Sweeter Than Sin (7 page)

"Chocolate," she whispered to herself, breathing deeply and savoring the heady fragrance.

The colors, ranging from rich coppery oranges to pale lemony yellows, were also a feast for the senses. She stood for a bit, simply admiring the profusion of pods growing out from the slender trunks of the small trees. According to the brass plaques placed in the earthen beds, there were three species of
Theobroma cacao
on display—
criolla
,
forastera
and
trinitario
.

After one last deep inhale, Kyra set to work unwrapping her sketchbook, water jar and paintbox. Taking a seat on the teak bench set by the stone fountain, she mixed up the first batch of hues, touched her brush to the palette and turned to a blank page. So lost was she in her art that she wasn't aware of someone else entering the conservatory until a shadow fell across the paper.

"Oh!" She looked up with a start.

"Forgive me for startling you." Rafael flashed a tentative smile. "I was trying not to disturb you, but couldn't resist trying to steal a peek at your paintings."

"They are just rough sketches," Kyra replied, trying not to let her gaze linger on the sinuous curl of his lips. She quickly shut her book. "If I am lucky, there will be enough details for me to work up a finished piece."

"I have a feeling luck has nothing to do with it," he murmured. "Might I be allowed a closer look?"

Kyra hesitated.

"I beg your pardon." His expression squeezed to a wry grimace. "I have no doubt made some terribly rude request. I may be half English but I seem to be wholly ignorant of the many complex rules of Polite Society."

A gentleman who could poke fun at himself?
His self-deprecating humor was even more attractive than his smile. “I used to know them all when I took a term at Oxford before Jack and I headed off for the Peninsula, but they seem to have slipped my mind.”

"Your manners are faultless, sir. Rather it is my own unpolished skills that hold me back. My art is simply for my own enjoyment."

"I assure you, I would enjoy it too, especially as the subject is one that is near and dear to my heart." He held out his hand. "Please?"

Had he made some flowery request, full of fulsome flatteries, she would have resisted. But it was impossible to deny his simple, straightforward appeal.

With a wordless nod, Kyra passed it over.

* * *

Up close, the sketches were even more exquisite than he had guessed from the quick glance he had gotten before she had shut her book. There was a grace and fluidity to her brushstrokes that captures the living, growing essence of the cacao trees. And her eye for color was wonderfully nuanced. The subtle shadings of the elongated pods were beautifully rendered.

"These are quite marvelous," murmured Rafael as he carefully turned back through the pages for second look. "You have a rare talent."

A slight blush suffused her cheeks—a lovely shade of pale pink, softer and more delicate than a velvety rose petal. "You are too kind, milord."

Milord.
The fact that as heir to the earldom he now bore Jack's courtesy title make him wince inwardly. However, he hid his reaction and replied, "My words are not flummeries, Lady Kyra, they are naught but the plain truth."

Her color deepened.

Seeing that he was embarrassing her, Rafael quickly shifted the conversation back to a more general discussion of art. Having some knowledge in the subject, he said, "What is your opinion of the botanical illustrations of Pierre-Joseph Redouté?"

"They are quite lovely," replied Kyra. "But for true genius I prefer the art of Maria Sibylla Merian."

"A lady artist?" he mused.

"Yes."

"I am not familiar with her work."

Kyra's chin rose a fraction. "That's hardly surprising. Females have a deucedly difficult time getting any recognition for their talents."

"They do," he agreed. "Which is most unfair."

His sentiments seemed to shock her. "You truly think so?" she asked warily.

"My grandmother was passionate about healing, and had more knowledge in the field than any man I ever met. But her desire to study medicine at a university was met with derision in Spain. A lady, she was told, had not the intellect or the emotional stability to understand such advanced lessons." He let out a low snort. "As if men, by virtue of their plumbing, have been gifted with some great cerebral advantage."

Her eyes widened, and then a burble of laughter welled up in her throat. "Plain speaking indeed, sir!"

He gave a rueful lift of his shoulders. "I fear that I have offended you."

"Not at all," she assured him. "It's just that you are... different."

Different.
He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. But the fact that he had brought a laugh to her lips was gratifying. "I have a feeling that I have been, how do your English say it, damned with faint praise."

Kyra lowered her gaze. "If anyone is damned, it is..." She turned suddenly, the poke of her bonnet hiding her eyes. The movement set off a slight ruffling of the leaves, the play of shadows created by the sunlight slanting in through the mullioned glass further obscuring her expression.

"The colors of the pods are truly lovely, aren't they?" she said with what sounded like forced brightness. "Have you ever seen a live tree before?"

Much as he wished to reassure her that a mistake, however terrible the consequences, did not damn anyone to perdition, Rafael was uncertain whether his words would be welcome. He was, after all, a stranger, and a foreign one at that. So instead, he followed her lead in returning to a safer subject.

"Yes, my grandmother had a number of specimen plantings in her hacienda conservatory. She favored the
criolla
variety because it is the king of cacao. It is the most delicate, and difficult to grow, but the beans yield the most flavorful chocolate."

"Ah." She seemed to be studying the every detail of the small
criolla
tree, as if committing them to memory. "I take it the beans are inside the pod?"

"They are. And it is a long and laborious process to turn them into the flavorful essence we call chocolate."

