by Laura Hogg
Lord Cheltham shrugged and took a big swallow of his drink. “Yes, well, my parents decided that I was rather unconventional, and they wanted to punish me."
"Punish you?” Daniel's brow wrinkled into a frown.
"Indeed. I didn't see it as a punishment. They did, on the assumption that America was a callous land that would make me appreciate my origins all the more."
Daniel leaned back. “I see."
"The little while I spent in New York was well worth my while; though I did not have the opportunity to stay there long. I would have liked to understand life there better."
"New York is home. I love it. Relief always wanted to travel though..."
Lord Cheltham leaned closer at the mention of her name. “Sir."
Daniel shook his head. “Let me tell you about our home."
"I would be delighted.” The Viscount took another sip, gripping his glass as his heart pounded with thoughts of his beloved Relief.
Daniel discussed many things, including the need to create opera houses for the American public. Lord Cheltham listened with great interest. After a while, the wine was gone. Lord Cheltham brought another two bottles for them to enjoy after complimenting Daniel on the excellent bottle he had brought with him. Daniel went into the topic of fine wines and his family's former industry.
They drank and talked as the hours ticked away. Lord Cheltham's head started spinning. He hadn't drunk this much in quite some time, but Daniel was an easy fellow to chat with. After plenty of good-humored conversation, and even more drink, his tongue loosened. He might have known this New Yorker all his life. The Viscount rubbed his temples.
"So tell me, my lord,” Daniel said, his speech slurred, “about you and the ladies. You probably have your fair share, a good-looking gentleman such as yourself."
His puffed-up ego filled him with pride. Uninhibited freedom flowed through his veins courtesy of the drink. An urge to stand up and dance surged through him, but he controlled it-barely.
I'm deboshed! He shouted in his mind with great amusement.
"Yes. I'm a god to women. I do not even have to spend too much Spanish coin. They come to me without the flowery words."
He paused, thinking of Relief sliding a silky nightgown off in his bed chamber. The gown would fall to the floor, and he would lift his hand to touch his beautiful lady, aroused more than he had ever been before. He took a large sip of wine, and muttered his thoughts out loud, unintentionally.
"But what I really want is to take your beautiful sister to bed. God do I want that. I want to prig with her until I'm silly in the noddle, unable to even recall what day it is. I can manage it. I'll seduce her with my great charm. I've got to have her. I love her."
The glass fell from Daniel's hand, and his mouth dropped open. Lord Cheltham's head suddenly fell over to the side and hit the table, then his glass also fell to the floor. He was out cold.
Relief gripped the leather bag resting on her lap. It contained a sealed jar she had spit wine into whenever Lord Cheltham's notice had turned elsewhere.
* * * *
The next day Lord Cheltham's head pounded with a headache. He had no appetite.
"I need air,” he muttered to himself and strode out his front door.
He walked past the long crescent of townhouses and kept going, his head in the clouds as he endeavored to remember the visitor who came to see him the night before. He recollected the gentleman's face and clothes and that he was from New York. He remembered they had had good-natured conversation, but he could not recall much of what it had entailed.
A little distance from his home, tired of walking, he hailed a hackney cab.
He told the driver to just drive around London. Relief and Honora walked past some shops, chatting. His heart began racing.
"Stop!” he ordered the driver.
He jumped out quickly, tossed the driver some coins and approached the ladies. They noticed him and turned away. His heart fell to his feet.
What had that been about?
He took impatient steps up to them, finally stood before them, and bowed, holding his breath.
"Ladies."
He glanced quickly from Honora to Relief and smiled. A loose brown curl fell to her shoulder from beneath her charming velvet bonnet.
You're so beautiful.
The ladies lifted their pretty chins and attempted to walk past him. He stepped to the side, blocking their paths, frowning, somewhat mortified at his rude demonstration.
It was not the behavior of a nobleman, but it wasn't something to be helped.
"Miss Moore? What is the matter?” He swallowed the gripping fear in his throat, worried that he had disgusted her.
"Oh really, Lord Cheltham, do not play the fool. It is not at all becoming."
"I—I really do not understand. What have I done that requires your utter dismissal?"
He was a besotted schoolboy again.
They dashed to the side and darted beyond him, but he kept pace with them.
I must be mad, but I can not let her go like this!
When they arrived at the end of a row of shops, Relief spun and faced him. He stopped in his tracks, awaiting her words with complete interest.
She gripped her reticule. “You were quite drunk. Perhaps you do not have recollection."
"Recollection of what?"
Oh, dear. What did I do that I can not recall?
She squinted and looked at him suspiciously. “Of what you said to my brother, Daniel."
He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “He called last night. What did I say? I remember discussing opera, and wine..."
Then I was deeply deboshed and don't remember a thing from that point.
Relief looked side to side. She stepped off the main path, out of the way, to a more private spot behind a shop.
Honora stood beside her, her arm laced in her sister's. “Do not think to use my sister's heart then destroy it."
He shook his head frantically. “No!"
"Our brother...” Relief interjected, looking quickly at Honora, and then back at him. She sighed and left her next words unspoken.
