The 12th Kiss

by Laura Hogg

  "Yes. Miss Moore?” Mrs. Ellery said.

  "And her lovely sister, Miss Honora Moore."

  "Mrs. Ellery.” She nodded in acknowledgement.

  "Would you care to discuss music?"

  "Yes,” Honora agreed.

  "Splendid!” Mrs. Ellery looked at the butler standing nearby, nodded to Honora and led her to the other room, chatting at a rapid pace.

  Soft love made the Viscount's face glow. He glanced to his feet briefly, like a shy schoolboy. “Miss Moore, you shame the loveliest flower in a meadow of blooms."

  He lifted his head to admire Relief's face. She reached to touch his bottom lip. He closed his eyes. She dropped her hand slowly.

  His eyes came open, and he turned to the butler who had cleared his throat.

  "Jones, please see to the kitchen staff. See that they bring in the next course shortly."

  "My lord.” The Viscount's servant turned and left the room to follow his employer's orders.

  Lord Cheltham gave Relief his strict attention. “Please, Miss Moore,” he breathed while fisting his hands. “I fear I am unaccustomed to the feelings that are racing through my blood now. You are most unusual. You are unarming me."

  "Oh, tell me, my lord!"

  His eyes widened. “But—"

  "Be stark honest, please."

  The corner of her lips turned up in a way meant to drive him crazy. She shook her head softly and spoke in her melodious voice. “My lord, I beg you.” Her thoughts proved her conceit in her own mind, but she didn't care. She wanted to see him writhe with desire.

  "I long for you, Miss Moore. Your nearness overwhelms me.” His posture was stiff as it could be.

  Visions of him sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to his bedchambers washed over her. Her breathing became shallow, and she wrung her hands together.

  "I have been exposed to dozens of cultures, sir. They do not all hold themselves in the same reserve that you British do."

  "Madam, please do not put my British reserve to the test. For I fear it will not hold up against your other-worldly power over a man."

  She looked into his eyes in an unassuming, seductive way. The Viscount turned away as if forced by decency. She glanced down and noted that his hands trembled.

  "Miss Moore, please follow me to the very public dining room, if you will. I have had my chef prepare dishes so delightful that a Parisian chef would pay his compliments. I will be crushed if you do not find something to your liking. They were all prepared with you in mind, my dear lady."

  She stepped forward and touched his stiff arm.

  "My lord."

  He inclined his head toward her and smiled sadly.

  "Lord Cheltham?"

  "Oh, I was just imagining what it would be like to have you call me Cheltham, like a very good mutual friend of ours does."

  "Raphael."

  "Yes, the fine lad. Or something more intimate, Benjamin, or my love, perhaps? How does our friend do this evening?” He shook his head.

  Relief grinned and glanced at the shiny floor.

  "Raphy is fighting crime."

  "I almost wish I were with him right now."

  "Almost?"

  "He is my second favorite person. I choose his company second only to..."

  "To?"

  "To yours, of course."

  "What do you appreciate about my Raphy?"

  "Your ... Raphy?” he asked with more than just a bit of envy lacing his voice. “Do you find him appealing all cleaned up? How closely are you related? Not close enough to ... marry?"

  She chuckled. “Raphael is popular with the opposite sex but—"

  The Viscount raised his brow and grinned.

  "To me he is ... my best friend, next to Honora, of course."

  "Oh, thank God."

  She laughed again then paused, stretching her neck in the direction of the party.

  "That should have been a B flat, not a B natural."

  "My pardon?"

  She curved up the corners of her lips. “Sorry, my lord. The music."

  A small smile laced his lips. Sad love crossed his eyes.

  "I could never marry Raphael,” she offered.

  "No?"

  "No. It would be a legal impossibility."

  "A legal one? A close relation then."

  "Yes. I need not say more for now."

  "Ah, Miss Moore, Mr. Taylor has so much honor and integrity that it makes me proud to know him. He is fun, exciting, and adventurous. I am not bored for one second in his presence. He has taught me a lot. He has brought me on adventures that I would not trade for anything. I will go out with him for as long as he will let me. He has brought exhilaration to my life, but then again, so have you. As it is, I view Raphael as my best friend and the little brother I never had."

  "It makes me greatly happy to hear you discuss him so."

  "Good.” He smiled.

  "You do not worry that a young boy like him will get hurt on the streets?"

  "My dear Miss Moore, I am absolutely astonished by his degree of fighting talent. I am mystified by his abilities. I have no doubt that the little lad will live to be ninety."

  "What if I told you that the little lad was a little lass?"

  He took a step back with a mild chuckle. “You jest with me."

  "What would you think?"

  "I would demand that she stop her activities at once!” He frowned. “Are you trying to tell me something?"

  "So, if Raphael were female—and having the exact same abilities that you have witnessed on several occasions—if she were the same person that you just said would live to be ninety, you would demand that she cease her street heroics?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?” she cried out in desperation, “Oh, my lord, why?"

  "Because of her gender!"

  "That makes no sense!"

  "She could get hurt!"

  "What?"

  He sighed. “Miss Moore!” He flung his hands out in alarm. “Miss Moore, what are you trying to tell me?"

