by Meara Platt
The Kiss of Love
Book of Love, Book Six
Meara Platt
Copyright © 2020 Myra Platt
Text by Meara Platt
Cover by Dar Albert
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition May 2020
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Meara Platt
The Book of Love Series
The Look of Love
The Touch of Love
The Taste of Love
The Song of Love
The Scent of Love
The Kiss of Love
The Hope of Love
Dark Gardens Series
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
The Farthingale Series
If You Wished For Me (A Novella)
Also from Meara Platt
Aislin
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www.dragonbladepublishing.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Meara Platt
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Excerpt from The Chance of Love
Also by Meara Platt
About the Author
Chapter One
London, England
September 1820
Thomas Halford, the nineteenth Earl of Wycke, scion of one of the most powerful and noble families in the realm since medieval times, stared at Honey Farthingale’s dainty derriere as it poked out from behind one of the intricately shaped boxwood animals in Lord Goring’s topiary garden. Since it was a dark night, the clouds partially obscuring the moon and stars, he might not have noticed her hiding there if not for the lone sliver of a moonbeam shining down on her wiggling bottom and guiding him toward her like a beacon in the night.
While he stood watching, she rose from her hiding spot and tiptoed around the boxwood bear…although it might have been a dog or a kitten, he simply couldn’t tell what the sculpture was meant to be. If not for the distant torchlights used to illuminate the garden paths, the garden would have been dark as pitch.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Farthingale, you are hiding from me again.”
She gasped, tripped on a rock, and fell headlong into the boxwood carving. “Oh, crumpets!”
He stifled a laugh, knowing he ought to be a gentleman and help her up. But the sight of her pretty legs waving in the air was too tempting to overlook and surely required further study. She was not really in much distress and looked rather lovely sprawled within the leafy branches of what appeared to be the bear’s arse. He indulged in the humor of the scene for only a moment before his chivalrous instincts flared. “May I lend assistance?”
He held out a hand and was surprised when she did not hesitate before grasping it. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He helped her to her feet and placed his arms around her to steady her when she almost tripped over the same obstacle again.
It was the least a gentleman could do. That she felt like heaven in his arms was immaterial.
“Blasted rock,” she muttered.
He arched an eyebrow. “Cursing the darkness, are we?”
She laughed softly and shook her head. “No, I’m cursing that nefarious rock.”
“Are you hurt?” He was still holding her, rather liking that she was in his arms. He had no desire to release her, for she was soft and beautiful. Inhaling, he caught the light scent of summer roses on her skin.
“Not very,” she said, looking up at him with those big, blue eyes of hers. Of course, it was too dark to make out anything more than their size and sparkle. But he’d seen her often enough to know their exact color. “Only a few scratches.”
“Where? Let me see.”
She let out a mirthful gasp. “Good heavens, no! They are not anywhere proper. Truly, no harm done other than to my dignity.”
“Yes, I was admiring your delightful…dignity…when you suddenly tried to run off and took your tumble.” He plucked a leaf out of her hair and another that had come to rest on her shoulder.
A leaf had also stuck to her gown just at the swell of her breast. He took it off as well, careful not to touch her as he would have liked. He was no pimple-faced schoolboy eager for a cheap, first experience with a woman’s body.
Honey was not the sort of girl one trifled with in that way. Besides, he did not have a death wish. “Why are you hiding from me?”
“Am I?”
Lord, the girl was a dreadful liar. “No use denying it. I know you are. What I don’t understand is the reason why. Have I said or done something to insult you? If so, I sincerely apologize.”
She stood silently in his arms, to his frustration, offering no explanation for her behavior. He could wait her out. He certainly was more interested in remaining out here with her than joining Lord Goring’s other guests in the nearby ballroom. Those poor souls
were listening to Goring’s daughter attempt to sing an Italian aria. Her voice was intolerably shrill and whiny. She could not hit the high notes. When she tried, she ended up sounding like a braying donkey.
