The 12th Kiss

by Laura Hogg

  Her throat ached with tightness, and her heart did flips when he stood so close to her. If I just reach out my hand, I can touch the buttons on his jacket, slip my hand inside, feel his warmth— She shook her head to clear it because she was being a fool. She would not be like all those other ladies! Surely he drove them to dismay as he used their flames of passion and then blew them out.

  Lord Cheltham grinned and took a step forward. “How does Miss Moore fare? I saw her during the performance. She looked like an angel. Is she well?"

  "She is. I'll tell her you enquired after her."

  "You will?” He smiled brightly.

  His wonderful lips. To kiss him would be a bit of heaven. “Er, yes.” She cleared her throat in an attempt to brush away a cloud of desire.

  "What do you know about her? Would you be so obliging as to enlighten me?” Lord Cheltham paced a step then looked back into her face.

  She fixed her eyes on to her feet and scuffed the ground with the tip of her boot. “If you want information...” She held out her hand in a gesture indicating that she would accept a bribe.

  How embarrassing, but it's part of the act.

  A blush heated her cheeks, he huffed, and she looked up. The Viscount was extracting some coins from a pouch. He slapped them into her hand.

  "I shan't say too much. That's private information, my lord, and I feel bad as it is."

  "Tell me something.” He reached out a hand pleading, and then dropped it to his side.

  Relief sighed. “Her father and mother began as wine merchants in New York before investing in land and buildings. She has two brothers and also a younger sister."

  "I know these things."

  "They are all in New York except for her brother and sister, who is her companion, and old Mrs. Miller who is her chaperone. Miss Moore's older brother, Daniel, normally resides with them, but he is currently away on business. I protect the women when he is away."

  "What else?” He walked a step then stopped and looked at her with narrowed eyes.

  "Relief is graced with a temper. She's adventurous, but suspicious.” She tapped her fingers over her thigh.

  More people passed, talking. Relief and Lord Cheltham waited for them to leave their vicinity.

  The Viscount smiled, and the glowing look on his face concerned her.

  "What is amiss, Mr. Taylor?” He frowned.

  "Your face, my lord."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's your expression. You look as if you have much on your mind."

  "My apologies.” He rubbed his face. “You were discussing the most intriguing woman I have ever seen. I would be her protector."

  "That sentiment would rouse her anger.” Relief tensed her jaw.

  "Then tell her I'm amusing."

  Relief chuckled. “I'll tell her she'd be one in a thousand."

  He frowned, shifting his jaw in irritation. “You seem to be against me, Mr. Taylor. Come; let us discuss matters over a drive. Perhaps I can change your mind."

  Now she scowled at him and touched her side after she glanced at his carriage. A knife hung sheathed on her hip because she was a bit on edge over the recent death-threat she had received from her pursuer.

  "Mr. Taylor?"

  "Try anything, and I'll kill you."

  "I do not doubt it for a second.” He stood straighter as if struck and gestured forward.

  She followed him to his carriage. After a few moments, Relief still didn't grant the Viscount a promise of arranging a meeting with Miss Moore. Instead she agreed to meet his lordship himself, once again to discuss the matter, to get to know him a bit as one of Miss Moore's guardians. Lord Cheltham approved.

  "You wish to assure yourself that the situation would be best for Miss Moore, is that it, Mr. Taylor?"

  "Yes."

  * * * *

  Relief wore a boy's hat pulled low over her forehead that matched her coarse brown jacket and breeches. She climbed two steps that led to the front of the Viscount's town house. She'd read that it was to be put up for sale. It was situated within a terrace that formed a gradual crescent.

  Plenty of men had showed interest in her, but she wanted to know what it felt like to have a titled gentleman pursue her. It would be very gratifying, she was sure. She wanted him to want her because so many women wanted him. This was a fun game she played with the Viscount, but a risky one.

  She liked him and wanted to spend time with him freely and without the usual social inhibitions. She suspected that in disguise, she could find out much more about him than she would otherwise. He might hide things from her if she were in her true form because she was a woman.

