The 12th Kiss

by Laura Hogg

  "Keep your pompous clothes. I will not be there."

  "Raphael, have I offended you?” He lowered his eyes in an effort to see into her face. She would not accommodate him.

  "Does it matter?"

  "Yes. You are my friend."

  She tensed. “You mean that, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm not offended. I'll be busy that night."

  "Fighting crime?"

  "Maybe. And, Cheltham, if you ever tell anyone in your fancy circle that I am the one they read about in their newspapers, our friendship is over."

  His posture stiffened. “I see. I will keep your secret."

  "Good, because I have grown to appreciate your big, stupid company, too.” Her cheeks heated with embarrassment.

  He grinned. “I am not deficient in understanding. I am not the nocky boy you would have me be!” he said lightheartedly.

  "We shall see just how smart you really are, and how tough! Are you picking up some language of the street? Are you disgusted with yourself, my lord?” She raised one brow, gazing at him briefly.

  He laughed. “No. I can see the practicality of it. It had to contribute to your survival of the vilest of the back alleys!"

  She took a bow. "Et je parle beaucoup d'autres langues aussi. Leafy et moi, nous aimons les langues."

  Now his brow was raised.

  "Do you and Miss Moore often jabber in your parlez vous?"

  "Mais oui!” She grinned. “Though sometimes it is in Italian, German, or elegant English, my dear lord. Occasionally, for mere amusement, we might speak the language of the street. I may look as I may, but I am educated."

  He nodded. She gestured around, and he followed her hands as she scanned several people: two boys playing chase, a man and a woman talking in private heated conversation, a man selling some kind of drink and several others engaged in various pursuits, some of which seemed suspicious due to the circumspect glances of the parties involved.

  "What shall I serve at my party? What is Miss Moore's favorite dish? Does she enjoy exotic food?” His hands extended in question.

  "Serve what you were planning to serve. It is not a party in her honor, after all."

  "She is the only guest that I will notice all evening."

  Relief chuckled and smiled. “She speaks several languages and has had the best tutors. When she was two, she could communicate in two languages. Every year after that, her father added another language because Leafy enjoyed it so much and showed great potential. She asked for more. Mr. Moore believed in stimulating his daughters’ intelligence, both daughters, so he invested where their individual talents were obvious. Honora plays the piano forte and is an accomplished seamstress. Teachers surrounded Leafy often in her early years. So by the time she was eight—"

  "She had begun her eighth language. I am highly impressed. Why did she learn so many?” He paced a step then stopped and looked at her.

  She simpered. “She wanted to. It is her hobby, one of them at least."

  "She must never have had a private moment, Raphael."

  "No, Relief grew weary of constantly being surrounded and eventually stole out of the house on adven ... er ... nevermind for now."

  He gave her a perplexed expression.

  She changed the subject. “I will wager she could keep up with any of your male guests concerning anything they could come up with. She is sharp of mind.” She put her hands on her hips.

  Lord Cheltham smiled.

  "That pleases you, Cheltham?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "It is gratifying imagining myself sitting across a table from a woman who holds my attention so brilliantly."

  "You truly loathe boredom."

  "Yes."

  "So does Leafy. She will never be allowed to join the men in conversation over brandy and cigars at your party."

  He frowned. “No."

  "This is going to be interesting, Cheltham."

  "I'm mildly befogged thinking about this situation.” Lord Cheltham tapped his fingers on his leg. “I want her to enjoy herself and say yes when I ask if I may pay court to her."

  "She will most likely be quite bored if you stick her in a room filled with empty-headed ladies discussing the marriage market or sewing."

  Lord Cheltham rubbed his chin again. “I hadn't thought of that, but I believe you are right. I will think of something."

  "You will have to or this could be a grand regret. Perhaps you should just forgo having her attend. It does not seem to be an opportunistic idea. Your friends may not approve of the American girl."

  "Or they may not be able to contain their admiring eyes,” he said with a hint of irritation. “If any of my friends dare to presume with her, they will regret it.” He tensed his jaw.

  "I will not tell her about your party then, Cheltham."

