"Shoot the cat?" She glanced at Rafael, who seemed equally puzzled.
"Cast up his accounts," explained the ham vendor as he held out a piece of oiled paper piled with a generous helping of meaty scraps.
"Sick to his stomach," added the costermonger.
"Ah." Rafael nodded.
"Feed him slowly," counseled the woman.
Hero seemed to sense he was the center of attention and played shamelessly to his audience, eating with surprisingly genteel manners and whuffling contented little noises as he shifted his skinny body on his oversized paws.
The crowd was quickly won over, and a pelter of advice and suggestions followed on how much he should be fed at the present moment, and what should be done to keep him comfortable during the carriage ride to the country. A blanket appeared, along with a battered bowl for water, and by the time she and Rafael were ready to take their leave with their new companion, they had made fast friends with the vendors.
"Come back soon, missy and bring yer Hero with ye," said the bread woman. She pressed an extra package of crusts into Kyra's hands, along with several fragrant sultana muffins wrapped in a square of paper for her and Rafael to enjoy during the trip home. "And yer handsome gent," she added in a lower voice.
"We will," she promised, trying not to blush. "And thank you all for your kindness." With them, she hadn't been treated as a reviled outcast, a subject of sidelong stares and nasty whispers.
"Indeed," said Rafael. He had, she noticed, discreetly passed out a generous number of coins to all those who had offered to share their wares. "Though the next time you lay eyes our little imp, he will likely be as big as an ox."
More laughter and cheery waves as they took their leave, a contented Hero already fast asleep in Rafael's arms.
"Wait, we have one more stop to make," he murmured as she started toward the passageway leading back down to the Strand.
"Surely we've acquired enough items for one trip," said Kyra, unable to hold back a small frown. "Besides, I doubt you could fit one more thing in that basket." She had offered to carry it, noting that his leg seemed to be troubling him, but he had refused.
"Your orchid."
She had completely forgotten about the bloom.
"We can't leave that behind."
That he had remembered, despite all the tumult of the chase, brought a lump to her throat. "We can, and we will," said Kyra softly, "unless you will allow me to carry it. I won't have another burden weighing down your..."
She nearly said 'step,' but caught herself.
"Arms," she finished lamely.
"My arms are stronger than they look, Lady Kyra."
"Nonetheless, I insist."
"Bueno," said Rafael after a slight hesitation. "I have learned from my Grandmother not to argue with a lady when she gets that glint in her eye."
In short order, the orchid was collected and they made their way back to where the duke's carriage was waiting. The coachman's face betrayed a spasm of surprise at their raggle-taggle appearance, but he quickly cleared it away with a brusque cough—or was it a laugh—and jumped down from his perch to help them with all their various items.
"The basket may go in the boot, John," said Kyra. "But have a care that you pad it well so it doesn't get too jostled during the journey."
"Aye, milady." His nose gave an involuntary twitch. "As for that... er, animal, would you care to have it ride out in the open air with me?"
"No, no, we shall tend to the dog ourselves," replied Rafael.
"Dog, is it?" murmured the coachman as he took charge of the basket. "Very good, sir. Just, er, give a rap on the trap if you need me to stop anywhere along the way." His brows rose a fraction higher as he eyed the exotic orchid. "As for the, er, flower, milady..."
"Oh, we shall tend to that as well," answered Kyra.
The coachman looked rather relieved.
"And now," she added, seeing Hero was stirring, "perhaps it would be best if we set off without further delay."
"Er, just one last thing, milady..." The coachman fetched a clean blanket from the boot and carefully spread it over the pristine tufted upholstery of the interior seat.
Once settled on the protective covering, Kyra leaned back against the squabs and let out a long exhale. "What a day."
"Indeed, yet I trust that you mean it in a good way," responded Rafael as he stretched out his long legs.
"Selfishly yes. But..." Despite the flitting shadows, she thought she caught a grimace of pain pull at his mouth. "But your leg must be hurting abominably, what with all the trouble I've put you through!"
