Free Sweeter Than Sin by Andrea Pickens Page A

life, she had, in his estimation, never looked lovelier.
    "You look like... someone who appreciates oranges. As do I." He licked his syrupy fingers, drawing another laugh. "Have some Marcona almonds. The saltiness is a nice counter to the sweetness of the oranges."
    "Oh, I couldn't! I've indulged quite enough."
    "Nonsense. It's impossible to indulge enough at markets. They are all about sampling everything."
    "Well, if you insist."
    A cheerful crunch-crunch punctuating their steps, they wended their way through the kitchenwares, the stacks of nubby linen and Belgian lace, and on to the flower stalls.
    * * *
    Rafael had not exaggerated—the display of orchids was even more impressive than he had described. Kyra stood entranced, the profusion of subtle hues and shapes leaving her a little breathless.
    "Dare I hope the pinks are pleasing?" he asked.
    "More than pleasing," she murmured. "They are astounding."
    He stood for several long moments studying the blooms. "Let me try to guess which one you like best." Another drawn-out pause, before his fingers slid through the foliage, and drew one of the potted flowers closer. "I daresay it's this one."
    "H-How did you guess?"
    "I've seen your palette, remember? It's clear which shades of rose madder and alizarin crimson you favor."
    "Most men would never notice such things," she mused.
    "Ah, but I am not like most men."
    How true. A clench of longing squeezed at her chest, but Kyra quickly shook it off. Such sentiments were now forbidden—she was no longer worthy of romantic dreams. Of romantic desires.
    Ducking her head, she began fumbling in her reticle for her purse. "How much—"
    Rafael stilled her hand. "Allow me to negotiate," he said softly. "Wait here."
    He moved to the far end of the display, where the proprietor was busy trimming some yellowed leaves from a small ficus tree. A rapidfire series of gestures and grimaces ensued, then finally a gruff nod from the man. In answer, Rafael smiled and passed over some money.
    "Sir, I can't allow you to pay for my purchase," said Kyra tightly when he returned. "How much do I owe you?"
    A twinkle lit in his eyes. "Oh, never fear, I fully intended to ask for recompense for my bargaining skill. And it will cost you dear, Lady Kyra."
    "How much?" she repeated, reaching back into her reticule.
    "You have no need for your purse. I wish to be reimbursed with a watercolor sketch of the bloom."
    "B-But that doesn't seem a fair exchange. Orchids are expensive—"
    "Allow me to be the judge of that."
    Kyra bit her lip, uncertain if it would be proper. God knows, she had transgressed enough of Society's rules for several lifetimes.
    "I hope we might consider it an exchange of tokens of friendship," added Rafael.
    Friendship. Surely even a fallen lady was allowed to have friends.
    "Very well. But I still say I have gotten the best of the bargain." She reached for the flower.
    "Mr. Wilkins says we may leave it here we finish our shopping." He hefted his basket. "We need to visit the section where spices and exotic fruits and vegetables from the east and West Indies are on sale." Seeing she was loath to leave it, he added, "I've already made him swear a solemn oath not to sell it to anyone else."
    A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "It's a little unsettling how often you seem to read my thoughts. Does one of your grandmother's cacao recipes perchance confer the power of clairvoyance?"
    "If so, I should bottle it and make my fortune selling it here in the market." Rafael flashed a boyish grin. "But alas, no. I have no special gifts."
    Ha! His kindness and gentle humor were special beyond words. But as she shouldn't—nay, couldn't—say so, she merely averted her gaze. But strangely enough, in that blink of an eye, Kyra thought she saw a skirl of sadness flicker beneath his show of good cheer, as if he too, were masking some inner remorse or regrets.
    Surely it must have been just a quirk of the light, for the handsome Spaniard was the very soul