  Pride surged through her as she thought of him wanting her. She trembled with a jolting thrill when she focused on it. Having her would be better than having ten women, and she wanted him to know it, and show her how much he believed it.

  She could contain herself no longer, and a wicked grin lifted one corner of her lips. She straightened her mouth, having many times been told how provocative her smile was.

  "Smile like a man,” she reminded herself.

  A groom gave her a reproachful look, so she raised her brow.

  "If you are considering asking me to go around to the servants’ entrance, then you may tell his lordship that I will be leaving, but he wants me here as his guest."

  "It will not be necessary for you to go around. However, in the future, I advise you to consider whom you are visiting."

  Relief touched her shoulder and leaned forward in a mocking bow. The short, thin groom reached up and gave a tug on a bell. Relief availed herself of the lovely tones floating in the air, left behind from the ringing of the iron instrument. She had a heightened appreciation for sound. Her environment was enriched by vibrations that most people cared not a whit for. Secretly she had wanted to be a singer and practiced her songs in private as Honora played the pianoforte. It was one of her favorite hobbies.

  A middle-aged man dressed in a tasteful dark coat and light-colored trousers greeted her behind the open door. He scrutinized her from head to toe with frankness and censure, and she knew she fell short of passing his expectations for entering a lord's house because she was dressed for the streets. She lifted her chin up in defiance and attempted to walk into the house. He held the door and scoffed. She sighed.

  "His lordship is expecting me."

  "Yes,” he sneered and let her inside. “Wait here in the entrance while I fetch him. Do not touch anything."

  He scurried off, leaving her standing in the entranceway, scowling after him. “Rude,” she muttered. “He didn't even show me into the library or a parlor."

  She turned her attention to her surroundings and surveyed the room with detached appreciation. The Viscount had good taste, but hers was more exotic, and more ephemeral because it changed from day to day and could not be relied on to be consistent.

  Sometimes the streets in all of their dirty, noisy glory were what set her blood rushing. They smelled of cow manure and smoke. Leafy imagined the calls of vendors, the shouts of rowdy little whelps playing in the streets, horses clomping along the road, people chatting ... She would purchase a piece of fruit or a vegetable and bite into it without worrying about table manners. She would chuckle if the sweet juices splattered onto her shirt, and she would shrug. Oh well, she thought. I will be elegant tonight at my silver and crystal-laden supper table.

  She enjoyed jumping into the middle of trouble with a cold pistol that she'd never actually used except to intimidate, or a small sword in her hand, or just her own confidence in her fighting skills. She reveled in the thrill of throwing a criminal on his backside and seeing him scuttle up and run. A bubbling, happy laugh would come forth from deep within her gut, pouring out because she was living and loving life. She adored the feel of the uneven ground under her booted feet as she ran.

  Other times she preferred striding around beautiful and feminine in her gowns. She enjoyed her antique-furniture filled rooms, having tea with Honora
and Mrs. Miller, her little yellow music room, and her unusual paintings depicting people in action, living life, battles and dance scenes, not sitting in pompous arrogance. “Real people do real things,” she liked to say to Honora.

  As she stood waiting for the Viscount, she daydreamed of how she loved and was deeply grateful for her position in life.

  She wanted love, yes, but the price was high. Only in her wildest fantasies was she married to a man who wouldn't insist that she halt all of her current activities. She enjoyed what she did and always wanted to do them. She took pleasure from the excitement of it, pride in making a difference, but it warmed her heart to help other people. She cared very much for the city's poorest citizens. She had given money to orphanages, but it wasn't enough. She wanted to do more and did more. She kept people from getting hurt.

  She turned her head and considered her surroundings. The capacious room contained a wooden stairway at one end. Fine paintings, created by artists known more for their prestige than their actual talent, embellished the walls. She scoffed. She knew of some good artists depicting real life who should have been able to sell their paintings for plenty of money.