But this was the nature of these society musicales, those horrid entertainments designed to show off the talents of eligible young women in order to lure bachelors to the altar with their siren call. Goring’s daughter would do well for herself despite her voice. Her father’s rank and wealth were all the siren call most men needed.
“Lord Wycke, you may release me now.” Honey cleared her throat to regain his attention when he did not immediately respond to her request. Yet, her hands remained on his shoulders. Nor did she appear eager to let go of him.
“I will release you when I have my answer. Why have you been avoiding me, Miss Farthingale?”
She shivered. “Why do you care, my lord?”
There was a cool bite to the evening breeze, but he did not think the cold was the reason she was shivering. Nevertheless, he removed his jacket. “Here, put this on.”
He settled it around her shoulders, then took her back in his arms. “Every unmarried young lady in London is throwing themselves in my path. I cannot take two steps without tripping over one or another of them. But you run from me as though I am harboring fleas. You have no idea the damage it has done to my manly pride. It is quite fragile, you know.”
“Fragile?” She rolled her eyes. “I doubt a man who has earned the name Wicked Wycke ought to worry about a young nobody putting a dent in his pride. You are too full of yourself to feel any disappointment.”
“You wound me.” He fixed the collar of his jacket for no other reason than she looked adorable in it, and he sorely needed any excuse to touch her lovely face. “I invited you to a weekend party at my country home. You accepted and then suddenly sent your regrets. Why?”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
She tried to turn away, but his hand was at her cheek, so he gently tipped her face up to meet his gaze. “Then why are you avoiding me?”
“Please, don’t ask. I can’t tell you.”
Her voice was soft and aching, and in that moment, all his humor fled. How could he have been so stupid? He’d been treating her behavior as a little cat-and-mouse game, never once suspecting something more serious was going on.
Honey Farthingale was a quick-witted, clever girl with eyes that always sparkled and a lush mane of red-gold hair every man ached to unpin and run his fingers through. The dark red of her hair was a reflection of her spirited nature. But the girl who stood before him was one who’d had the spirit kicked out of her.
She looked achingly vulnerable and even afraid.
Not of him, he’d never done anything to scare her. “Honey…” He wasn’t certain what to say to her. He rarely was at a loss for words, nor did he wish to sound glib or dismissive. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Her mouth rounded in surprise. “Why would you want to help me?”
He supposed he was carried away by the effect of the night, the enchanting sight of her in the moon’s glow, the chill to the air, and the sweet scent of flowers in the garden beds surrounding the topiary. Her scent. Even the torchlight as it flickered in the distance seemed to enhance this girl’s fragile beauty.
He couldn’t explain why he’d offered to help her, only that it seemed the most important thing in the world to him at the moment.
Lord Goring’s daughter was no longer singing.
Thank the Graces.
The only sounds to be heard were the light gust of wind blowing through the autumn leaves, and his and Honey’s steady breaths as they stood close to each other. “Why wouldn’t I want to help you? Do you need my help?”
She said nothing.
“Whether or not you do, I am offering it. Are you ill? Is it a medical issue?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “No.”
He ran a hand roughly through his hair, suddenly struck by a shocking thought. “Are you…”
Blast! How could he ask if she was in the family way? But he could think of no other reason for her distress, and there was no polite way to phrase the inquiry.
He did not know why it tore him up inside. Why should he care if she’d given herself to another man? In truth, he hardly knew the girl.
But he liked her.
More than liked her, if the quickening of his heart was any indication. He did not respond this way to other women, even the ones he’d bedded. He dallied only with experienced women, those who knew how to enhance a man’s pleasure. The feeling that overcame him as he held Honey was different. Better.
It surprised him, for he did not touch innocents like Honey.
Only, she might no longer be innocent. “Are you with child?”
She gasped and curled her hands into fists, obviously wishing to plant him a facer. “Are you insane?”
Relief washed over him. “Then you haven’t been with a man?”
“No, I haven’t been with any man. How could you think—”
“I didn’t.” He took one of her hands in his to uncurl her fist and massage it gently. When she made no protest, he took both and swallowed them up in his. He did not like that they were cold and trembling. “It was the only other reason I could think of for the desperate sadness in your eyes. Hell, I know you’re innocent. It’s obvious.”