  The anxiety on his face was unmistakable. There would be no moving him on this issue.

  "It was just a hypothetical question.” She sighed and lowered her shoulders.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Good, because you had me frightfully worried."

  She placed her face in her hands, on the sides of her cheeks, and her heart raced with sadness as she watched him. Her eyes stung with tears.

  Oh, my darling, why must I love you?

  Perhaps, just perhaps, she could handle being just his lover. She would have to test herself.

  "My lord, could I impel you to a favor?"

  "Anything."

  "It is a most unusual request."

  "It matters not. Ask it and it is yours."

  Ten

  "I am not a woman of loose morals, I give you to understand."

  He straightened his back. “I never believed that for a moment."

  "We must remove to a private place. Afford me a word."

  "What?"

  "Please. I have to know."

  He nodded and looked about. More loud laughter came from the dining room. It was obvious that people were drowning in their cups. No one paid them any consideration.

  He led her to the back of the house, looking from side to side as if to insure himself that they were not being noticed. Once before an oak door, he gestured for her to enter into a roomed lined with books—the library, and he shut the door, locking it behind them. Then he stood stiffly, keeping distance between them.

  "My dear lady, I collect you have something important to tell me."

  "I have something of grand importance that I need to discover."

  "What would that be?"

  She stepped up to him, closely. She could feel his hot breath on her face. She blinked and looked at him in admiration, the urge to kiss him pulling at her heart. His chest moved faster with his increased breathing.

  "Miss Moore, we shouldn't b
e in here together like this. We will have to take great care not to be discovered.” He stepped back once.

  "I have to know."

  "Know what?"

  "If I could handle becoming your lover."

  He turned his head to the side, coughed and bent over, grasping his knees. He took a deep breath and stood up slowly. Tension laced his eyes.

  "Please, Miss Moore, do not do this to me."

  "I thought you had feelings for me."

  "Strong ones. You have feelings for me also."

  "Strong ones, my lord."

  He stepped up to her and grasped her hand. “Oh, Miss Moore, then I must know."

  "Know what?"

  "Darling, darling, will you marry me?"

  Relief trembled. Her lips parted, but her voice hesitated as she did not want to confer the words. She shook her head softly.

  "No."

  He frowned. “Relief.” His hand came forward in entreaty.

  "I—"

  "Do you love me Relief, really, or were your previous words—"

  She reached a hand and touched his hair. He gave her a tender look.

  "Relief?"

  She leaned and put her lips to his, kissing him with tenderness. He touched the back of her head grasping her hair. She opened her mouth and drew him into a kiss starving with need now. He lowered his hand and caressed her back. She tossed her head back so that he could devour her neck. Running her hot hands over his chest, her fantasies flowed forth.

  He lifted his hand and gently stroked the outline of her breast. She sighed. He swept her up in his arms gently and put her on a satin couch, and then lowered himself over her and kissed her over and over as her sighs invited him to increasingly higher levels of hot passion.

  "Relief.” He bent to kiss the silky skin at the hollow of her neck then slowly worked his way down to the swell of her breasts.

  When she felt his soft kisses about to breach the border of the low neckline of her gown, she muttered quite urgently, “Make love to me."

  He stopped suddenly, pulled away and looked into her face. She was trembling.

  "Relief, I will not. Not until you agree to marry me.” His features were deeply strained, his effort at restraint paramount.

  "You do not wish to make love to me?"

  "You have no idea how much, but Relief—"

  "There is not going to be a wedding."

  "But, I cannot but feel that you are quite in love with me! This was not just pure lust, my dear lady! I might depend upon you to enlighten me."

  "I needed to know. I had to know if I could become so close to you without needing to become your wife."

  "And you can?” He looked stricken.

  "I don't think so. I don't know, but I need you, my lord. I need you desperately, so I am willing to take the chance."

  "You do not wish to become my bride,” he said glumly.

  "I didn't say that."

  "But Relief, you said no."

  "And I meant it."

  "But why, darling? Please, I deserve to know why."

  "Because you would change me."

  "How so?"

  "You would not permit me to be myself."

  "Relief, I would not change you!"

  "You would.” There were tears in her eyes.

  "Oh, my darling, no!” He pressed her head to his chest and cradled it. “Never! You want children someday?"

  She sniffled and looked up into his seductive gray eyes. Her children would be beautiful with his eyes.

  "I would like that, someday."

  "Then I would be honored to be their father."

  Shock jolted through her. He really wanted to be with her—forever. Her mouth dropped open and tears rolled from her eyes. She doubted she would ever find a better man. In all of the countries she had been to, she had never met a more wonderful man. He loved her so much. Unfortunately, he would force her put her activities into the past. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her shoulders trembled with her soft sobs. He wrapped his arms around her.

  "My love, please tell me. I will make it all better."

  She glanced at him through tear-blurred eyes.

  "You cannot.” She looked at him.

  He smiled sadly.

  "Oh, I would not count on that. Raphael showed me that I could do unimaginable things. He taught me that I could go beyond my wildest dreams."

  He looked at her sweetly. “After all, I am currently holding the woman of my dreams, am I not? So, my dear lady, anything is possible."

