Sweeter Than Sin (5 page)

"The Devil take it!" Kyra steadied her wayward shears in time to keep from ruining the twist of honeysuckle. It did not matter in what shape or form her imagination saw him. He might as well be the Man in the Moon, for all the distance she meant to keep between them. She had already flown far too close to the sun. She would not risk being burned again.

A snap of twigs, sharp as the crackle of coals.
Steps cut through the tall grass and a shadow fell across her blade. The steel turned cold to the touch.

Kyra turned.

Limned in the afternoon light, the Spaniard looked like... Lucifer ablaze.
Why, oh why did her body betray her resolve?
She must be truly wicked at heart to feel a devilish tingling from head to toe.

"Ah,
señorita
, I hoped I might run into you again." He inclined a bow. "I owe you an apology—more than one in fact. To begin with, I neglected to properly introduce myself. I am Rafael de Villafranca Greeley."

Rafael.
What a sinuous sound. It wrapped around the tongue like silky smooth toffee.

"No doubt you thought me a errant gypsy, on the prowl for something to steal," he continued. "But in truth I am quite harmless. I am visiting my uncle, the Earl of Hendrie."

"Yes, my maid made mention that His Lordship had a relative staying for a time."

"I think, perhaps, there is a connection between our two families. Are you perchance Lady Kyra Pinnell?"

She nodded, searching his face for some sign of a smirk. What gossip had he heard?

His smile, however, seemed as sweet as the day before. "Please allow me to offer a formal acknowledgment of the acquaintance. I have heard that my cousin Jack considered you a good friend." His breath was whisper soft against her knuckles as he bent low over her hand. "And a formal apology for my awkward language. My English leaves much to be desired."

"On the contrary, sir. You speak very... handsomely." Dear God, would he think she was encouraging a flirtation? She turned abruptly. "My condolences about Jack. He was indeed a dear friend, and I—I shall miss him. But unfortunately I cannot tarry for a talk. These flowers will wilt without water." Grabbing up her basket of cuttings, she added a curt dismissal over her shoulder. "I am sure you will make great strides while you are here."

"As to that,
señorita
..." He fell in step beside her. "Might I ask you to read one other passage? It will only take a few moments, and the folly is close by."

Folly indeed.
Kyra had every intention of saying no, but the word stuck in her throat.

"
Gracias.
" He had already tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. "And today I come ready to repay your kindness in helping me with my English."

"You do not owe me anything, sir. Indeed, it is hardly worth mentioning a few trifling words."

"It is naught but a tiny token of thanks." He reached in his pocket and withdrew a small round object wrapped in a twist of marbled paper. The swirls of burnt amber and buttery yellow rolled to the center of his tanned palm.

Rafael de Villafranca Greeley looked to have a strong hand, thought Kyra. A capable hand, the hardened calluses complementing its long-fingered grace.

She tightened her grip on her basket of cuttings. "Still, I do not feel right in accepting it."

"Then we shall share it."

Even with its wrappings, the object looked no bigger than walnut. Curiosity got the better of her. "Pray, what is it?"

Rafael crossed to the far end of the folly before answering. "Open it and see." Before she could demur, he took her basket and set it down next to the portfolios on the stone slab.

The paper fell away to reveal a ball of rich brown paste flecked with bits of scarlet. Its soft sheen had the patina of oiled mahogany. Still mystified, she looked up.

"It is a special blend of cacao, made according to my grandmother's recipe," he explained. "Will join me in a taste? It takes only a few minutes to prepare and it will fortify our stamina for an attack on English grammar."

Surely he did not mean
now
. "But you have no kitchen, no cook."

"I have all the utensils I need right here." He produced a tin pot from his satchel, along with a small knife and two mugs. "As for a cook..." Wielding a wooden whisk, Rafael cut a rakish flourish though the air. "I have honed my skills under the tutelage of a culinary master."

"You!" Kyra could not contain her surprise. "Men don't cook."

"
Au contraire
." His fingers moved with a fluid grace, assembling a pyramid of twigs and leaves in the crude stone hearth. "Only think of the best French chefs—are they not all male?"

A spark from flint striking steel lit the smile in his eyes. A leaf curled in the first flare of flame.

Kyra suddenly felt warm all over. "Yes, but... but English gentlemen—"

"Ah, but I am no English gentleman. I am afraid I share some of the same hot-blooded temperament as our Gallic enemy. Mayhap is it the Mediterranean sun that gives rise to a fervor for artistic expression." The whisk came to life between his palms, whipping the boiling water, shaved cacao and cane sugar to a creamy froth. "Like painting or music, cooking requires a passion for creativity."

Rafael pour out a measure of the brew and passed her a steaming mug. Their hands touched, and she was far more aware of the heat of his fingertips.

Was he flirting with her? If he knew the truth, he would have little taste for her company.

She colored and drew back, angry with the handsome Spaniard for stirring a longing that ought to have died. Angry with herself for feeling fire where there ought to be ice.

Having made up her mind to dislike the beverage, Kyra puckered her lips as she raised the mug, determined to abstain from more than a tiny swallow. But then she experienced the oddest sensation. The aroma of tropical fruit and roasted spice tickled her nose, the swirling sweetness filled her lungs and caressed her cheeks.

Dizzy, she smiled in spite of her resolve. A splash fell on her tongue, hot and heady. She drew in a mouthful and downed it in a quick gulp.