  "No, please do. Why are you looking at me that way, Raphael?"

  "I'm bewildered."

  "Whatever do you mean?"

  "You are a conceited, pompous man, but I think I'm seeing another side to you. Could it be that you are not really such an arrogant arse? I mean, arrogant man?” She shook her head.

  He smiled. “No, I really am sure of myself.” He held out his arms in an open gesture. “Women love me. I want our fair Miss Moore to see me in my element; all dressed up, the lord of my manor."

  "You want her to see you sitting on your throne in your fancy townhouse, displaying your situation and attracting the admiring eyes of the women who are likely to be in attendance."

  "Why wouldn't she be tempted, unless she prefers ugly men?"

  "No, she appreciates a handsome man when she sees one.” She looked down, desire drawing a knot in her stomach.

  "Good.” Pride edged his voice.

  "But she needs much more than that. And she will not have a fribble or a dandy. Her man will be wild and brave and romantic.” She ran her eyes over him and then away.

  He squinted.

  "What are you looking at, Cheltham?” She felt his eyes on her still.

  "Your hand, I just noticed."

  "What?” Relief covered her hand with the other.

  "They are small, but you had a mark on one. It looked like a tiny flower."

  "It's a birthmark. I inherited it from my mother."

  "Interesting."

  "I must quit now. Miss Moore is expecting me at her home."

  The Viscount nodded in response.

  * * * *

  Lord Cheltham pulled up in a Phaeton drawn by two horses to Miss Moore's rented house, where Raphael had said it was located once. And he said the ladies were not at home. He let out a slow breath and tapped his fingers nervously on his thighs.

  "Raphael won't mind, good-natured lad as he is,” he said softly to himself.

  He knocked on the blue front door, intending to tell Raphael that he had to make a change in the time of the party. Of course he could have sent a servant, but he wanted to experiment with American ways.

  An older lady answered, and she couldn't have looked more surprised to see a lord standing before her. Her Nordic blue eyes met his with great interest. Her gray hair, pulled tightly back into a bun had silver streaks running through it. She wore a drab brown gown.

  After her eyes lost their astonishment, she pursed her lips into a frown. “Yes?"

  "Pardon me,” he touched his chest and nodded his head. “Would Mr. Taylor be available so that I might have a word with him?"

  She blinked as if baffled. “Who?"

  Lord Cheltham frowned. “Mr. Taylor. I am a friend of his, Lord Cheltham. He said that he would be here."

  "My lord, I do not know a Mr. Taylor."

  He drew back a step, surprised. “Mr. Raphael Taylor?"

  "No."

  "He is known to Miss Relief Moore."

  "Ah,” a smile crossed her features. “You refer to my dear Leafy. Allow me to fetch her. Perhaps she could help you.” She turned to leave.

  He let out a nervous cough. “Madam�
��"

  "Mrs. Miller."

  "Mrs. Miller, I have not had the pleasure of making Miss Moore's acquaintance.” He felt suddenly uncomfortable, anxious.

  She smiled again, warmly. “Then I intend to remedy that.” There was a twinkle in her eyes, an approving look. He knew that look. It was that of a matchmaker. “Please, come inside."

  He did and his heart speed up; he let out a forced breath, tugged at his cravat, and cleared his thought. She left.

  "Mrs. Miller, a visitor? Really I—” Miss Moore said as she entered the room with her chaperon.

  Her voice was beautiful. She stopped and looked into his face, with something resembling mild initial panic. A slow smile lit up his countenance. He once again touched his chest, over his heart, and this time bowed. Mrs. Miller took her by the elbow.

  "Come child."

  She tripped forward as her guard led her forth. They stopped four feet from him.

  "Lord Cheltham, my lovely ward, Miss Relief Moore."

  "I am honored, Miss Moore."

  She blinked and curtseyed, nervously, looking down. “Lord Cheltham."

  "You have received the invitation to my party?"

  Her eyes came up. “Yes."

  "And have you accepted it?” He grinned as sweet passion drained from his heart and flowed to every part of him.

  "Yes."

