Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me

by Barbara Devlin

  “I am a fallen woman,” Almira said, in a small voice.

  “But we have all experienced our share of ruin.” With a lace-edged handkerchief, Rebecca blotted Almira’s cheeks. “Trust me, everyone present has made mistakes, yet we rally, as a family.”

  “And you have us, now.” Daphne grasped Almira’s hand and squeezed her fingers. “Whatever you imagine you have done, regardless of past sins, we do not pass judgment, as we are none of us without fault. Rather, we stand with you, as sympathetic allies.”

  “My dear Daphne, I owe you a debt I can never repay, as I caused so much strife during your courtship.” In the midst of a grand apology, Almira lifted each foot, and Sabrina positioned a pair of slippers. “I am so sorry, and I hope that some day you can forgive me. While I have no excuse for my behavior, I can only say that I was alone, frightened, and envious of the relationship you found with Dalton, but you must know he never loved me.”

  “If it will put you at ease, you should know my husband told me everything of his liaison with you and Lord Waddlington, as well as the circumstances, the heavy drinking, and the strange substance you smoked that night, and I forgave him, as well as you.” Then Daphne furrowed her brow. “And it is I who should seek forgiveness, after I exposed your identity to the ton, which resulted in your ruin.”

  “But I brought that on, myself, so you did nothing wrong, and there is nothing to forgive.” It was time to assume responsibility for her misdeeds, which posited a measure of independence. “In my defense, I was trying to reclaim some sense of control over my life, as we are but pawns in a man’s world. Unfortunately, my plan exacted unforeseeable innocent victims and resulted in my ultimate downfall, and I have no one to blame but myself.”

  “Well, you are not alone, and you shall always be welcome in my home.” In that instant, Daphne hugged Almira, and the tears began anew. “Now do not cry, as your face will be red and puffy when Nicholas sees you in your finery. Will you take a look at yourself, and tell us what you think?”

  Whirling about, Almira caught sight of her improved garb and hairstyle and froze. Little by little, she inched close to the long mirror. Recollections, so many memories filtered through her mind. Learning to walk with a book atop her head, to play the piano, to draw with charcoal, and to sing. But that debutante had been suffocated beneath Lord Moreton’s perversion. As if to greet an old friend, she extended a hand and reached toward the image.

  “This is who I am, and I will never go back to that creature my husband constructed.” Almira touched her face and surveyed the understated but elegant gown. Peering over her shoulder, she smiled at the ladies. “Thank you.”

  “We should thank you, as this was such fun.” Lenore clapped twice. “Let us rejoin our men, as Blake’s growling belly woke me from my nap, and I wager he is ready to eat the table by now.”

  Part of the group, in truth, Almira chatted with Elaine about the impending Stir-Up Day, and possible wishes. As they strolled into the dining room, the gentlemen stood, and more than one husband complained of near starvation, but Almira only had eyes for Nicholas. When she approached her seat beside his, he met her gaze, and what she spied in his expression brought her to a halt.

  “Mira, is it you?” Without warning, he pulled her into his warm embrace, and again it was like arriving home after a long journey. “My sweet girl, how I missed you.”

  Then he shifted and kissed her—and kept kissing her, until someone cleared their throat, and Nicholas and Almira came up for air.

  “Will someone serve dinner, as I am desperate enough to eat my toenails?” Blake pounded the table. “And it is not as if we have never seen a happy couple kiss.”

  HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The shops at Portsmouth bustled with patrons carrying brightly wrapped parcels, amid fresh snowfall, and Nicholas ushered Almira into a local designer’s establishment. Given the drastic change in her style, after Daphne’s initial handiwork, which evoked cherished memories of fonder times, he resolved to buy his sweet girl a new wardrobe to suit her old but familiar self.

  “Oh, Nicholas, this is too much, and I could not possibly accept such a lavish gift.” Biting her bottom lip, she stared at a pale green silk creation, in a Grecian style, and bounced on her heels. “But that is the loveliest gown I have ever seen.”

  “It suits your complexion.” A short but immaculately garbed woman emerged from behind a drape. “Will you not try it on, Madame?”

