The Kiss of Love (The Book of Love 6)

by Meara Platt

  She disliked having to change her gowns constantly, which seemed to be expected at these country parties.

  Lord Wycke was waiting for her in the entry hall when she came down. “I hope you found everything to your liking, Miss Farthingale.”

  She smiled at him. “I did. And I must commend you on your choice of soaps. You are obviously a man of discerning taste.”

  He laughed. “My mother and sister only buy from your shops. Even Harrington’s stocks your soaps and colognes for men. They’re very good. Would you mind if we walked outdoors first? I’ll show you around the house afterward.”

  “Yes, let’s.” She took a deep breath, curious to know which scent of theirs he was now wearing. Claudius. She recognized the hint of bergamot and sandalwood. Goodness, he smelled nice.

  “Miss Farthingale, are you sniffing me?” His eyes were a deep and beautiful dark green that glistened with amusement as he stared at her.

  A bolt of heat shot into her cheeks. At first, she considered denying it, but the man was quite discerning and would know at once she was lying to him. She was a terrible liar. She couldn’t hide anything. “Yes, my lord. I’m afraid I cannot help it. Fragrances are in my blood.”

  He put his lips close to her neck. “What’s yours. I’m afraid I’m not good at this at all. I just know it smells very nice on you.”

  She tried not to show how much his nearness affected her, but she also sensed he knew exactly what he was doing and purposely meant to rattle her. “It’s vanilla. This is our most expensive soap.” She paused a moment and blushed, realizing she should not be speaking of costs to him. But she couldn’t help having a mind for business. If he didn’t like it, that was his problem.

  He was tossing her that affectionate smile again. “Why did you stop? I’d like to hear more.”

  The bounder.

  Why was he being nice to her?

  Well, if he wanted to learn about vanilla, she’d give him a botany lesson. “The vanilla essence comes from the flower of the orchid plant,” she said as he led her into the garden, down a wide walk lined with dahlias, pansies, pinks, and hollyhocks, among others. “Right now, they only grow in Mexico, and they’ve proved almost impossible to transplant. But tests are being conducted on islands closer to us because the demand for this flower far outweighs the supply.”

  They continued to walk side by side as they conversed. He hadn’t offered his arm to her, and she was relieved by it. Tingles shot through her whenever they touched, and she wasn’t certain what to make of it.

  However, she knew it was not a good thing.

  He’d clasped his hands behind his back as they walked and talked. She merely kept hers at her sides while she continued to chatter. “One of my favorite flowers is a variety of buttercup called love-in-a-mist. As most plants do, it has medicinal properties and also can be eaten. It tastes like pepper, but more aromatic. It isn’t a popular scent, but I love its name. Love-in-a-mist,” she said with a breathy sigh. “I can imagine the man of my dreams stepping out of the mist and–”

  She groaned. “Nonsense, of course. But I suppose it is no secret that foolish young ladies dream of such things.”

  “You’re blushing again, Miss Farthingale.” He took her hand, but she wanted to dart back into the house. How could she have let her mind stray like this? She hardly knew Lord Wycke. Even if she’d known him for years, revealing her silly fantasies was still inappropriate.

  “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to speak honestly with me,” he said, his eyes seeming wise and gentle as he regarded her. Perhaps this is what set him apart from the typical rakehells, this layer of depth she found quite appealing. “Few people ever do. My strength—and at the same time, it is my curse—is that I quickly see into a person.”

  “Oh.”

  “We all have foolish dreams, though I would not call them foolish at all. Nor are you foolish for dreaming them. Would you care to know what I see when I look at you?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No.”

  He appeared disappointed. “Very well, perhaps you’ll change your mind later.”

  They walked past the flower beds and into the meadow. “Lord Wycke, would you tell me a little about yourself? I’ve gone on endlessly about me. I never believed I was a talkative person, but it feels so easy to chat with you. Please stop me if I get to the point of boring you to tears. I will not take offense.”

  He laughed. “One thing I’ve learned, Miss Farthingale, is that I will be placing my life in danger if I dare tell a woman I find her dull. However, you are the last woman on earth I’d ever find to be that. I noticed your cleverness at once. Well, the very first thing I noticed was…never mind. It isn’t an appropriate conversation.”

  Since his gaze was raking over her as he spoke those last words, it wasn’t hard to guess that her body was what had attracted him to her first. “Lord Wycke, don’t you find it odd that we seem able to speak to each other so freely?” Perhaps it was the casual splendor of the day, the sun shining down upon the meadow. The flowers of many colors dotting the green grass. The pleasant breeze carrying the scent of the river’s pure water. “We hardly know each other. It is a curious thing, isn’t it?”

  “It is a wonderful thing.”

  She nibbled her lip, not yet certain what to do about him. Her head told her to run because he had the power to make her do things she might regret and feel things she could not simply snap her fingers and unfeel.

  But her heart was insisting she stay. If she wanted her kiss, he was the man to do it. The only question was when and where?

  Well, there was another important question. One she had better know the answer to before she enticed him to kiss her.

  What if, having experienced her first kiss, she wanted more?