  "I came to announce to Mr. Taylor that the event is to commence one hour earlier than originally planned."

  "Thank you. You might have sent a note."

  "I might have."

  Light on his feet and playful of mood, he awaited her next word. A mirthful grin appeared on her face, and she raised one brow. Something had relaxed her anxiety. He knew not what.

  "My lord?"

  "Miss Moore, I look forward to receiving you and your companions at my home."

  "Raphael has spoken well of you. It's almost as if I know you already."

  He sighed. “That delights me."

  She let out a small chuckle. It brightened his world. What an enchanting woman.

  He smiled. “I must be off.” Another slight bow, another curtsy on her part, and he was gone.

  It occurred to him, while sitting in his vehicle that when he looked into her face, it wasn't lust that wrapped itself tightly around his heart and made him feel as if the world had just changed for the better.

  Five

  Lord Cheltham went for a drive in a phaeton, riding about Hyde Park. He wanted to enjoy it, knowing if his financial situation did not soon change, the vehicle would be sold. He took it slow, practically at a crawl and did not take notice of the other carriages he passed on the ring or of the men on horseback riding along. Nor did he consider the Ladies’ Mile as he had so often in the past. He pondered a beautiful American woman. He would shortly entertain her for what promised to be a happy evening with friends.

  His friend, the Earl of Hawksworth called out to him.

  "Cheltham! I say, can you hear me?"

  "Oh, yes."

  The Earl pulled up beside him. “Charming day. You appear not to notice though."

  "I'm going to see her, soon."

  "Who?” the earl inquired in an inquisitive voice.

  "Miss Relief Moore."

  "She's here, Cheltham."

  "What?” He glanced around.

  The Earl pointed across the way. “She's with another young lady in a carriage with a grey leading it."

  "Excuse me."

  Lord Cheltham exited his carriage, leaving his friend to wonder. He strode across the green and saw Relief. She looked up. Her eyes showed her pleasure at his approach. She touched her lips briefly as if she were unsettled.

  Her sister Honora, a lovely blonde he had seen with her sister in New York, spoke. “Your prince arrives."

  Relief grinned smartly. Lord Cheltham stood before her, smiling inside because he had heard those words. Relief has esteem for me. Raphael told her some things she appreciated. I was called her prince. He smiled outwardly now and looked into her face, not saying a word. A giggle escaped Honora's lips. She immediately reined in her glee and sat up straighter. He cleared his throat and bowed slightly.

  "Miss Moore, I am honored."

  The elderly Mrs. Miller in her prim bonnet and dowdy gown sat in their carriage, silent. She afforded him a nod, and he acknowledged it with one of his own, just now noticing her.

  "Lord Cheltham,” Relief said mischievously.

  "Dear God, you are lovely.” He shook his head, embarrassed. He was twenty, but the playfulness hinted in her eyes made him feel like a schoolboy.

  "You are an Incomparable, Miss Moore."

  "You have a degree of bottom to approach me this way. Your friends are watching,” Relief chided.

  He touched his chest. “It does not require courage. My heart led me to do so. I, my dear lady, am happy to find you here."

  "So you are,” she said with a bit of merriment, teasing him.

  A beam of sun glinted off her hair and made it gleam a glossy chestnut. Tongue-tied and stupid, not meaning to be so rude, but unable to do anything for the moment, he shook his head and turned away briefly, then back, catching his error.

  "I offer my apologies."

  "My lord, could I be of service?” Relief grinned.

  "You were staring, my lord,” Honora added. “Your peepers are drinking in my sister as if they have never before encountered a woman!"

  This one has American sauciness, as her sister does he thought. “Not one so beautiful.” He shook his head. “Please forgive me, Miss Moore. The first time I saw you, you and your family attended a large business gathering in New York. It was a convention. I went with an associate who worked in industry with your father. The room overflowed with people doing business. You entered the room with your brothers. You ... in your snowy white gown...” He cleared his throat and tugged at his cravat. “I was drawn to you and wanted to approach you.” He paused, remembering the intensity of first laying eyes on her.

  "Really?” Her melodious voice brought him back to the present. She raised a brow in her pretty way.