He flexed his knee and looked a bit bemused. "Oddly enough, it doesn't. It's a trifle stiff, but the pain seems to have disappeared." His gaze angled down to her rumpled skirts. "And what of you, Lady Kyra? You, too, pushed yourself very hard, and must be hurting."
Good heavens, she hadn't given her bad leg a thought.
"I..." In truth, for the first time since the accident, she felt something akin to her old self. The bustling thrum of the market, the cheerful banter with the vendors, the spark of passion roused by the injured dog's plight—it had all drawn her out of her lethargy and made her feel alive again.
Passion. The recollection of her impulsive kiss made her shift uncomfortably on the seat.
"I am suffering no ill effects from my physical exertions," said Kyra carefully. "Indeed, all the expensive experts Papa has consulted would likely say it was beneficial for my health."
"Bueno," he began.
"But," she interrupted, "I fear all the running may have momentarily jumbled my wits." A pause as she pondered just how to apologize for throwing herself at him. "I hope you will forgive my unseemly display of emotion in the alleyway. I was... so happy... about Hero."
It seemed to take several long, drawn-out moments for him to piece together her meaning. His reply, when it finally came, was far less oblique.
"Are you perchance apologizing for kissing me?"
"Well, yes, that was the general idea," she admitted. Another pause. "Though it was more of an embrace than a kiss."
"An embrace?" His brows waggled up a notch. "No, no—I have experienced both, and it was definitely a kiss."
"You were distracted. By the dog."
Hero started to squirm in his lap. "True. But be assured that even had I been distracted by a Bengal tiger or a dancing bear, I would not have mistaken a kiss for an embrace."
That she found bantering with him so enjoyable made her feel even more guilty. "Then the mistake is all mine," she said tightly. "I have somehow given you the wrong impression. So again, I am offering you my apology."
"None is necessary. I was simply teasing, but I see that I've upset you. Please—"
"I am not upset," she said quickly. "I am merely... fatigued."
"Understandably so." Rafael unwrapped the muffins and held one out as a peace offering of sorts. "We both have been run a little ragged by our four-footed amigo. Perhaps a bit of sustenance would help restore our strength."
Hero sniffed the air and let out a little whine.
"Not you, imp," he scolded. "You've already eaten enough for a regiment of the King's Hussars." To Kyra he added, "Any more and I fear an unfortunate accident might befoul your Father's pristine carriage."
His words signaled a tactful end to the awkward interlude. Relieved, she quickly responded, "Quite right—Hero can't possibly be famished, but I am. And those muffins smell divine."
The talk turned to cooking and Rafael's mellifluous voice was calming, the mellow tones softened even more by the dark wood paneling and flickering carriage lamp. As he chatted on at great length about the recipes he had recently translated and which ones he intended to try with his purchases from the market, Kyra nibbled at her sultana-studded pastry, feeling the knot in her stomach slowly loosen.
"You must be sure to tell me how your creations turn out," she murmured, as he paused to take a bite of his muffin.
"Oh, but I am hoping you will a
gree to come sample them with me," he replied. "I have promised to accompany Uncle Aubrey to Newmarket on the morrow, to help him purchase a pair of hunters for the stables. We shall be gone for five or six days, but when I return, I shall set to work."
"That would be lovely. Your grandmother's chocolate recipes are too tempting a treat to resist."
"Excellent!" He tickled a sleepy Hero under his whiskered chin. "Sweets are not good for dogs, but I shall have some nice meaty bones for you."
A short while later, the carriage crested a hill and turned up the sloping drive of Hendrie Hall. Rafael settled the dog in Kyra's lap, then reached for the door latch as the wheels slowed to halt by the main portico.
"Thank you for a memorable experience," she said as he prepared to descend the iron rungs.
He looked back and grinned, the lingering streak of mud on his left cheek giving his face a lopsided cant. "Our Grand Tour of the market took a few unexpected twists and turns. But sometimes the unexpected adds a certain spice to life."
Or a certain pinch of painful regret. She had never expected to regain an appetite for life. She had never expected to feel the rekindling of love in the ashes of her heart.
If only...