  “Dare I?” Sparks lit Almira’s blue eyes, and she squealed when he nodded the affirmative. “All right.”

  “I am Eléontine, and welcome to my humble boutique.” The grey-haired woman smiled. “If you will have a seat, sir. We will be right with you.”

  “Darling, let me hold your packages.” From Mira, he collected various purchases, which he set on the floor. As he relaxed in a comfortable chair, he surveyed the store, which featured an array of ladies fashions. In the front window, he spied a luxurious ermine lined pelisse done in expensive, plush blue velvet, and he pulled it from the display.

  “Monsieur, your wife is ready.” Holding aside the curtain, the seamstress ushered him to the changing room, where Almira, bedecked in eau de nil, stood before a long mirror. “Your bride is beautiful, is she not?”

  In that instant, Almira blushed and bowed her head. “But I am—”

  “She is stunning.” When Mira faced him, he took her hands in his and kissed her fingertips. “My dear, you are a goddess, and I am your undeserving servant.” About her shoulders, he situated the sumptuous pelisse. “We will take this, too, as it is quite chilly outside, Eléontine.”

  “Nicholas.” Despite her expression of shock, Almira caressed the extravagant fur.

  “Very good, sir.” The shopkeeper nodded once. “Is there anything else with which I might tempt you, and where should I send the bill?”

  “We are currently guests at Courtenay Hall.” He extended his card. “And what have you in daywear?”

  “My lord, you should have told me I hosted such distinguished patrons.” The seamstress gushed. “Perhaps I can show you a special pair of gloves, which match the pelisse.” From a table, she drew the accessories. “I trimmed the cuffs, myself, and they are cut from the finest kid skin.”

  “We will take those, too.” As Almira made to protest, he claimed a quick kiss in full view of the seamstress. “Now, try on that burgundy dress, as it will be perfect for the Christmas ball.”

  Approximately two hours later, Nicholas and Almira emerged from the shop, and he flagged his footman to retrieve the selections ready for wear, while the remainder was scheduled for delivery just prior to the holiday.

  “How am I ever going to repay you for all the clothes?” Shimmering, with a pronounced skip in her step, Almira clung to his arm. “You really should not have spent so much money.”

  “Marry me, and I will spoil you, for the rest of your life.” The aroma of roasted beef called to him, and he paused at the entrance to a quaint restaurant. “What say you to a bite of lunch, before we return to Courtenay Hall?”

  “I would love that, because I am starving.” With a palm pressed to her belly, she peered at the cloudy sky. “But the snow increases. Do you not think we should start back?”

  “Let me have this day with you, Mira, as your gift to me.” A bell sounded when he opened the door, and he bowed. “Please? I have dreamed of such outings spent in your company, unreservedly.”

  “All right, but you should have let me bring Mildred, as chaperone.” His suddenly dainty society miss adopted an air of grace and refinement one would expect of a lady of character. “Given we are not wed, it is improper to grant a private audience.”

  “Sweetheart, look about you.” He took her new pelisse and gloves and then doffed his outerwear. “Everyone assumes we are a couple. Do you wish to disillusion them?”

  “I suppose not.” She shrugged. “But you are incorrigible, sir.”

  “When I am with y
ou, most definitely.” The host approached, and Nicholas wrapped an arm about Mira’s waist and ignored her whispered protest. “We are two for lunch, and I would like a table near the window, if possible.”

  “Of course.” The host bowed. “If you will follow me.”

  Off to one side, a little table hugged a bay window, and Christmas decorations framed the glass. After holding Almira’s chair, Nicholas assumed his place and gave the waiter their order. Then he reached across the table, grasped her hand, and twined his fingers in hers. As anticipated, she blushed.

  “Happy?” With his thumb, he caressed her palm. “Is there anything else you would like for Christmas, as I am in a generous mood and more than willing to indulge you?”

  “But you have done so much, already.” Ah, it was like old times, as she met his gaze and smiled the feminine smile he knew so well. “I wonder if you might accommodate me in another way, because you have yet to tell me of your family troubles. I hesitated to bring it up at Courtenay Hall, but we are alone, now. If it is not too painful, will you share the travails that led to your father’s murder? And what of Cornelius?”