  He was just as moved as before. “Yes. Seeing you there won me over to the fullest measure."

  "You are quite taken with my sister, and quite bold.” Honora gave him a look of warning.

  Thank Raphael for that. He was startled by the odd intimacy he felt with Relief that he couldn't explain, except to guess that it was due to all the conversations he had had with Raphael, and all the talks he knew the boy had had with Miss Moore concerning them both.

  Relief turned to look at the saucy one, then back at the Viscount.

  "This is my sister, Miss Honora."

  "My pleasure.” He bowed. “You will be attending my dinner as well? I would be devastated if the two of you did not."

  Relief smiled warmly. “We will be there, my lord."

  Warmth flooded his face.

  "Good day, Miss Moore, Miss Honora, Mrs. Miller.” He bowed and left, smiling.

  * * * *

  When Relief, Honora, and a perturbed Mrs. Miller arrived at the house they shared, Relief grabbed her sister's arm and led her quickly inside, chatting some nonsense about the weather. Honora's eyes reflected surprise. They went to Relief's room.

  "Relief, are you nervous?"

  "No."

  "What was that all about then?"

  "Nothing, Honora. I'm going out tonight.” She was not about to alarm her sister with the knowledge of having seen the man, a moment before, who had threatened to kill her in the past.

  "As Raphael."

  "Yes, Honora."

  Mrs. Miller tapped on the bedroom door. Honora opened it and let her in.

  "Young ladies, you must conduct yourselves better!"

  Both girls frowned. “Mrs. Miller?” they said together.

  "Your behavior! And in front of Lord Cheltham! It was immature. You were brought up in a respectable family, yet both of you acted as if you were orphans, taking liberties, as if the streets were fa
miliar to you."

  The heat of embarrassment flushed Relief's neck and face. She gazed at Honora whose face had turned red.

  "Yes, Mrs. Miller,” they said together.

  She censured them with a stern look, nodded and left.

  Honora gulped, and Relief heard it.

  "She doesn't know, Nora."

  "She can't know."

  "Don't worry, sister.” She knit her brows together. “Perhaps my knowledge of the streets has changed my behavior, and my discussions of my wild adventures have changed yours."

  "No, Leafy. We were always a bit rebellious."

  Relief grinned, feeling proud. “Yes, we were. It makes us superior to the endless boring women out there. We are braver and infinitely more interesting than they are."

  "We are braver if only to our own knowledge."

  Relief shrugged in response. “That will have to do, I suppose. Let the world admire us for our social position. We can admire ourselves for being exciting and courageous.” They giggled together and continued to chat.

  As the room became cast in the shadows of oncoming evening, Honora pulled a box of supplies out of the chest at the foot of the bed.

  "It's time, Leafy."

  She nodded and took her seat in front of the mirror. Honora pulled pins from her sister's hair, and shining brown locks tumbled down.

  Honora doubled and folded Relief's hair under then greased it down. She slid her hands over Relief's ponytail in the familiar task of making it as thin as possible.

  "The length of your hair, Relief, and doubled up ... it's fortunate that you have thinned it out with scissors. Still, it is a struggle to make it appear thin. I make it slippery; I squeeze and squeeze again.” She sighed. “Then I add more grease.” She yanked and ran her hair down the length.

  "Ow!"

  "Sorry. Here, that's it. It's still a bit long, but it will do.” She wrapped a black strip of silk around it to tighten it up further. “There we are!” she said cheerfully.

  Relief barely heard her. The pain reminded her of a threat. Earlier, when outside the house, she and Honora had walked toward the entrance. Honora carried on and on over some silly gossip about a neighbor, fluttering her hands in her enthusiasm when the man who intended to harm Relief stood in the shadow of a large tree. He made a gesture to her, sliding the edge of his hand across his throat. A carriage drove by, and when it passed where he had been standing, he was gone! She gasped, but Honora was still in her own little world, talking. Honora hadn't seen what had just happened. Relief trembled in fear. She urged Honora into the house quickly, in the hopes of keeping her ignorant of his presence there.