Chocolate Sweeter Than Sin

Chapter 1

Fire. Smoke. The lush scent of sweetness licking up from the flames.

“Breathe deeply, Rafael.” The contessa held him close to the swirling steam.

“Drink in its essence.” She sprinkled a grating of cinnamon, a pinch of anchiote over the roasting nibs.

“Watch carefully, querida. Like life itself, the cacao is even better with a bit of spice, but the mix must be just right. Let me show you.”

Her hands fluttered over the copper cauldron, still quick and graceful despite the gnarled knuckles and fragile wrists. “Theobroma cacao—food of the gods,” she said. “Now we must wait for just the right moment to douse the flames. Remember, its magic cannot be rushed, Rafael.”

From a smaller pot, the contessa poured a measure of hot milk into a silver cup. Adding a spoonful of ground beans, thickened with sugar, she whipped the concoction to a foaming froth with her molinillo. “But patience will be rewarded. Drink this.”

Throat parched, Rafael de Villefranca Greeley managed only a hoarse croak as he grabbed at thin air.

“Drink this, sir.” The sergeant dodged a fist and held the glass to the major’s lips. “The doctor says it will help ease the pain.”

Now fully awake, Rafael fell back against the rumpled pillow. The laudanum was bitter as bile on his tongue. Not at all like the taste of his grandmother’s chocolate. He closed his eyes, savoring for an instant the spicy warmth of her laughter, the touch of her sugar-dusted fingers upon his cheek.

Sweet memories.

But now there was only opium, and a darkness blacker than hell.

He gulped down a swallow and waited for the drug to dull his senses. Shadows flickered in the guttering candlelight of the field hospital, ghostly patterns on the bloodstained canvas. From nearby, a man moaned, his agony echoing down the row of straw pallets.

“You are lucky to be alive, sir,” said the sergeant. “An English officer pulled you from beneath your dying horse before the French could muster a counterattack.”

Am I?

The shapes blurred, and the frail fingers of the elderly countess curved into sabers.

Slashing steel, filling the air with the stench of death.

A splash of crimson as his cousin spurred forward to block the blow meant for his own head.

Pressing his palms to his brow, Rafael bit back a groan.

His skin was sheened in sweat and yet he was chilled to the bone.

Jack was dead and he was alive. That was no blessing but a curse. How was he ever to face his uncle with the news?

Shivering, Rafael surrendered to oblivion, knowing it was a coward’s way out of the battle. But even as he sunk into a fitful sleep, he knew the war was far from over.

“Why must you always be so cautious?”

“Because one of us must try to temper wild spirits with common sense.”

Kyra Sterling colored, uncomfortably aware that her sister’s words held more than a grain of truth.

At the moment, however, the warning rubbed raw.

She ducked to tighten the saddle girth. “You needn’t come along, Lexy.

I’m more than willing to bear the brunt of any trouble that comes from this.

” The big stallion whinnied as she worked the bit between his teeth.

“Not that there is much chance of that. Aunt Adelaide is dozing in a corner of the card room?—”

“You ought not to have slipped brandy into her punch,” chided Alexandra.

“It’s a harmless prank.” Kyra’s laugh, slightly slurred by several glasses of champagne, gave way to a defiant little tilt of her chin.

“Chas bet Harry that I could not ride Pemberton’s bay to the abbey ruins and back in under a quarter of an hour.

What fun I shall have in making him eat his words. ”

“But the way leads close by the river. Mr. Talley says the recent rains have made the banks treacherously unstable.”

“Lud, don’t be such a stick in the mud,” she muttered under her breath.

Alexandra’s expression turned even grimmer on seeing Kyra lift her skirts. “Oh, surely you can’t mean to ride astride!

“And why not?” Lord Matherton waggled a brow as he looked into the stall. In the flickering lantern light, his hair gleamed gold though his face was wreathed in shadow. “Your sister shows an exceedingly lovely ankle.”

“Which a gentleman ought not to encourage her to expose,” replied Alexandra sharply.

“Oh, come now.” Matherton flicked a bit of straw from his coat. The navy superfine clung to his shoulders, accentuating the slope of muscle and breadth of his chest. “As an engaged couple, we are allowed to bend the rules just a touch, don’t you think?”