  She muttered while walking around the front part of the room. “Why is he selling his house in the city? Why is his carriage in need of repair?"

  A fireplace of considerable size enhanced the other end of the hall, opposite of the stairs. The black and white checkered floor shone, and the scent of fresh wax filled the room. She inhaled, enjoying the fragrance of lemons that seemed to fill her senses.

  Long, tied-back brocade navy-blue curtains hung from windows at the front of the room, displaying the entrance. A round, white marble-topped table with a plinth base and animal-shaped feet rested against the wall. A candle and a lamp sat atop the end of it with some other items. She smirked.

  How typical, she thought, looking at the rest of the contents resting on the table. His leather riding gloves and a riding whip. I wonder if when he is intriguing with a variety of women, he uses those to subdue ... Her thoughts were cut short when his shoes tapped against the hard floor. Her fair-haired gentleman entered the room, smiling. She gasped, tingling with lust. He strode forward dressed in impeccable clothes, at the height of fashion with his finely tailored jacket and trousers, and perfect snow-white cravat. Only recently found financial trouble...

  "Mr. Taylor, good day."

  "You no longer look at me in that condescending way, my lord. Why?” She shifted her weight and crossed her arms over her chest in that now comfortable masculine way of hers.

  "I have my reasons.” His voice was sincere and warm.

  Relief grinned like a man.

  "Follow me to the drawing room if you will."

  Relief nodded. They walked toward the back of the house. Lord Cheltham gestured with his hand when they reached a doorway. She walked into the blue and white room, an elegant, but simple parlor, less formal than it might have been in King George III's day. It appealed to her senses. Above a small fireplace at the back of the room hung a large painting of an older, blond couple that could have been his parents. Their expressions emit self-importance. Two smaller paintings adorned either side of the larger one. More relatives, including Joan. Strange that she is his only dark-haired relative she thought, crinkling her brow in perplexity. The Viscount followed Leafy into the room.

  "Would you care for refreshments, Mr. Taylor?” His butler glanced in the doorway.

  "No."

  Lord Cheltham nodded to the servant, dismissing him, and sat in a light, comfortable-looking wooden chair upholstered with a thick blue cushion. He gestured toward the similar chair across from his. They sat before a small round, highly polished wooden table. Relief opened the cover of a thick history book, perused the inside then closed it. She glanced sideways at the Viscount. He looked at her with amusement sparkling in his eyes. She turned and scanned the room. Low bookcases filled with different types of books, a blue sofa, cabinets, a small desk, and even a large harp resting in a corner supplied the furnishings.

  "You like music, my lord?” She placed her hands on the smooth, cool surface of the dark table, then just as soon snapped them away and polished the soiled spot with her sleeve. He grinned.

  "Immensely. My sister plays the harp. Sometimes I invite her down to this room for extended times so I can sit back, sketch or just relax and listen to her play her beautiful, haunting songs. Do you like music?"

  "Very much.” She smiled, pleased and warmed at finding that she had something in common with him.

  "You are an unusual person, Mr. Taylor.” Lord Cheltham paused for just a second. “I'm going to see my future lady soon, I presume?” He leaned forward. His hopeful grin stirred her heart, but she felt confusion surge through her.

  "Upon my word, you must be mad, empty in the knowledge box. You are obsessed with Miss Moore."

  "Who said anything about Miss Moore?” He chuckled.

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “Oh,” she stuttered, “I thought—"

  He laughed some more. “I tease you, sir. Of course that is who I meant!"

  Her lips turned up at one corner. A spark of delight ran through her.

  "Our meeting is a strange occurrence, I assure you, my good lad. You are different than all of my friends. I enjoy your company.” Lord Cheltham lowered his forearms onto the table and laced his fingers together.

  "You do not enjoy the presence of your friends?” Relief slowly dragged her index finger over the binding of the history book.

  "I do, but it's more a matter of enjoying the activities we do, whether it's riding or boxing, or cards, or any number of things that I would derive pleasure from doing with anyone."