  “It is more embarrassing than painful, because my younger brother singlehandedly destroyed our once estimable legacy.” Various events of the past year assailed his consciousness. “For as long as I can remember, my father coddled Cornelius, covering for a variety of harmless pranks. But as Cornelius grew, his licentious pursuits resulted in ruin, so my father purchased a commission in the army, hoping the military could right so many wrongs in my brother’s questionable character.”

  “Given I knew Cornelius when he wore shortcoats, I am shocked, because he never struck me as soldier material.” With an expression of unutterable sympathy, she squeezed his fingers. “I gather Cornelius did not thrive?”

  “Oh, it is far worse than that.” Nicholas shook his head. “He conspired with a heretofore-unknown by-blow and formulated a dastardly scheme to murder Lenore’s father, kidnap her and Lucilla, and seize General Teversham’s fortune.”

  “You must be joking.” Mouth agape, Almira stared at him. When he replied naught, she blinked. “You are serious, and he thought he could succeed?”

  “Well, that is the frightening part.” The waiter arrived with wine and the meal, and Nicholas draped a napkin in his lap. “Had Blake not fallen in love with Lenore, during their return voyage to London, Cornelius may very well have triumphed. When he enacted his plan, he did not realize Lenore was, for all intents and purposes, the future duchess of Rylan. As you can imagine, the plot failed miserably.”

  “How did your father become involved?” She shifted in her seat. “And what on earth could have motivated him to act in the degree to which the gossip claims?”

  “John Harris, a half-brother, confessed the entire nefarious ordeal in a sworn affidavit, which implicated Cornelius as the mastermind, after the two were caught and brought to justice.” In poor form, Nicholas toyed with the food on his plate, as he needed a distraction from the ill tidings. “I suppose my father resorted to usual behavior, born of years of cleaning up Cornelius’s messes, because Papa lashed out at Harris, in the Hawthorne’s garden. According to Lady Elaine, who witnessed the terrible exchange, my father stabbed his illegitimate son. Then, to compound his offense, he hired a rogue pirate to kill Lady Elaine, but according to her official attestation, the criminal opted for another course of action and shot my father, instead.”

  “Upon my word.” Clutching her throat, Almira reclined in her chair. “I read about the crime in The Times, as well as the recovery of your father’s body from the Thames, but the article did not speculate on the motive.” Mirroring his earlier gesture, she reached for his hand. “I am so sorry, Nicholas.”

  “And while I initially doubted the accounts, which cast aspersions on my family, when I found a series of letters in my father’s desk, in which Cornelius chronicled the events, I could not deny the truth.” In a shocking show of affection, he drew circles on the soft underside of her wrist. “Yet the missives gave me hope, as I had scarcely dared covet in years.”

  “I do not understand.” Ah, she shivered, ever so slightly. “Those notes manifest your downfall. One might have thought you had every right to burn them.”

  “Not necessarily.” Having cleaned their dishes, Nicholas signaled the waiter. “The lady and I will share a slice of the cream cake, she will have tea, and I would like a brandy.”

  “Of course, sir.” The servant dipped his chin and cleared the empty plates.

  “My dear, Cornelius’s unintended admission offered a chance for redemption and the opportunity to reclaim something I lost.” Leaning forward, he brought her hand to his lips. “Indeed, I pledged to submit the evidence, along with my testimony as to the authenticity of the correspondence, that I might atone for my brother and my father’s crimes, in exchange for Dalton’s invitation to join his relations for the holidays.”

  “You did that for me?” Tears welled in her eyes, when he indicated the affirmative, and Almira whispered, “I ache to kiss you.”

  “Do you not see?” He stood and scooted his chair closer to hers. “You are everything to me, my sweet girl.”

  “I am your girl.” Never would he tell her she glowed. “Whatever happens, do not doubt that I have always been yours.”

  The dessert and refreshments arrived, and Nicholas winked at his lady. Despite the other diners present, he broke with decorum and fed Mira delicate bites of the confection, as would a doting husband pamper his wife, and she voiced no protest. Brimming with the thrill of victory, he helped her with her pelisse, and they ventured forth into the snow.