He looked at her from over the rim of his own mug. "It is good, isn't it?"

"Delicious," she murmured. "I shouldn't..."

"Why not? Chocolate is one of life's little pleasures."

Kyra froze. His smile was a reminder that life held little pleasure. Only pain and remorse.

He caught her wrist as she tried to flee. "Please,
señorita
. Has my faulty English once again led me to make some gaffe?"

"No, you said nothing wrong, sir." Guilt choked her words to a mere whisper. "It's just that I must go."

"First finish your chocolate. My grandmother believed it was bad luck to leave a drop in the cup."

"What would you know of bad luck?" Kyra fought back tears. "Gentlemen never have a difficulty in drinking their fill of sweet pleasures."

"Oh, I assure you that I, too, have experienced moments when life seems too bitter to swallow. When your heart is so empty that you feel not even an ocean of chocolate would fill the void. And yet, you must try, drop by drop. Otherwise you will drown in despair."

Shame flooded her face. In her own self-absorbed struggle, she had momentarily forgotten about his cousin's recent death. "How selfish of me to imply no one else suffers from vagaries of Fortune. As I said, I am so very sorry about Jack. We shared a number of childhood adventures, and though we had seen little of each other over the past few years, I remember him as always having a smile on his face."

"Always." Rafael looked away to the lake. Through the fringe of dark lashes, his expression was unfathomable. "Even as he fell after taking the saber slash aimed at my head." He raised his mug.

A salute?
She watched as sunlight danced around its rim.

It seemed unfair to let him drink alone. "To Jack."

The clink of cups broke his silence. "Yes, to Jack." He blinked. "Who was not afraid to look the devil in the eye and laugh."

The steam of the chocolate must have misted his gaze. How else to explain the beads of moisture beneath his eyes.

"I hear his laugh often, you know."

Kyra nodded. "Like an echo of... loss."

"For our loved ones as well as our innocence." He lifted the chocolate to his lips. "My grandmother was very fond of a toast she learned from her Jewish friends.
Laichayam
. It means 'To life.' She heartily approved of the fact that food and drink are an integral part of such sentiment."

"She sounds like a remarkable lady." Kyra joined him in savoring the last piquant taste of the contessa's special blend.

"She was." Rafael smiled, but his voice betrayed a pinch of sadness. Kyra sensed that the loss was more than a distant memory from the past. He sat on the edge of the bench, his hands smoothing at the dog-eared notebooks spread across the stone. "I miss her. But in leaving the legacy of her notes and recipes, I shall always have a small part of Dona Maria with me."

Though his words stirred a great many questions, Kyra was too shy to ask him for any details. Neither of them spoke for some time, but strangely enough, it was a companionable silence, soothing as the gentle lapping of the lake and last little swirl of chocolate at the bottom of her mug.

She made sure that not a drop was left before she set it aside. "Thank you for sharing your chocolate, sir. It was... "

"Unusual? Unexpected? Unique?"

"It seems you have no need for help with English vocabulary."

"But like the ingredients for cacao balls of the Paria peninsula, if they are not combined corrected, the results will be disastrous." He made a wry face. "However, I shall just have to improvise as I go along."

"If you still wish for me to read your chapter, I suppose I could spare a little time tomorrow." As Kyra stole a look at the piles of paper, she could not help but add, "Cacao balls of the Paria peninsula? Surely that is a recipe of your own whimsy. I mean, chocolate is chocolate—how many different way may a beverage be served?"

"I think you may be surprised by just how many forms the magic of
Theobroma cacao
can take."

Surely he was just exaggerating, she thought as she rose and took up her basket. But just one was more than enough. Surprisingly, she did feel better, though it was hard to describe how.

If was as if the gaping hole in her heart had shrunk just a tiny bit.

Drawing in a breath, she shook off the thought. That would surely be magic. And magic happened only in fairie tales, not in real life.

Chapter 4

Rafael swirled his glass and watch the flicker of the candle flames set off sparks of amber-gold in the tawny port. The exact same shade of Lady Kyra's hair when it shimmered in the sunlight, he mused, though as far as he could see, the young lady lingered far too much in the shadows.

"You seem pensive." His uncle looked up from the book he was reading. "I hope you are not growing too bored here in the country."

"Not at all," he replied. "Your hospitality—"

"I would like to think we can progress beyond polite platitudes, Rafael." Hendrie fixed him with a fond smile. "We are family—and more than that, you are now my heir. I hope we can develop a degree of friendship and honesty between each other."

"Nothing would please me more," he replied softly. "I did not mean to seem distant. It is just that..." He drew in a ragged breath. "That it is very complicated."

"It is, indeed. But then, life is never simple, even in the best of circumstances."

The reply encouraged him to be frank. "To be truthful, I feel so very strange usurping Jack's place."

"You mustn't think of it like that. I don't." Hendrie rose and went to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of wine. "Jack's place will always be here, unaltered." He touched a hand to his heart. "If you will join him there, it would be a joy to me and a light to help counter the darkness."

"I—I would be truly honored, Uncle Aubrey."

"As would I." He lifted his glass. "Come let us drink a cheerful toast, rather than a maudlin one. Your father, my brother, and I loved sharing laughter when we were young. I hope we shall come to do the same."

"To laughter," agreed Rafael.
May light and laughter brighten both this house and our hearts.