  "Except the situation I find myself in."

  "Do you by any chance refer to the situation concerning your uncle's pink diamond? Has this anything to do with that?"

  "I must find it."

  "I will help you."

  "Help Raphael."

  "Yes. That's what I meant. You, my love, will not be put in any form of danger."

  "What if I want to?"

  "What?” he asked with a surprised tone.

  "What if I like danger as much as Raphael does?"

  "Then I find myself at a loss. I do not want to take something from you that you enjoy, but, my lady, some things I will brook no argument against."

  "I must go then. I cannot be your wife."

  "Relief, I vow to find out what menacing situation keeps you from becoming my bride. I swear I will."

  "And I vow that you won't because I will never relinquish who I am!"

  "I will not force you to change! I will not force you to become an aristocrat if that is what you wish!” he said with exasperation.

  "I am much more than just a ... wild American! I am a—"

  "A what?” he demanded.

  "Good evening, my lord.” She jumped up.

  "Relief, I'm going to find your father. We are going to have a significant talk."

  Relief rushed to the door, looked both ways to insure no one was about, and exited. The Viscount did not follow. She went to the dining room to search out her sister. Honora turned her head, and her face lit up when her eyes alighted upon her. The Viscount's cousin, Mrs. Ellery stepped up to her, frowning, her brow raised. She parted her lips, weighing her words.

  "Where is my dear cousin?"

  Relief hoped she didn't see her flushing from the heat that had suddenly overcome her.

  "I am sure I do not know.” Feign puzzlement, she thought. “I admired the artwork in the hall when he took his leave of me. I assumed he had joined the party."

  Mrs. Ellery nodded her head and conducted them to the other end of the room. Most of the guests were already inebriated and laughing over private conversations.

  Relief sighed inside. It seemed that only Mrs. Ellery had taken note of her absence. Relief gave Honora an appreciative glance. Her sister had covered for her, her ingenious sister, gifted with masking the truth, in more ways than just with makeup and boy's clothes. Gratitude for Honora's ingenuity glowed warmly throughout her heart.

  When the Viscount entered the room, Relief's heart thudded against her chest. Every step he took in her direction increased the tension wracking her body, despite the fact that he appeared to be more interested in his noble guests than her. When he nodded to her politely, as if she were an unimportant guest, a primitive grief stung her. She closed her eyes, as wretched sadness closed up her throat. A small sob escaped her lips.

  Honora placed her hand on her arm. “Relief, are you ill?"

  "C'était à fender l'âme,” It was heartbreaking, she whispered, her eyes cast down. The French had fallen from her lips without her thinking about which language she had used. She spoke eight, and sometimes muttered in any number of them. Perhaps the pain of defeat compared in her mind to that she had always supposed Napoleon had suffered.

  Honora frowned, having understood. Relief did her best to socialize after introductions were made. She and Honora conducted themselves beautifully for the glittering nobility in the room, suppressing their natural uninhibited ways with propriety and all they were taught.

  When Lord Cheltha
m later lifted his eyes over his circle of friends to search for her from across the room, Relief bit her tremulous lip. Visions of the dashing hero in his tight breeches, loose, flowing, cravat-less shirt, masked face, ruffled hair, holding a pistol in the air to scare off a would-be thief made her heart thump erratically.

  To her surprise, he made his way over to her and muttered, “Miss Moore?” His brows were crinkled. “You appear troubled."

  Her hand flew to her neck. “My lord I—"

  "What is it?"

  Mirth snuck up upon her. His lips melted into a smile. “Miss Moore?"

  She looked from side to side. No one paid them any attention at this moment.

  "Raphael described you in detail on the streets, in your hero's clothes and brave deeds. I was imagining how dashing you looked. It overcame me."

  His gray eyes darkened like thunderous skies in the summertime. “You prefer that type of man?"

  She didn't answer, but held her breath.

  "I have my answer.” He bowed and swaggered over to his friends.

  * * * *

  After the party, Lord Cheltham paced the floor of his private office.

  "Why didn't she tell me that Raphael was her brother? I was trying to give her every opportunity to do so!” he thought aloud, remembering the identical birthmark he had seen on both of their hands.

  He was also pondering the fact that a very similar essence came from both Relief and Raphael. There was that same happy feeling he got around both of them. They were close. Everything added up. They were siblings. But why didn't they admit that? Was it for security reasons? Did it keep her safer by having the public believe that her bodyguard was a rough street urchin? Lord Cheltham supposed that would add a bit more to the intimidation factor.

  Maybe Raphael could investigate and uncover danger and potential problems more effectively if people did not know that Relief was his sister. Whatever the reason for the secrecy, Lord Cheltham would respect it. He knew Raphael was great at his job of keeping her safe, and he did not want to jeopardize that.

  He scratched his head. But what has the pink diamond to do with any of this? And when he thought about it, why had he never seen Raphael in Relief's presence? Perhaps he was always nearby, lurking in the shadows, remaining inconspicuous. Yes, that had to be it. And who the devil watched over her when he and Raphael were out and about town? He grabbed his coat. He was going to find Raphael.