  Chapter Three

  Tom was rarely one to make mistakes, but taking an innocent walk with Honey Farthingale was proving to be one of the biggest mistakes of his life. The girl was like a battering ram to his heart. Her every smile…thwack! Her soft laughter…thwack! Even the way the wind blew through her hair, causing the lustrous strands to curl becomingly around her face…yet another thwack!

  To add to his misery, when had he ever had a conversation with a female that mentioned the words supply and demand? Or enjoyed it so much? She could have talked to him about the methods of churning butter, and he would have found her fascinating.

  He groaned inwardly.

  The worst part about these feelings…well, the worst part was that he was actually feeling something for her. He didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t used to being the one not in control of a situation. This was something frighteningly new. “Shall we turn back now?” he asked, watching her as she knelt on a rock protruding over the water and peered down to watch the fish swim by.

  She was too beautiful for words.

  “As you wish.” She looked up at him, casting him that wholehearted smile again. There was a look of wonder in her eyes.

  Perhaps it was the crystal quality of their blue that made her eyes appear to sparkle. Perhaps it was just her.

  Her body was just as fascinating. The graceful way she moved. The lushness of her breasts. The soft, slender curve of her neck. Her thoughts were pure and romantic. Charmingly sweet and innocent. His were not. He ached to get his hands on Honey.

  He knew he could pleasure her, but what then?

  This quandary he was in was stopping him from acting upon his desires. He simply did not know what to make of the girl.

  She smiled at him again. Thwack. He took another slam to his chest.

  “Lord Wycke, do you ever fish here?”

  He nodded. “Often. Usually in the early morning. It’s quiet out here at that time of day. And please, call me Tom. May I call you Honey?”

  “I suppose. You’ve already been slipping in and out of calling me that. But we mustn’t when in the company of others. It would imply an intimacy we do not share.” She rose and brushed the bits of dirt off her go
wn. “This must be the perfect place to clear one’s head of useless clutter and simply think.”

  “It is.” He extended his arm to her. “Do you fish, Honey?”

  “Yes, sometimes…Tom.” She cast him an impish grin before continuing. “My father was keen on it, and I would often join him when he did. But that was quite a long time ago. Once the business began to thrive, we all had little time for anything else.”

  She turned pensive a moment, absently taking his offered arm as though it was the most natural thing for her to do.

  It felt natural to him as well. He liked the lightness of her touch. “You are welcome to join me if you wish. I’m sure there will be others who’ll take me up on the offer. We won’t be alone.”

  She nodded. “I’d like that.”

  They returned to the house in companionable silence, and since she did not appear to be tired of his company yet, he continued the tour. “This is our drawing room,” he said, leading her into an elegant space with a pleasant feel. His mother had decorated the place years ago.

  As she declined in health, Tom began to appreciate the love she’d poured into their family home. He glanced around the familiar room, trying to see it through Honey’s eyes. The chairs and sofas were pale yellow silk. But the accent pieces, namely the decorative cushions, drapes, and fire screen were of a floral design. The carpet also had flowers subtly woven in, mostly around the edges, so that one was not hit over the head with the pattern.

  The larger paintings hanging on the walls were by England’s leading artists, but there were several smaller ones done by his mother that he’d always thought were quite beautiful. “Who painted this?” Honey asked, stepping closer to admire one of them.

  “My mother is the artist, although she hasn’t been painting much lately.”

  “She’s talented.”

  He nodded. “I’d like to see her start up again. She was never happier than when painting. But I don’t know if it will happen this weekend.”

  “Perhaps if you set up her easel and supplies,” she said as they walked into the next chamber, the formal dining room. “If tomorrow turns out to be as pleasant as today, why not put all of it out in the garden and see if she will pick up a brush? I am horrible at it.” She shook her head and laughed. “But I’m sure some of the other young ladies would enjoy it, too.”

  “An excellent suggestion.” He stood and watched as she glanced around the room. It was strange to watch a woman who simply enjoyed the artistry and craftsmanship that went into his possessions. He’d been watching her eyes and had yet to see that look of cold assessment as she counted up the monetary value in her head.

  Perhaps Honey was just better at hiding her greed than other young ladies were. But he didn’t think so. “Library next,” he said when she returned to his side.

  Honey gasped when she entered. “Tom, it’s amazing. I think I could spend the entire weekend in here.”

  “Ah, now I know where to come looking for you should you fail to appear for supper.”

  She spent several minutes perusing his books and the few pieces of antiquity he had collected over the years. In truth, his father and grandfather had been the ones to acquire most of the artifacts. He’d only started recently.

  She looked up at him when she’d finished studying an ancient manuscript that was kept under glass to protect the fragile pages from the elements. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Yes, you little snoop. However, I reserve the right not to answer.”

  “That’s reasonable.” She inhaled lightly and then blew out the breath. “Why haven’t you married?”

  He burst out laughing. “You might have warned me that was your question! Not answering that one. None of your business.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was quite forward of me. It just struck me as sad—”

  “Sad?” He frowned at her. Who the hell said he was sad? And what gave her the right to suggest it? “I’m having a damn good time enjoying the company of pleasant young ladies who fawn all over me and don’t ask impertinent questions.”