Looking down at the dozing dog, Kyra nodded. "So it does," she said, trying hard to match the lightness of his tone. He must never guess at her true feelings. His kindness was hard enough to bear—his pity would be intolerable.
"Safe travels, sir," she went on. "And when you return, I look forward to seeing what magic you create in the kitchen with your spices and sugar—and your cacao, of course."
No matter that bitter taste of her past folly would always rise up to spoil the sweetness.
Chapter 8
"Dios Mio. Perhaps he's half horse." Rafael chuckled as Hero raced over the across the terrace, paws slipping and sliding on the flagstones, and jumped up with an enthusiastic greeting that left a trail of mud on his biscuit-colored breeches. "Surely a normal canine couldn't grow that much in six days!"
"Down, boy," chided Kyra, her voice a bit breathless from hurrying to catch hold of the dog's collar. "I'm so sorry. He's really been quite good about learning his manners, however..." She brushed a lock of hair from her flushed cheek. "However, he's very happy to see you."
Rafael couldn't help but wonder whether Hero's owner had similar sentiments, but the poke of her chipstraw bonnet hid her eyes. "Well, I am very happy to see him, too," he answered. "He looks—and feels—like he's put on a stone since last week."
A smile flickered on her lips. "That's because he eats like a horse, even if he's all dog."
"At least he no longer resembles a sewer rat." The dog's curling grey fur was surprisingly silky against his palm.
"Papa thinks he's some sort of mixed breed hunting hound—perhaps part Scottish deerhound and part long-haired pointer."
Rafael carefully extricated his hand from Hero's over exuberant embrace. "I can believe it. He has very strong jaws."
"Oh, fie, Hero! Behave yourself!" scolded Kyra. "That's a very shabby way to treat your rescuer. His Lordship's fingers are not breakfast treats."
Sitting back on his haunches, the hound flattened his ears and looked as contrite as a blissfully happy animal could manage.
"I think we may excuse his table manners for the moment," said he dryly. "Given his previous hardscrabble existence, we cannot blame him for kicking up his heels a bit."
"He does seem to have taken to country life with great enthusiasm. Papa's kennel master mixed a poultice for his hind leg and the cut is almost healed. You ought to see him frolic over the grounds." The sparkle in her eyes grew as animated as the hound's thumping tail. "Chasing rabbits, splashing after swans in the river." A low laugh. "Digging up several of the head gardener's freshly planted rose bushes."
Rafael wagged a stern finger. "We shall have to train you to obey some basic commands, amigo. A proper gentleman must master polite behavior if he wishes to be a welcome guest. Now pay attention."
Hero sat up and cocked his head.
"Come."
The dog obediently trotted over...
"You see, this will be easy. He is a very smart—"
And promptly piddled on his boot.
Kyra dissolved in a fit of giggles.
Giving a mock grimace of horror to stifle his own mirth, Rafael uttered a few choice words in Spanish at the dog, and was rewarded with a canine grin before Hero bounded away to nose around in the nearby flowerbeds. "I see we shall have to instigate a more disciplined training regimen for the beast."
"Yes," she agreed. "But for the moment, let us allow him the freedom to frolic a little. He deserves it."
He watched the gold-flecked sparkles of sunlight play along the curl of her lashes. "Yes, frolicking is important."
She didn't respond right away. For an instant it seemed as if a shadow passed over her face, but then she turned and it was gone.
"I didn't stop by this morning merely to ruin yet another item of your wardrobe." Her mouth twitched as she shot a quick glance at his befouled boot. "I—I wanted to give you this."
Rafael accepted the small paper-wrapped package.
"As payment," she added softly. "My father has always taught me that an honorable person does not delay in discharging a debt."
"You are not in my debt," he said softly. If anything, he owed her more than he could express for helping him to climb out from the darkest depths of despair.
Kyra and chocolate. They had reminded him that life, with all its bitter pain and heartache, was still sublimely sweet.
"We agreed to exchange tokens of friendship," he added.
"Call it what you will." Her taut whisper was nearly swallowed in the breeze. "We made a bargain, and I wish to fulfill my obligation."