He grew cold. “What did he tell you? Did he say I was unworthy?"
"Yes. Now if you will excuse me, my lord.” She shook her head. “And to think, I was starting to feel some esteem for you. Raphael told me you were brave and helped those less fortunate than yourself. Raphael said I would find you dashing as you saved others.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I am most devastated.” She brushed past him.
"Wait, Miss Moore! Please!"
He grabbed her arm, in shock, barely even realizing what he did. He couldn't believe the rush of hot feelings that overcame him with the contact between them.
His world exploded around him.
I can not live without her. I will go mad without her.
He certainly was not used to acting with such lack of decorum.
"Unhand me!” She glanced hotly at his hand on her arm. “I will not be a guest at your party."
His hand fell slowly to his side. Shame raced through him for having touched her so.
"Miss Moore, hear me out.” His voice sounded raw to his own ears.
She took a step to walk away, head held high.
"Do not walk away from me; you mean too much to me.” Hushed sadness filled the air.
Honora tilted her head, and the ladies quickly proceeded forth. Lord Cheltham watched, in a wretched state, stunned and barely breathing. The girls rushed ahead to remove themselves.
As he watched, as man in a ragged jacket and trousers turned the corner of a shop and reached to snatch Relief's bag. Relief spun around and used the palm of her hand to knock him out, striking his jaw. Cheltham stared open-mouthed. Relief looked quickly from side to side to see if anyone had witnessed that scene. Her shoulders fell in a gesture of relief when it appeared that no one had seen her.
Then her eyes met Lord Cheltham's and became filled with fear. She visibly paled as he approached her. His
eyes were drawn to her hand, clutching her reticule so tightly that her knuckles went white, and she shifted her wrist.
Oh my God.
A small flower-shaped birthmark adorned her hand near her delicate wrist.
Raphael has that same birthmark! He was deeply puzzled, and his mind raced with imaginings of how this could be so.
They are closely related. Raphael could be the bastard brother the family does not talk about.
"Will you not discuss this incident with anyone, my lord?” She trembled.
"Miss Moore, my dear, please tell me you are unhurt."
Her gaze fell to her feet. “I am quite well, my lord."
He tilted his head and stretched his neck to get another glimpse of her hand. She pulled it away and hid it behind her back. He would not distress her further by mention of it.
"Come to my party,” he whispered as sadness still gripped him with its cold hands.
"Or?"
"Need I say?” God, why did I have to use this against her? It hurts her, but I'm desperate. It is a bluff, of course.
She raised an eyebrow. “You will..."
He sighed, “I—"
"You'll—"
"Please, Miss Moore,” it came out as an entreaty.
"Very well, but I dare say I do not see the point."
He grieved with inner pain. “What did I speak of, Miss Moore? I do not recall the entire conversation with your brother. I was quite in my cups. He and I got on most well. I wonder you should not have noticed that I am lost, not knowing how I offended you, not having called on you formally yet. I wish to pay you court.” He touched his stomach.
His eyes burned with tears, and he blinked them back. She studied him for a long moment. He knew that no one could mistake his sincerity. She hesitated, and then stepped towards him. His mouth opened slightly, but he muttered not a sound. One could almost feel a plea in the silence that hung in the air between them.
"My lord, our escort, Mrs. Miller is ill with a megrim, resting currently. We must not be seen having this conversation."
Light began to fade, and the air grew cooler with approaching evening.
He lowered his voice. “Give me a chance, Miss Moore,” he said. “I can not stop thinking of you. For how long am I to endure the emptiness of not knowing you better?"
She leaned forward and scrutinized his expression. He waited. She could not but see the raw truth he offered. There was no smarmy charm pouring from his essence as he had offered other ladies in the past.
"I have one question, my lord."
"Yes?"
"Do you believe a woman has a right to pursue interests that will make her happy?"
He looked at her cautiously, holding his tongue for a moment as he contemplated his next words carefully. “Such as a strong degree of independence?"
"Yes."
I called that one right.
He gave her a long, intense look. “It was to be called into question initially, but now I am convinced otherwise. Things have happened to change my mind on the issue."
"Even if his friends will mock him for it?"
"Yes."
She smiled endearingly, seeming impressed.
"I have another question."
He smiled, charmed. “By all means, my dear lady.” Hope filled his heart as he regarded her.
"What if this hypothetical lady had fighting abilities? Let's say she had an ... unusual hobby."
"What ... kind of hobby?” He knit his brows.
She glanced up, then down again and hesitated before answering.
His heart beat faster. He sensed trouble.
"Bringing criminals to justice."
He gasped, shocked. “If a woman is fortunate enough to have the ability to defend herself in the manner that I just witnessed with you, you can not suppose me to take issue with such a lady for doing so. Beyond using those skills for any other purpose, I am most adamantly against that. A lady should not purposefully place herself in the line of danger. I would strictly forbid such a situation. You do not harbor the idea of accompanying Raphael?” His eyes widened.
"No, of course not!” she said too quickly for his taste.