“It is?”
“Yes, Honey. Any man with half a brain would know at once you haven’t been touched. I was afraid someone…”
“No one has. Nor will you, if that is your purpose in coming out here and pretending to care about my feelings.”
He released her, angry with himself for allowing her words to wound him. Yes, he did care about her. But he hadn’t come out here to steal a kiss or her virginity. Not that he’d refuse either proposition if she ever offered.
He still hadn’t received a satisfactory answer to his question.
“Lord Wycke, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve my lashing out at you just now. I haven’t been myself, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She was about to hand him back his jacket, but he stilled her hand and tucked it around her shoulders once more. “As I hope you will forgive me if I’ve insulted you. I did not mean to cast aspersions on your good name.”
She snorted.
“Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Snort when I mentioned your good name.” Of course, the problem had something to do with her reputation. But he’d heard of no scandal surrounding Honey. Had there been even a hint of it, Lady Withnall, London’s most feared gossip, would have gotten hold of it and spread the news far and wide by now.
She stared down at her toes. “Please go away. My name is just fine. Nothing has changed.”
Indeed, she was a terrible liar. But he let her go on because she appeared to have more to say.
“I am still the daughter of a merchant. I still work in my family’s perfume shops. I’m too fine for the lower classes and too low for the upper classes. I’m the same misfit I have always been.”
“Is this why you’ve never been kissed romantically?”
“I suppose. I never gave it much thought.”
He could have jumped in at that moment and offered to kiss her. Hadn’t he been aching to do this very thing all summer long? And now the months had flown by, and they were standing alone in a moonlit garden.
Any rake worth his merit would have had his lips on hers by now and been working to slip the gown off her incredibly alluring body.
But he’d heard a quiet pain in her voice that left him shaken. “I invited you to my country estate for the weekend. The invitation is still open. Others in your family will be there. You’ll be well chaperoned.” He tipped her chin up to force her gaze to his once more. “The change of scenery will do you good.”
“I don’t think so.”
“The countryside around Halford Grange is quite beautiful, as is the manor house itself. It’
s nestled in the Cotswolds, not far from Sherbourne Manor, where your cousin, Poppy, lives with her husband, the Earl of Welles.” He and the earl, Nathaniel Sherbourne, had become quite good friends. “They’ll be joining me this weekend. Don’t you wish to spend time with Poppy?”
She nodded.
“All I own will be at your disposal. My carriage, my horses, the run of my house. If you enjoy walking, there are several lovely paths on my grounds. There are benches situated along the river where you can sit with a book. Or take a blanket and a picnic basket. If you prefer to be alone, I shall leave you alone. If you prefer my company, I am at your service.”
“You sound like a travel guide trying to convince me to book a tour.”
He’d won her over. He could tell by the way she was wryly smiling at him. “You needn’t worry about transportation. You can ride with my mother and her companion in my carriage.”
“Where will you be?”
“On my horse, riding beside you. I’m not good within the confines of a carriage. Too hot and cramped for me. But as I said, I am at your disposal. You have only to call out to me if you wish to stop along the route or have need of anything.”
She eyed him curiously. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
“In truth, I have no idea. I’m not an evil man, but neither am I particularly nice or tolerant. I’ve earned the name Wicked Wycke. I’ve also been called a scoundrel, a rakehell, an irredeemable cad. I am all of those things. But I am also a good and loyal friend to those I care about.”
She took his words to heart and nodded. “I could use a friend. Do you think you could be one to me?”
He cleared his throat. “No, Honey. You do not want me getting that close. My intentions toward you are…let me put it this way, friends do not have a burning desire to kiss each other.”
She looked up at him, startled. “Are you suggesting you want to kiss me?”
He sighed. “Yes, and I also find myself wanting to be honest with you about it. Really, it’s quite irritating.”
She wasn’t horrified, nor did she make any attempt to run away. “What’s stopping you from kissing me now?”