicked, wicked."
One life of a loved one had already been destroyed because of her actions. Now another hung in the balance. Agreeing to Matherton's despicable proposal was a small price to pay to protect her Father's happiness. Even if it meant giving up any hope of...
Pressing her back hard against the planked wood, she forced herself to forget the solemn, shadowed expression on Rafael's face as he had watched her move away from her former fiancé. He kept his feelings well-hidden, so she could only imagine what he must have been thinking.
Nothing good, that was for sure.
Which was all for the best. He deserved a lady untainted by scandal.
She touched the sprigs of St John's wort in her basket. Already the delicate flowers were beginning to wilt. An apt metaphor for her own tentative dreams, which had been nipped in the bud.
"Not that I had any right to dream that the future might hold happiness."
An insistent scratching on the other side of the door stirred her from her depressing thoughts.
Woof.
Setting her basket on the worktable, Kyra turned and released the latch. Hero's shaggy snout nosed the door open wider and a moment later his oversized paws were leaving muddy streaks on her skirts.
"Oh, you naughty hound."
Looking wholeheartedly unrepentant, he began to bat at the flounces that trimmed her hem.
She crouched down and hugged him, unsure whether she was laughing or crying as his tongue licked the salt from her cheeks.
"What a pair we are," she mumbled, scratching behind his ears. "Two outcasts, who have been a bit bruised by life."
His tail thumped the floor, beating a jolly tattoo. It was hard to stay downcast in the face of such exuberance.
"But we have each other, and you are right." She rose, reminding herself that the herbs and cuttings were there to be put to good use in making healing salves and potions for the estate tenants. "We must not allow adversity to defeat us."
* * *
Rafael followed the duke's butler through the stately entrance hall, careful to sidestep around the trio of maids at work waxing the wainscoting. Preparations for the upcoming ball were in full swing throughout the manor house and its grounds. Servants were everywhere, a buzz of festive excitement filling the air as they went about their appointed tasks.
Kyra, however, had proved maddeningly elusive over the course of the past week. On several occasions, he had spotted her from afar on his daily walks through the estate, but she had disappeared into the greenery of the gardens, like the fairie woodsprite of their very first encounter.
Today, he had determined to take a more direct approach. She wouldn't come to him, so he would have to take the battle to her.
She would fight him, of course. Or rather, retreat into her private world, where shadows and demons choked off the light and laughter that should be an integral part of her life.
As they turned down a side corridor, the butler cleared his throat. "If I may be so bold as to say so, sir, the viscount's return is cause for great celebration among all the servants here. Having known him since he was a young boy, we are all very fond of him." Another rumbled sound in his throat. "Despite his occasional outrageous pranks."
Rafael smiled. "I shall pass on your felicitations, Gorman. And you may rest assured that he also drove Wellington's staff to distraction at times."
This time the cough sounded more like a smothered laugh, but the butler maintained a straight face.
"No need to announce me to Lady Kyra," he added, taking two small packages from his coat pocket. "This is an informal visit—I simply wish to hand over a little something she might find amusing."
Gorman hesitated, but only for a fraction. "Very good, sir. Shall I leave you to find your own way out?"
"Please." Rafael waited for the other man's steps to recede before he continued on to the door of her workroom. She would likely not welcome the intrusion...
He knocked and then took the liberty of opening the door a crack.
A paw pushed it opened wider and an instant later, Hero's teeth caught playful hold of his coat and tugged him into the room.
The commotion caused Kyra to turn from her easel. "M-Mister Greeley," she stammered. Now that jack had resumed his rightful title, Rafael had insisted that he be addressed as a mere “mister” rather than his Spanish title. "I-I didn't expect—"
"Did Hero not tell you that he had invited me to visit?" In his experience, humor was always an excellent way to defuse an awkward situation. "He asked me to bring him some morsels of our Cook's special creamed beef stew." Crouching down, he unwrapped the oilskin packet and set it in front of the hound. "It's his favorite dish."
She tried to look stern but a hint of a smile appeared to be hovering on her lips.