Kyra felt a lick of heat as his gaze ran up the length of her legs.

Alexandra’s lips thinned.

Ignoring the silent reproach, she slid the flounced silk a bit higher. “Have you come to wish me luck, Chas?”

He caught her up in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. “I know how well you ride a stallion, m’dear.” A wicked gleam lit his eye. “But be warned. I shall claim a forfeit if you lose.”

“And what is that?” she teased.

Matherton nipped at the lobe of her ear. His breath was hot, the spice of her father’s aged brandy still lush on his lips. “Oh, I think you can guess.”

Her face began to burn. Thank God her sister could not see her flaming cheeks or the press of the viscount’s thighs against hers.

“You like playing with fire, don’t you, sweeting?

“Oh, yes,” she whispered, fisting at the fastenings of his shirt. His jaw was smooth as marble. Like a Greek God. A paragon of sculpted perfection. And in another two months, he would be her husband. Surely, it was not so very wanton to take pleasure in the passion that sizzled between them.

Forbidden pleasures. There were rules, of course, about passion. But rules were meant to be broken.

“So do I, Kyra.” Her fiancé’s eyes were heavy-lidded with desire. “So do I.” Hands hard on her waist, he swung her up to the saddle. The stallion shied at the flapping fabric, but Matherton gripped the bridle.

“Harry has already saddled our mounts.”

He was no longer whispering but his voice still held an intimate note. “I trust you don’t mind if we come along for the ride?”

Kyra set her slippers in the stirrups. Her thigh, bare but for stockings, gripped the cool leather. It was shockingly sensual, like Matherton’s grin.

“Are you up to the challenge?” he continued. “I dare?—”

“I’m coming, too.” Alexandra turned abruptly and pulled down a sidesaddle from the stable racks.

“Lexy, I don’t need a . . .” Kyra hesitated, unsure of what she meant to say. A guardian? A conscience?

“The more, the merrier,” drawled Matherton. His hand touched lightly to the curve of her knee. “But let us hurry before one of your father’s grooms raises a hue and cry.”

“They are well used to me rebelling against my father’s rules.” Kyra laughed. She was no longer a child but a woman on the verge of marriage. One last kicking up of her heels could do no harm. “And seeing as he won’t return from Town until tomorrow evening, no one will grass on us.”

Out in the stable yard, a pale sliver of moon afforded little light. Kyra gathered her reins, giving thanks that she knew the way by heart.

“On the count of three!” called Harry, snapping his pocket watch shut.

A slap of her crop sent the big bay thundering past the paddocks.

Leaning low, Kyra cut across the open field and headed for the cart path.

Neck and neck with Matherton’s mount, she angled for the opening in the copse of trees.

Branches whipped at her face and legs. Above the pounding hooves, she thought she heard her gown rip.

She laughed, giddy with the thrill of throwing all restraint to the wind. Her heart was racing, echoing the wild delight pulsing through her veins.

The world seemed to stretch out before her. She felt so utterly, gloriously alive.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Matherton grinning like the very devil.

Lud, his looks still took her breath away.

She knew she was the envy of every young lady in Town.

His polished charm and angelic looks more than made up for a modest fortune and title.

After all, her family’s prestige would open any doors, and her dowry was enough to keep them living in splendor for half a dozen lifetimes.

As for his skills at lovemaking . . .

Her hands tightened on the reins. She had heard rumors of his rakish exploits, but all young gentlemen were wont to be wild. He had promised her that he was reformed.

“Slow down, Kyra!” Alexandra’s cry was nearly drowned by the rush of water.

But she was not about to heed the appeal. Matherton was already a length ahead of her and gaining ground.

The path dipped sharply, threading through gorse and heather before taking one last turn at the river’s edge. She peered ahead. A narrow straightaway, then a short climb to the crest of the hill.

A flick of her crop urged the lathered stallion to greater speed. She could pick up a precious second or two?—

“Kyra!”

Suddenly, the earth began to crumble beneath the flying hooves. Panicking, the big bay tried to rear, only to have its back legs buckle in the slippery mud.

A scream—not her own.

Kyra tried to kick free of the stirrups, but her skirts had become too tangled in the tack.

A searing pain.

And then everything went black.