  "I see. My lord?” She sat back and tugged her hat down lower over her forehead.

  His eyes became curious. “Yes, Mr. Taylor?"

  "You are more respectful to me than the other titled gentlemen I have crossed paths with."

  The Viscount's lips turned down at the corners, and his eyes became thoughtful.

  "Would you prefer for me to talk down to you?"

  "No, but I want to understand."

  He rubbed his chin, as if considering his thoughts.

  "I can't say much about it at this point, Mr. Taylor, but I will say that something happened a few years ago that caused my family to—"

  Leafy leaned forward a tiny bit. “My lord?"

  "From the day of the ... incident, I have been largely on my own."

  "I don't understand."

  He looked down and his shoulders slumped. She reached out and grazed his arm, and he flinched. She pulled her hand away as if she had been burned then he raised his eyes to her. She turned her head and slid her fingers along the rim of her hat, embarrassed.

  "I don't understand it, Mr. Taylor, but I feel as if we are friends. Something happened. I was sent to America for years. I am afraid that I lost my aristocratic sense of superiority. I attempt to put on airs, but it seems I'm a failure. I am defective."

  He chuckled. “Odd, we live in two different worlds. I suppose I have not found the right camaraderie I have been looking for with my friends."

  "My lord.” She waited, feeling warmth permeate her as she regarded him. He was smiling now.

  "Mr. Taylor, my friends would think me mad if they knew I spoke to you in such a way. I wonder what they would think if they knew what happened with my family when I was a young lad."

  Leafy felt compelled to say, “My lord, I find it odd that your sister is dark-haired."

  He sat up straighter. “It is not unheard of."

  "No, of course not."

  "Miss Moore has dark hair, unlike her sister."

  Leafy grinned. “An excellent point, my lord, but both girls have fair-skin. The exotic Joan appears to have come from the east."

  "Just because I find you interesting, Mr. Taylor, does not give you permission to explore private matters."

  She felt her cheeks heat. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord."

  His eyes
became hard in his reprimand. Leafy squirmed and sat lower in her chair. She half covered her face with her hand in a casual gesture.

  He stared at her and finally spoke. “How did you make Miss Moore's acquaintance? I have the feeling that you two rely on each other as friends. You and she don't...” he frowned. Relief grinned, recognizing jealousy in his gray eyes.

  "She could have a hundred men, but she doesn't. When she chooses the right man,” she said, hoping that he did exist. “She will have no one before she meets him. He will bring a smile to her face simply by resting his gaze upon her."

  Lord Cheltham was too close to her. His nearness sent spirals of heat and turmoil through her. She wanted to scoot close and place her hand on his cheek. She brought her very appreciative eyes to his lips, fantasizing about how warm they would feel brushing hers with the softness of a light breeze. She blinked. Could he be the one? She studied him, wishing he was different than the men she had met before who had boasted of their traditional expectations concerning women. She couldn't help it. She was unusual and wanted a life of adventure.

  Lord Cheltham shifted in his seat.

  Relief's half-dazed mind spun with fantasy. “She would think you quite handsome with your storm-cloud gray eyes."

  She realized her mistake and closed her eyes a moment, and then opened them. Lord Cheltham smiled.

  "She is difficult to draw close to with that protective family. Please arrange the meeting."

  He would place his hand gently on my neck and drag the back of his fingers between my breasts...

  "I don't know.” She sat far back in her seat and shook her head, looking down.

  "Why, pray tell, not?"

  She looked up abruptly, into his longing eyes. She had to say something, come up with some reason. I can't fall in love until the man who adores me above all else presents himself. No mistresses, and you are known, dear sir, for your reputation with women.

  The words that came forth were not what she longed to say.

  "She is not looking for your type of man. She wants a man like, well like me. A man of courage and adventure, a hero, perhaps a soldier or—” She paused in thought. And a man to love me and grant me the freedom to do as I wish, not just a man with handsome looks. A sad shiver coursed over her skin, for she knew her requirements were uncommonly demanding.