Heaven Scent (20 page)

Dammit to
hell
, she drove him
mad.

“Patrick,” Rafe announced, as he
watched one of Tarin’s suitors bend over her bosom in a low bow,
“if any of those men are your friends, you’d best say goodbye to
them now because they will be dead in a few minutes.”

Whipping their heads around, Beau and
Patrick stepped over to Rafe, leaving the ladies whispering amongst
themselves. Frowning, Patrick stared at Rafe as though he wasn’t
sure if he jested or not.

Beau, on the other hand, laughed as he
held a hand against Rafe‘s chest. “Easy there,
Sutherland.”

“What do you find so damned
funny?”

“You - jealous over a woman.” Beau
looked over his shoulder in Tarin’s direction. He whistled low.
“Damn, Sutherland. I see what you mean.”

Jealous, his ass. Rafe knocked Beau’s
hand away. “To hell with you, St. John.”

The bastard had the nerve to
laugh.

Patrick jumped in. “Rafe, remember what
Mother said. Don’t ruin this for her. She‘s been looking forward to
showing you off tonight.”

Rafe stilled, his conscience warring
with the primitive need to claim Tarin. Dammit, Patrick was right.
He didn’t want to cause a scene.

“If it’s any consolation,“ Patrick
added, “she’s always the center of attention at these galas. Don‘t
take it personal.”

Rafe gave his brother a deadly stare.
“It’s no consolation.”

Sighing, Patrick stepped aside. Beau
shook his head, doing the same.

“Rafe,” Rosa said, as she
came up to loop her arm through his, “your
madre
said that Henry Wor…thington is
in the card room and would like to see you.”

There were a lot of things Rafe
would’ve liked too, but Henry wasn’t one of them. He had another
Worthington on his mind. And it was time he claimed her, once and
for all.

The pain that gouged Tarin’s chest
stole her breath. She could do nothing but stare. The woman was
lovely, her dark beauty organic, sensuous in its appeal.

Like Rafe. She was perfect for him. Her
presence alone proved Tarin and Rafe were unsuited for each other.
She turned away. Tarin had known it would hurt. That had been the
entire point of avoiding him. Yet, avoiding him for the past week
did not deteriorate the anguish that washed over her at the sight
of another woman on his arm. The pain of rejection, of easy
replacement, pierced her heart like a knife.

When they last met, she had turned down
Rafe again. Could she blame him for finding someone else? Could she
blame this woman for wanting him? Her love for Rafe was evident in
her eyes, the way she drank in his every feature and held herself
intimately against his side.

Of course, Rafe would find a woman of
such rare magnificence. He was Rafe Sutherland, after all. The man
all of the women were in love with before he left.

A surge of anger started in Tarin’s
stomach and shot to her brain. For a man that had wanted to court
her so desperately a week ago, he certainly wasted no time in
finding someone else. What did that say about his intentions
towards her?

Well, if he could move on, so could
she. She wasn’t going to waste anymore time drowning in self-pity
and unrequited dreams. She was at one of the biggest balls of the
year, in a beautiful gown, with the attention of several nice young
men.

Accepting a glass of champagne from
John Kilgore, her next dance partner, Tarin downed half of the
contents in one gulp. She was going to flirt outrageously with
every one of her attendees and show Rafe Sutherland he wasn’t the
only man in Boston.

“Lady Worthington, a dance.”

She saw Rafe’s extended hand out of the
corner of her eye. His deep, husky baritone shimmied through her
like a winter chill. The spicy, clean scent he carried called to an
elemental part of her that begged to ignore her pride and accept
his hand.

Instead, she straightened, refusing to
turn his way. The gall of the arrogant brute. How could he approach
her when he had another woman waiting across the room?

“Pardon me, sir, but I believe I had
the next dance with Lady Worthington.” Kilgore, the eldest son of a
prominent Brahmin financier, took the champagne flute from her hand
and set it on a nearby table.

Thank goodness. The man had been
stubborn in her constant denials for courtship. If anyone would
stand up to Rafe Sutherland, it was Kilgore.

The next thing she knew, she was
effectively dragged onto the dance floor by the insufferable,
arrogant Sutherland beast. Kilgore stood on the sidelines, staring
at them, his mouth agape.

“You may have my slot, Kilgore,” Rafe
said good-naturedly, as he twirled her into his arms for a
waltz.

“You do not have a slot!” Tarin cried,
cursing the sense of excitement that shot through her veins at his
touch.

Smiling down at her, Rafe
flicked up his eyebrows. “No,
he
doesn’t have a slot.”

That blasted Kilgore. Now she had no
choice to but to dance with Rafe. Refusing to look at him, she
studied the buttons on his olive embossed waistcoat.

“You certainly do not dress like a
woman that is trying to dissuade suitors.”

Sarcasm laced his words, the hold on
her hand tightening painfully as he turned her about the
room.

She caught her breath. The nerve! “You
do not act like a man that is upset over a courtship
refusal.”

“Refusal?” he replied
incredulously, yanking her closer to avoid another couple. “Make
that
three
refusals. I’ve learned to grow thick skin.”

Inhaling through her nose, Tarin
gritted her teeth. Heaven above, he smelled wonderful. “I believe
you mean thick skull, do you not?”

“No,” he answered, with a bitter laugh,
“I mean that I have grown used to your fickle moods.”

He twirled her excessively hard,
causing her head to spin.

“One moment, you tell me to leave. The
next,” his voice dropped as he pulled her scandalously close, his
eyes devouring her cleavage, “you allow me to feast on your
delectable breasts like a starved man.”

A deep gasp shot from her lungs and
wracked her body with coughs. How could he say such a thing in the
middle of a crowded dance floor?