"So, I thought I would also bring a few treats for you as well." Rafael held out the other package, a pasteboard box festooned with a jade green ribbon he had chosen to match her eyes. "Assuming, of course, that you haven't lost your appetite for chocolate."
"I have missed... your confections," replied Kyra softly.
"I have missed... your assistance in the kitchen. I am all thumbs when it comes to mincing nutmeats."
That elicited a reluctant laugh. "I have a feeling that a skilled cavalry officer is quite capable of wielding a small chopping knife."
"No, no, I make quite a hash of it. Your morsels are so much more picturesque than mine."
"Fie, you are doing it too brown, sir!"
"But of course. My grandmother's chocolate recipes deserve no less." He watched her curl the satin ribbon around her fingers. "Won't you open it? I've tried a few new creations and I would value your opinion."
Kyra slowly unknotted the bow and lifted the lid.
"Oh!"
Dismay or delight? He had pushed himself to make the selection unique and different—something that would appeal to her artistic nature. But had he gone too far?
"They look far too beautiful to eat."
Rafael released his pent-up breath. "This one is filled with a special raspberry-infused buttercream," he said, pointing to one of the quartet of confections nestled inside the box. "Beside it is a praline-coated chocolate biscuit. The round disk below it is a pastille studded with crystallized ginger, and lastly you have a ball of almond paste dipped in vanilla-scented chocolate."
Her eyes widened. "I'm tempted to sketch them."
"I'd rather you ate them."
"But they are all so lovely! It is impossible to choose one over the other."
"That is a simple problem to solve. I shall choose one for you." He flexed his fingers. "First close your eyes."
Her lashes fluttered, setting off a winking of tiny sparks. The air between them seemed to crackle with heat.
"Now open your mouth."
Her lips parted hesitantly, and at that instant she had never looked so... kissable. It was all he could to keep from leaning in and stealing a taste of her ethereal sweetness.
I am a gentleman, he reminded himself, not a voracious beast.
Gett
ing a grip on his wayward desire, Rafael gently lifted the buttercream confection. Its silky, sensuous texture was just the thing for seducing the senses. Perhaps as it melted in her mouth, it would coax her into lowering her guard.
Just enough to trust him with whatever secret was bedeviling her peace of mind. Matherton was holding some terrible threat over her head and he needed to know exactly what it was.
"Mmmm." Her blissful, sugar-scented sigh was soft as a dancing sunbeam against his cheeks. "You are truly a magician, sir."
"Nay, just an ordinary knave who enjoys toiling in the kitchen." He broke off a morsel of the biscuit. "Now try this—doesn't the difference in textures make for a rather delicious contrast?"
Crunch, crunch. A smile blossomed on her face, and for a fleeting moment the pinch of fear was gone. "Cooking and painting have much in common," she mused.
"Both would be bland without unexpected and imaginative elements. Colors, shapes, scents, tastes—those are the sorts of things that give an artistic endeavor its own unique character."
Looking pensive, Kyra plucked the almond paste confection from the box and took a tiny nibble. "Your observations are always so thoughtful, sir. Would that I had half your wisdom."
Sensing an opening, Rafael seized the moment. "All of mine is at your service, Lady Kyra. I would be honored to be allowed to help you, in any way I can."
She swallowed hard. "I—I thank you. But I don't... that is, I have no need—"
"Let us not prevaricate." He interrupted her stammering by lightly brushing a chocolate crumb from her lower lip. "We are friends, and friends should trust each other enough to share their troubles."
Her eyes squeezed shut.
"It's clear that Lord Matherton upset you. I would like nothing more than to counter whatever mischief he has in mind, but to do so you must tell me what it is."
"I... I..." Her voice had a hollowness that made his heart ache. "I can't."
"Why not?" he asked gently.
Kyra shook her head.
If Matherton had been within reach, Rafael would have pummeled him to a pulp for bringing such a look of utter desolation to her lovely face. He placed the box with the one remaining chocolate confection on her worktable and was about to turn and withdraw when he recalled Jack's exhortation to fight for the lady he loved.
Sweeter Than Sin Page 11
