Sweeter Than Sin by Andrea Pickens Page B

fabric.
    Through the scrim of her lashes, she saw that Rafael, too, was looking embarrassed. And with good reason. Though he was too gentlemanly to say so, he was probably horrified at having a wanton jade wrap herself around him. At that moment, she would have given all the tea in China to have the ground beneath her open up and drop her straight to Canton.
    "Halloo, sweetheart," she crooned, stroking the dog's floppy ears to keep from meeting Rafael’s gaze.
    "He needs a proper name," he murmured.
    To Kyra's surprise, he didn't back away from her, now that he was no longer ensnared.
    "My guess," Rafael went on, "is that this ragged little imp will grow into those big, ungainly paws. A Spanish hombre would be greatly shamed by being called 'Sweetheart.' I daresay an English one would feel much the same."
    "You are sure it's a male?"
    " Si ." A twinkle of amusement lit in his eyes. "Very sure."
    Kyra did not ask him to elaborate. She thought for a moment. "Then I shall name him Hero. Surely no hombre could object to that."
    "Hero." Rafael reached out and ruffled his fingers through the dog's matted fur. "Perhaps he will grow into his name as well as his feet."
    "At least he will have a chance to prove himself." She hadn't really considered the ramifications of running after the half-starved dog. As was her wont, she had acted on impulse. But as Hero began to suckle and chew on her finger, the decision was oh-so clear.
    "But first I must get him something to eat. He's starving." After running a hand over his protruding little ribs, Kyra added, "And a blanket for the carriage ride home."
    She rather expected him to make all sorts of reasonable objections to adopting a scruffy stray.
    But instead, Rafael merely nodded as he plucked his coat from where she had hung it on a protruding nail and tugged it on. It was cleaner than his torn shirt, Kyra noted thankfully, and would provide him with some protection from the damp chill that was settled over the alleyway now that the sun had passed its zenith.
    "Here, let me carry him," he offered.
    "But your coat, sir." Her nose crinkled as Hero rubbed his whiskered snout against her cheek. "We've already caused the ruin of your other clothing, not to speak of your boots." His valet would like swoon if asked to clean them. "And as you've discovered, he has some rather foul things encrusted in his fur."
    "To the Devil with my coat," answered Rafael cheerfully. "I was never fond of this particular shade of grey. It will be vastly improved by mixing in a bit of brown." He lifted Hero from her arms, and was rewarded with a series of slobbering kisses to his chin. "Yes, yes, you smelly little imp, I rather like you, too." Unfazed by the needle-like teeth now attacking his lapels, he went on, "I think with some proper nourishment, he will make you a very fine country hound."
    Kyra felt a surge of elation well up in her chest. "Oh, you truly think it is alright if we take him with us?"
    "I don't see why not. He's clearly been abandoned."
    "It is exceedingly kind of you to allow strays and... outcasts to attach themselves to your..." She was suddenly aware of his steadying hold on her arm. "...Your coat."
    "My coat is already greatly improved." A grin as he indicated the shredded fabric and missing button on his collar. "Perhaps, like your famous Beau Brummel, I shall start a new style in gentlemen's fashion." Rafael gave a mock wince as Hero nipped at his ear. "Shall we call it the Hungry Hound?"
    Kyra laughed. "I know there are Tulips of the ton who spend hours in front of the mirror perfecting the knot of their cravats, but I am not sure they would be quite as tolerant as you are—not even for the sake of appearing an arbiter of style."
    "You underestimate the vanity of most men," he murmured.
    No , thought Kyra. I don't. Which was why Rafael de Villafranca Greeley was so...
    How to describe him? No single word seemed adequate to capture the complexity of his character. Whimsical, yet