Stopping, he sounded genuinely
concerned. “Are you well?”

Tarin shook her head, the coughs
causing spasms in her chest. Taking her by the elbow, Rafe grabbed
a flute of champagne off a nearby table and escorted her past
several onlookers, to the balcony.

Stopping at the rail, he shoved the
flute into her hand and ordered her to drink. The bubbles trickled
up her nose, causing a series of sneezes that led into more
coughs.

Heaven above, would she never
stop?

Chuckling, Rafe took the empty flute
and set it on the railing. Taking her by the hand, he dragged her
away from the house.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked
around her slowly dying coughs.

“To the gardens - where we can have
some privacy.”

Shaking her head, Tarin fought to clear
the unwanted air from her lungs. “I do not want to be with you in
private.”

Of course, he did not abide her wishes.
She seemed to travel forever, his stride long-legged and hurried.
Between the darkness and the maze of shrubs and greenery, Tarin
would never find her way out of the lush setting. “Are we
lost?”

He laughed. “No, I know this garden
like the back of my hand.”

She gritted her teeth. “No doubt from
bringing young, unsuspecting women out here on numerous
occasions.”

The humor was evident in his voice. “No
doubt.”

Shame engulfed her. He’d had other
women out here. Women that probably allowed him to do the same
things to them that he had done to her. Possibly even some of what
she had seen in the reproduction book she had found in Dr.
Longfellow’s library.

Tarin tried to yank her hand from his
grasp. Rafe reinforced his hold and pulled her back. Guiding her to
a stone bench, he helped her take a seat. Turning away from him,
she sat on the end and braced her gloved hands on either side of
her.

The garden was completely dark, save
for a whale oil lamp posted several feet away. He stood beyond her
shoulder in silence.

“I will not be just another woman you
can seduce in the Cabot gardens, Rafe.”

“Just another woman? After three
requests for courtship, I don‘t know what else I can do to show
you

you‘re not just another
woman.”

She squared her shoulders. “Do tell,
Rafe. How do you explain the adventuress waiting for you inside the
ball?” She pointed to her side, towards the music streaming from
the house.

“My… what?”

Did he think she was blind? A
fool?

She shook her head. “Do not patronize
me, Rafe. Please. You know very well to whom I refer.”

She felt him straddle the bench behind
her, the heat of his body warming her against the chilled evening
air. The scent of roses swirled around them like a cloud, creating
an isolated, romantic air despite her will to deny him
such.

The rustle of his clothing gave her
only a moment’s notice before his hands covered hers where they
rested on the bench, firmly holding her in place.

“Her name… is Rosa Mendoza.”

No
. His sweet breath fanned across her cheek, reminding her of a
past kiss in the dark. She didn’t want to know the woman’s name or
anything about her; didn’t want to remember Rafe’s kiss outside the
Templar Hall. It made the shame all that more potent.

“She saved my life.”

Tarin’s eyes sprang open, but she did
not dare stir. Saved his life, how? Would he tell her what
happened, or would it remain a secret like the injuries he
sustained prior to returning home?

His hands moved exceedingly slow up her
forearms, creating gooseflesh beneath the fabric of her
gloves.

“My friend, Beau, brought her to Boston
because her family was killed shortly after I… left Texas.” His
hands stopped at the edge of her gloves, just above her elbows.
With a swirling, feather-light touch, his fingers danced over the
skin below her sleeves.

Tarin caught her breath. She could
certainly relate to the loss of a parent. She wondered how, as a
child, she had endured such dreadful pain. However, to even
contemplate losing her entire family in one instance was
unimaginable.

To lose Rafe, utterly
devastating.

“I won’t deny she is
beautiful.”

Tarin winced. His fingers played along
her shoulders, still light, like butterflies on her skin. A shiver
shot through her as she dropped her head forward.

“And we did share a few kisses back in
Texas.”

His hands stilled on her shoulders, as
though anticipating her escape. A picture rose in her mind of Rosa
wrapped in Rafe’s embrace, his lips on hers in a searing,
open-mouthed kiss. The pain in Tarin’s chest kept her rooted to the
bench. Immediate tears burned behind her eyes.

“She did come here hoping
for…” he cleared his throat, “
more
but, I have already told her it could never be. To
be honest, I do not think it’s really me she wants, but to belong…
somewhere.” His forehead rested at the nape of her neck. “She is
not you, Tarin. And God above, you are all I want.”

The tears turned to joy as they
traveled to her throat and lodged there. Her heart soared, though a
side of her felt for the woman that was in love with the man she
loved. For Rosa to lose her family then lose Rafe as well – Tarin
would not be a decent person if she could not
sympathize.

And Rafe. It must have been difficult
for him to tell Rosa, knowing her fragile state.

Tarin frowned. He did it for her. For
Tarin Worthington, who had denied him courtship three times when
all she really wanted was to be with him forever. The selfish
notion did not sit well.

Reaching up to her shoulders, Tarin
took his hands in hers and brought them to her waist. His arms
snaked around her, pulling her back against his chest. She laid her
arms along his and stared up at the quarter moon. He softly kissed
her ear.

“I received a note from Dr. Gregory
this evening.”

Rafe nuzzled the hair behind her ear.
“And?”

She tilted her head, encouraging him
further. A moan escaped her throat. “We have enough petition
signatures,” she replied breathlessly. “He is taking the petition
to the legislature on Thursday.”

His lips trailed down her neck to the
plain of her shoulder. His hair tickled the skin at her nape. “I
will make a point of introducing myself to the representatives
inside and stating my favor.”

Straightening, she squeezed his
forearm. “You would do that?”