  “You’re taking it the wrong way. All I meant was that you are handsome, wealthy, titled, and intelligent. There isn’t a woman in England who would refuse you if you offered for them. So, it strikes me as surprising that having met so many, you haven’t found the right one yet.”

  He was still irritated with her. “It so happens, you’re wrong.”

  Her eyes rounded in surprise. “I am?”

  “I offered for the sister of the Earl of Welles.”

  “Nathaniel’s sister? Penelope?”

  He nodded.

  “And she refused you? Why?”

  He felt a little redeemed by her remark. Honey looked positively astounded. “I didn’t love her. She fit all my requirements on paper. In truth, I didn’t actually get around to formally offering for her. I had planned to and gave every indication I would.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  He shrugged. “I liked her very much, but her heart had long ago been given to Thad MacLauren, one of Nathaniel’s childhood friends.”

  “MacLauren? And your sister also married a MacLauren.”

  “Thad’s cousin, Malcolm. He took one look at Anne and decided she was the one for him.”

  That look of wonder popped into her eyes again. “Your mother mentioned it earlier. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. One moment, she’s sipping her tea, and in the next, she’s swept off her feet by the man of her dreams. This is what I meant when I asked my snoopy question. Have you ever felt that… I’m not sure what to call it? A moment of enchantment. With so many women tossing themselves in your path, was there ever one who melted your heart?”

  Yes, you.

  But he wasn’t about to admit it to Honey.

  “It just struck me as odd that in all this time, you’ve never felt the magic with anyone.”

  He turned the question on her. “Have you?”

  “No, and honestly, I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to be feeling. But I don’t think it matters. I am not going to marry.”

  Their conversation suddenly went from amusing to something more serious when he noted the flash of vulnerability in her eyes again. But it was quickly gone, and she moved on to the next room, which was the music room.

  He followed after her, shutting the door behind them once they’d entered. “We’re going to talk about this.”

  Her chin was tipped upward in defiance when he walked to her side. “No, we’re not. This is why I did not wish to come here. I’m sorry I gave in and agreed. I don’t mean to insult you. It has nothing to do with you or your lovely family.” She glanced around. “Or your lovely home.”

  “I get it. It’s about you. We had this conversation in Lord Goring’s garden.” He held her lightly by the shoulders. She was of average height but perfectly measured to fit against him. The top of her head reached just up to his chin. She was no frail, buttercup either. She had nice curves to her body, substantial enough to put one’s hands around and touch softness instead of jagged bone. “What is it about you that makes you the most unworthy debutante in England? Because I’m not an idiot, Honey. If you aren’t dying of an exotic malady that leaves you looking healthy and incredibly beautiful. And you haven’t been with a man—”

  “I haven’t!” She still had a defiant look in her eyes so that they blazed like fiery crystals.

  “The war’s long over. And you were probably too young to be spying for the French.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not a spy.”

  “I believe you.” He still had a light hold of her shoulders. “No, you’re just a lovely, young thing who thinks no man can ever love her. Why won’t you tell me the reason and let me help you?”

  “Because it hurts too much.” She slipped out of his grasp, threw open the music room doors, and hurried upstairs to her guest chamber.

  Blast! She’d done it to him again.

&nb
sp; He ran a hand through his hair in consternation. Was this some sort of wicked scheme? Her seemingly genuine pain and protestations of never marrying just a ruse to get him thinking of marriage?

  It was not going to work on him.

  And he certainly wasn’t going to marry a slip of a girl by the name of Honeysuckle Farthingale. Were her parents drunk when they entered her name on the birth register? Then they did the same with Honey’s younger sister, naming her Bluebell. Had they never heard of proper English names? Elizabeth. Victoria. Eleanor. Anne. Although not everyone was keen on naming their daughters after a queen who’d had her head chopped off. It hadn’t occurred to his parents when naming his sister.

  He considered going after Honey but heard a carriage pull up in front of the house and strode out to greet his newest arrivals instead. “Nathaniel. Poppy. Good to see you.” He was relieved to see them, for theirs was an easy friendship, and he considered them more like family.

  Nathaniel’s young ward, Pip, scrambled down after them, and they all helped Nathaniel’s aunt, Lady Lavinia, down the carriage steps and into the house.

  Pip immediately took off to run around the grounds with Lavinia’s spaniel, Periwinkle, while Lavinia was escorted upstairs by Mrs. Finch to rest in her room.

  Tom, Nathaniel, and Poppy went into the drawing room to chat while the Halford footmen took their trunks upstairs. “Did Honey come with you?” Poppy asked as soon as they were seated.

  His ‘yes’ came out as more of a grumble.

  Nathaniel laughed. “What? A Farthingale plaguing you already?”

  Tom turned to Poppy. “Something is troubling her, but she won’t talk to me about it.”

  Poppy rose immediately. “You didn’t try to kiss her, did you? Or invite her into your…bedchamber?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No. Despite gossip to the contrary, I am not a debauched wastrel in the habit of seducing every beautiful girl I see. Nathaniel would not have let me anywhere near his sister if that were so.”