  “The coach waits in the next block.” With Almira gripping his arm, he steered her through the crowded sidewalks, until she drew up short. White as the icy blanket that covered the earth, she stiffened her spine and gave vent to a strangled cry of distress. “Darling, what is wrong?”

  Shaking violently, she remained mute and rooted to the spot. Imprisoned by some invisible terror, she resisted his efforts to move her, so he bent and swept her into his arms. In minutes, he carried her to his rig, and the footman opened the door. When Nicholas attempted to deposit her on the bench, she refused to let go, so he maneuvered with care, until he could safely situate her in his lap.

  As the equipage lurched and eased into the lane, he lowered the shades, checked the position of the tin foot stove, retrieved the blanket from the squabs, and tucked the wool about Mira. For several minutes, he just held her while she shuddered and whimpered. At last, when he could take no more, he tipped her chin and set his lips to hers.

  It was a kiss meant to soothe, to calm.

  Soon, she relaxed in his embrace, speared her fingers through his hair, and engaged him in an aggressive tryst. Summoning every scrap of control, he caught her wrists as she tugged at the hooks of his breeches.

  “Nicholas, why do you reject me?” Collapsing against his chest, she sighed. “Have you not considered this fortnight might be our only chance at happiness?”

  “Because I want to wait until we are properly wed, thus I am not rejecting you, and why do you speak like that?” What was she hiding? “Talk to me, Almira.”

  “I will make you a bargain.” Huddled beneath the blanket, she hugged him about the waist. “On New Year’s Day, I will tell you everything. For now, let us have the holidays, I beg you.”

  “All right, sweetheart.” Of course, he neglected to mention that she would be his wife by then.

  ~

  Hovering over a large bowl, in keeping with Stir-Up Day, Almira clutched the traditional wooden spoon, which signified Christ’s manger, closed her eyes, stirred in a clockwise rotation, and made her secret wish, as the eccentric collective of relations gathered in the kitchen at Courtenay Hall, to assist the household staff in making the plum pudding and a selection of fruitcakes. A cheer erupted, and she laughed and passed the spoon to Nicholas.

  “It is your turn.” Now, if only her dream came true.

 
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Thrilled by his overt term of endearment, which might have scandalized other, more conservative families, she poised on the opposite side of the table, as he held her stare and participated in the ritual. Although he said nothing aloud, his playful countenance spoke volumes. “I know precisely what I want.”

  “Will you tell me?” She stuck her tongue in her cheek, as if she had any doubts.

  “Not a chance.” Flicking his fingers, he beckoned, and she answered the call without hesitation, because in the Randolph household, spontaneous displays of affection were quite commonplace and expected. “Shall we bedeck the house in holly and evergreens, my dear?”

  “Oh, yes.” Holding his hand, she skipped into the foyer.

  With joy in her heart, she tied various festive fronds, which Nicholas held in place, to the bannister and trimmed everything with colorful red ribbon. Twice, Dalton and Dirk enacted a mock battle, using branches as makeshift swords, and the party devolved into one big mock joust, with the men charging, at will, and the ladies cheering their respective swains.

  “Will you stop playing games and finish decorating the tree?” Frowning, Blake hefted one end of the heavy Yule Log, with Ross bringing up the rear. “Or must I do everything?”

  “My poor darling.” Lenore availed herself of his vulnerable position to steal a kiss. “Should I let you open a present, tonight?”

  “It is rather odd, is it not?” Almira asked, in a low tone. “We never had a tree in my home.”

  “Neither did we, as my father considered it frivolous.” With a boyish grin and seemingly boundless energy, which tugged at her heart, Nicholas affixed another festoon of greenery. “Then again, ornamenting a tree is an uncommon and rather new tradition, which Queen Charlotte, the wife of King George III, introduced during holiday celebrations at Windsor, in eighteen hundred.”

  “Still, it is rather charming, is it not?” As she glanced at the tall yew holding pride of place in the drawing room, she envisioned Nicholas, sitting on the floor and bouncing a babe on his knee. Despite their outward affinity, an undercurrent of tension marred the otherwise perfect evening. “Indeed, it is the stuff of fairy stories.”