Kyra slanted him a sidelong look, and he gave an inward smile, glad to see he had piqued her curiosity. "Indeed? I confess, I have no idea how it is done."

"When the pod is ripe, it's cut open and the beans can be found nestled in a milky substance..." Rafael proceeded to explain the drying and grinding required to turn cacao into what the ancient Aztecs called 'the nectar of the Gods.'

As he spoke, Kyra listened intently, occasionally leaning closer to the specimen planting to examine a detail of the plants. "Fascinating," she murmured when he had finished.

"Even more fascinating is all the lore and legends that surround chocolate. My grandmother had collected a host of historical facts and stories." He pursed his lips. "Though I am having a devil of a struggle trying to turn them into proper English."

Would she bite?

"If it would help, I could read over your pages from time to time. I have no knowledge of Spanish, but—"

"But that is not important at all," he assured her. "What matters is that it makes sense in English."

"Well, I do have a modicum of skill in that language."

Rafael couldn't help but notice that a smile, even a very faint one, transformed her whole face. The knife-edged cheekbones and the shadows beneath her eyes softened and paleness of her skin seemed to warm with a sun-kissed glow.

"
Bueno!
Then it is decided."

She opened her mouth to speak.

"I can't express how very grateful I am for your offer," he went on quickly. "It is a labor of love for me to see my grandmother's work published, so that others may share in her knowledge and wisdom. She believed very deeply in the potent healing powers of chocolate."

Kyra exhaled a long breath. "Well then, I shall be happy to help you. The idea is a noble one, but to be truthful, I don't believe in magical elixirs."

"What say you to both of us keeping an open mind on the subject?"

"Very well." She reached out and plucked her sketchbook from his grasp. "Just as long as you won't be disappointed when my thinking doesn't change."

We shall see, señorita,
Rafael thought to himself.
We shall see.
He had long ago learned never to underestimate Dona Maria's extraordinary powers.

Chapter 5

"I should allow you to go back to your sketching." Giving an apologetic shrug, Rafael stepped back. "I fear I prosed on too long about the making of cacao when you would have much rather been engaged in your art."

"I enjoyed hearing it," said Kyra. "Having a better understanding about a plant helps me see it more clearly." She ducked her head. "Though I daresay that likely strikes you as silly."

"Not at all," he answered earnestly. "I think I know exactly what you mean."

Strangely enough, she believed he did. A soldier with a sensitive soul? It seemed a contradiction. Which made him a conundrum.

Puzzles, puzzles.
But piecing together the all the nuanced facets that made up Rafael de Villafranca Greeley was
not
a task that ought to occupy her imagination. He might as well be the Man in the Moon, a far-far away orb made of Stilton cheese, for how out of reach he was. To dream any differently was madness.

Keeping her gaze averted, Kyra began putting away her paints. "I ought to going as well. I promised my maid I would not be strat far, and I fear I have lingered far longer than I intended to."

"Please allow me to escort you to where she is waiting."

Telling herself it would be churlish to refuse, she let him take her satchel. But deep down inside, she knew the real reason. His company made her forget for a moment her flaws and her fears.

"Are there other exotic plants you are looking forward to seeing here?" asked Rafael as he clicked open the glass door and led her back to the graveled walkway.

"Bougainvillea," she answered without hesitation. "The papery flower petals sound so intriguing."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I think you will like them. They create very interesting shapes and textures. And the colors, especially the deep pinks, can be very vivid. We had several specimens at our hacienda in Spain that were brought back from Mexico by a friend of my father."

"Was your father interested in botany?"

"No, but he knew it would please my grandmother, so he made a habit of asking anyone he knew was traveling to the New World to bring back some tropical treasure for her collection."

"How very thoughtful. I—" A swirl of silk suddenly rounded the yew hedge up ahead, and as it materialized into three ladies, she felt her breath catch in her throat.

Oh, Lord, she should have known it was a mistake to leave the sanctuary of her father's estate.

For an instant, she was tempted to turn and flee, but it was already too late. The trio—a marchioness expensively dressed in the first crack of fashion and her two equally elegant daughters—was fast approaching.

Oh, if only the earth would open up beneath her feet and let her fall all the way to Cathay.

The all-too-familiar haughty stare of Lady Leverett swept right over her without a flicker of acknowledgment as she fixed Rafael with a brilliant smile. "Why, Lord Leete, how lovely to see you again."

Kyra saw him flinch at the marchioness's use of his late cousin's title. It must have been a painful remainder of his loss. Nevertheless, he bowed politely.

"His Lordship and I met very briefly in Southampton, at the military reception your father hosted for Lord Stratton's returning regiment," she said to her companions. Turning back to him, she smoothed at the stylish ribbons trimming her bonnet. "My husband, the Marquess of Leverett, has told us all about your heroics on the Peninsula, and my daughters are simply in alt to meet you. Please allow me to introduce you to Lady Caroline and Lady Margaret."

Still not a word or look was directed at her, noted Kyra. She might as well have been one of the ancient stone statues grouped by the yew hedge for all the attention the trio paid her.

Try as she might, she couldn't help but feel a flush begin to creep to her face. Caroline and Margaret had been part of her circle of friends. They had shared laughter and girlish confidences, which made the snub that much more hurtful.