Friendship implied a certain degree of intimacy, and clearly she was intent on keeping a distance from men, despite the fleeting moments that drew them together. Sensing her skittishness, Rafael said nothing further—yet he couldn't help but utter a silent oath at the cad who had shattered her trust.
Shattered her innocence.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
The ribbon slipped free and the paper fell away, revealing a watercolor painting encased in a simple wood frame.
In contrast to the uncertainty etched on every delicate curve and contour of her face, the brushstrokes were rendered with a deft confidence that captures the orchid and all its nuanced hues to perfection. Or perhaps it was even better than perfection, he mused. The exquisite details, the luminous colors, the subtle shadings—in her hands, pigment and paper were magically transformed into a stunning work of art.
Kyra finally ventured to break the silence between them. "If you don't like it, I can do another one."
"It's marvelous," replied Rafael.
The rigid set of her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
"Truly marvelous. You have a very special talent."
Another flicker of a shadow.
Praise, he noted, seemed to make her uncomfortable. Shrugging it off, she quickly changed the subject. "And what of you? Have you delved into your market basket and begun any new cacao creations yet?"
"I had just begun laying out all the ingredients in the kitchens and was going to send word to the Manor asking if you cared to join me for a cooking session this morning."
"That would be lovely. Last night I started sketching the cacao pods I purchased at the market, and I confess that the luscious colors and fragrance made me think about your Grandmother's recipes." The corners of her mouth twitched upward. "Which led me to brew up a late night treat of hot chocolate."
"I've copied out some far more intriguing recipes than frothed milk and powdered cacao. What say you we give them a try?"
At Kyra's nod, Rafael turned and whistled for Hero. "I've a nice meaty bone, which should keep him out of trouble."
As for his own wayward thoughts...
He couldn't stop recalling her halting apology for kissing him. Damnation! He
didn't want apologies. He wanted her to enjoy their budding friendship as much as he did.
No guilt, no shadows of recrimination. Over the last several weeks, he had come to realize that remaining imprisoned by the past only allowed Darkness yet another victory over Hope and Joy.
Jack would not have wished that.
Nor, he guessed, would Kyra's sister.
Kyra's laugh drew him from his inner reveries. "Trouble!" she repeated as the dog bounded across the terrace, beheading a swath of potted geraniums with his wagging tail. "I fear our four-footed friend has a knack for getting into trouble."
"And I have a knack for getting him out of trouble, so we are well matched." Rafael offered his arm. "Shall we go in?"
* * *
The colors and scents were a feast for the senses. Kyra paused for a moment, drinking it all in, before following Rafael to the large worktable set in the center of the kitchen. After settling Hero in a corner by the stove, happily gnawing on the promised bone, he took up a fine-tooth grater and began shaving nutmeg into a bowl.
"What can I do to help?" she asked.
Her question seemed to take him by surprise. "You can chop these." He passed over a small dish of shelled walnuts, along with a cleaver. "Have a care—the blade is very sharp."
She liked that he didn't assume she was a helpless widget, who had never lifted a finger to do some ordinary task. It made her feel...
No, she wasn't going to spoil the pleasant interlude by brooding.
Taking up the cleaver, she set to work. "How small do you wish the pieces?"
"Those are perfect." Rafael looked up through his dark lashes. "You did not tell me you were an experienced cook."
"I'm not. But I often make infusions and tisanes from the herbs and healing plants I collect in the forests. So I've learned to wield a knife and a mortar and pestle."
"A lady of many talents," he murmured. "Here, since you so adept with kitchen implements, kindly cut up this orange and squeeze out three measures of juice into the glass by your side."
They worked together at the chopping block in companionable silence for a short interlude, then Rafael took down a copper saucepan from the overhanging rack and moved to the stove. As she minced a piece of peeled ginger, she watched him mix a chunk of creamy butter with a cupful of pungent sugar from Barbados and put it on the hob to heat. He added the tiny seeds from a pod of vanilla and began stirring. In several moments the room was filled with a mouth-watering fragrance.
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