"Miss Moore, please,” he said softly. “I beg you will not do anything foolish. If you were to get hurt, my heart would break.” He reached to touch her.
Honora yanked her away. “My lord, please!” She turned to Relief. “Come. Mrs. Miller will grow worried if we do not return before dark.” Honora pulled her forward.
"You are right, Nora.” Her eyes met his. “My lord.” She curtseyed.
"Again, ladies, I am quite sorry for unsettling you."
Relief tilted her elegant head in acceptance of his repentance. He returned home, happy.
* * * *
The Moore sisters sat in their small yellow parlor drinking Black Bohea tea. “Leafy, he will die without you."
Relief scoffed and brushed her hand through the air. “He barely knows me."
But he does.
"He knows you well. You are his closest friend."
"Raphael is his closest friend."
Keep talking, Honora, and reinforce my hopes.
"Raphael is you. You do not alter your personality when you play the part."
"No. Lord Cheltham knows the real me, he just doesn't realize it. It's all in the presentation.” His respect for me as Raphael is grandly obvious.
"He senses something. He likes the real you, the uninhibited you, Leafy."
"Yes, Honora, I believe so. He and Raphael are close. When Lord Cheltham and I were together just now, an undeniable fondness, a tie bound us together.” A tie I never hope to break, but I do not see how—
"You are in love with him."
A burning passionate love that roves through my body with waves of fiery flames, threatening to leave me without my senses.
"Yes. I fell in love some time ago, seeing the honor in his activities helping out poor victims on the streets."
"And he is in love with you."
Relief set her tea cup down upon the tea table and closed her eyes. She opened them and looked at her sister as desperation coursed through her. “He wouldn't let me fight, Honora. Raphael would have to die."
Acute sadness sliced through her and left her despondent, imagining a life without him.
Honora touched her sister's arm. “Then I imagine we will have to take sweeping steps."
Relief chuckled, but with sadness. “Everything I do is extreme, Nora."
"Then we will have to push things further."
Relief nodded. “You are quite right."
Eight
"You poor dear,” Honora said and glanced around the salon of their lovely home. Fragile tea cups rested on a silver tray on an expensive antique table. “Hmm."
"What is it?” Relief asked.
"Here we are in our little yellow sanctuary having our tea, acting as we should act—as little ladies, all the while..."
Relief chuckled. “Our salon is a nice place to reflect and chat, but oh, I could never be satisfied with doing only these kinds of things!” She clapped her hands together and rested them in her lap.
Honora nodded energetically.
"Honora, I couldn't, I just couldn't give up my street adventures.” She shook her head. “I find myself looking up into his eyes at every profitable moment.” She reached for a perfumed handkerchief propped next to the tea tray. Twisting it, she continued her discourse. “In the guise of a man, it is not unexpected that I should look at him so directly. The problem is, my heart speeds up whenever I do this."
"You're really in love with him."
"Yes. I think about him constantly. I want to kiss him."
Honora smiled. “So do."
"He rarely sees me in my true form, Nora."
"Next time you see him, in your true form, pull him into the deepest kiss you can conjure up."
Relief dropped the handkerchief, and a quiet gasp escaped her. “You are positively scandalous!"
; "We have seen and experienced dozens of cultures together, Leafy. Do not feign to be so shocked.” Honora leaned closer to her from where she now sat and took her hands in her own. “I should not wonder at it if you were dreaming of it as we speak."
Relief laughed. “I cannot kiss him, not after what he bespoke to Daniel."
"Oh, that."
"Yes, that."
"He said he loved you, Relief?"
"Yes."
"Was he sincere?"
Relief dropped her gaze and muttered sadly. “Yes."
"Men in love often want to take their women to bed, Leafy. Love flames the fires of lust, my dear sister."
"How would you know?"
"I've experienced a couple of dozen different cultures with you, Leafy! I picked up a few tidbits of knowledge not known everywhere too, you know. I made some interesting friends myself, and spoke to plenty of people on my own behalf!” She grinned widely. “True, we have seen coupling in the shadows of the streets, people pressed against brick walls, men across the river professing their love without shame, and then kissing their women wildly, not caring who saw. It ... excited me.” She leaned and touched her head affectionately against her sister's.
* * * *
Lord Cheltham met Raphael on a dark street, and they donned their masks.
"You cut a fine figure, Cheltham.” Don't stare at his tight breeches. You were brought up better than that. All that coupling in the streets—dear God it was erotic. Benjamin and I—Both sides of her nature battled each other—her upper-class ladylike upbringing and her primitive desires, fed by all the overt sexuality she witnessed on the streets.
His tall, muscled body had a disturbing effect on her self-control. She inhaled deeply, the craving to kiss him screaming in her mind. He loves me. He wants to marry me.
"Raphael, are you well?"
She looked up as he tied his hair into a small queue.
"The hair is becoming."
He smiled. “I hope Miss Moore finds it to be. It is now longer than the current fashion."
"She told me she likes it."
He took a step closer, and she inhaled. Awareness of his total masculine appeal made her dizzy.
"She did?"
"Yes."
"I find her long hair becoming."
