by Laura Hogg
Lord Whittingham, a tall attractive man with nutmeg-colored hair and a smartly-dressed appearance jumped up. He pointed it in Lord Cheltham's direction. Then he turned and looked at Lord Hawksworth viciously.
"Get out!"
He grabbed the drunken man's arm and forced him up. He dragged the lushy earl to his front door and tossed him out then turned to the Viscount with great anxiety.
"I'm sorry, Cheltham. He's lost in his cups."
"No matter how corned he is! He has gone too far!” He stared towards the door.
"She is only a colonist."
Lord Cheltham snapped his head back in Lord Whittingham's direction and gave him a terrible look.
"What have you just dared to say to me concerning my future wife?"
"Oh my God, I am sorry. I was a fool.” Lord Whittingham dropped his eyes.
Honora looked at Lord Whittingham with tears running down her cheeks, disappointed beyond measure that a potential suitor had been so cruel.
"If you have no respect for my sister, then why have you invited me here?” The lifted her arms up in question, and slapped them back against her sides. “Did you assume that I am just a prostitute? You should know, my lord, that our great-grandmother was the daughter of an English Marquess!"
She squeezed her sister's trembling side. Relief's eyes squinted in terrible silence, as bearing her part and not tossing the man down was costing her dearly. Both Honora and Lord Cheltham helped her out of the room, and the house.
"Good evening, everyone,” Lord Cheltham said coldly to the room of people as he led the ladies outside. Mrs. Miller stood, silent.
Lord Hawksworth was gone.
Lord Cheltham looked at Relief harshly then pulled her into a tight hug. She coughed. He let go just slightly, and she took a deep breath. But he would not let her go.
"My darling, you have to marry me now."
"You will try and say anything,” Leafy said with a grin.
He probably sensed the smile coming from her because he pulled away slowly to look at her.
"Miss Moore?” he smiled.
Leafy chuckled. “Did you arrange that romantic scene so you could be my hero?"
Honora watched them silently. It became obvious to all that Relief offered him a way out of a possible duel by pretending to believe that the scene had been staged so the Viscount could come to her rescue.
He analyzed Relief's expression. She acted relieved, now, as if it were all a set-up. At first regret shined in his eyes, then the emotion flickered as if he just wanted to make Relief happy. He nodded his head.
"Of course, my love. Did it work? Am I your hero?"
She smiled sadly. He was lying and both girls knew it. When a little later he walked away for the night, she heard him cursing the fact that he could no longer go and kill his former friend because to do so would make Relief deeply unhappy. Honora saw her sister staring at his back with tears of love. Honora took her off-guard with her next words, whispered in her ear.
"One good thing came of this night."
Relief knitted her brows appearing puzzled.
"I know who stole the diamond, and I have a plan."
* * * *
The Viscount was woken in the night by a butler who bowed and excused himself profusely for disturbing him. Lord Cheltham looked at him while rubbing his eyes.
"What is it, Jones?"
"My lord, an urgent note has just arrived."
"Oh?” He sat up abruptly.
"Bring it to me man,” he gestured with irritation.
The well-dressed butler handed his master a note on a silver platter. Lord Cheltham nodded his dismissal.
He bowed and was left alone to read the note. It was from Raphael telling him that something was terribly wrong, and would he come immediately to see him at his newly rented house located right next door to Miss Moore's?
The Viscount jumped up, threw on some trousers and tossed a loose baggy shirt on over his head. He slipped on his boots and haphazardly put a jacket on over his shirt. He didn't bother to button it. He called for a carriage and had his driver drop him off in a hurry in front of Raphael's residence. He banged on the door. When Miss Moore opened it, his eyes grew wide. She grabbed his jacket and yanked him inside, looking side-to-side as she shut the door.
He frowned, his concern for her his first thought.
"Good God, Miss Moore, what is amiss? Are you hurt?"
"No,” she said, flushed.
"Why are you here, in Raphael's home?” he said, worry making his words harsh. “He's out, my lord. He lent me his house so that I could see you alone."
"Is something the matter?” Then he noticed. Her hair was down. It fell in long waves down her back. She only wore a silk chemise. He looked down and took in a deep breath, aroused.
She placed the back of her fingertips on his cheek. He closed his eyes, barely able to keep from ravishing her.
"Benjamin."
He looked up into her eyes, unable to hide the great pain that was there.
"Why are you doing this to me, Miss Moore?"
"I could not sleep. I tossed and turned. I called you here because there was something I needed to do. I fear it is consuming me."
"What ... is it, my love?"
"This.” She pulled him into a kiss that disrupted his sanity. It was long, and warm, and passionate. Finally she pulled away. He stood there, unable to move, unable to breathe.
"Will you have me, Benjamin? Will you be my lover?"
"Will you be my wife, Relief?"
Twelve
"No."
"Then no."
"Why? You have bedded other women. Why not me?"
"Because it would be my ruin.” Sadness crushed his heart. He wanted to be with her, but his feelings dictated deep commitment and nothing less.
"What?” She stepped back.
"Good evening, Miss Moore."
He turned and left, wretched and haunted after seeing her devastated face. Terrible loss froze his blood.
* * * *
He sat in his opera box with a heavy heart. Lord Hawksworth glared at him from across the way. Lord Cheltham's former friend sat next to a seedy-looking character.
The irony—who was giving up his position in society after all? The Viscount turned away angrily, dismissing him. His cousin Mary gently laid her hand on his shoulder.
"My lord, I will not allow him to call on me again, after what was said. Ever since my husband died—"
"That would be wise,” the Viscount advised.
"But I do this out of regret. I had a certain degree of regard for your old friend."
"That is most unfortunate."
"Yes,” she said sadly.
Lord Cheltham turned to look at her. Gloominess shadowed her face.
"I'm sorry. Honestly. But he is not enough of a gentleman for you. He dishonored my future wife."
"Perhaps it was the blue ruin that made him say those things."
"Blaming alcohol is a crutch, dear cousin."
"I will respect your wishes, my lord."
"I'm sorry."
She nodded and looked to the stage but did not seem engaged with what went on there.
"Miss Moore is divine. I would dare say that she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I understand why you want her to be your wife."
He turned, slightly perturbed, to Mary. “That is what called my attention to her. It is not what brought true love to my heart."
Cheerless eyes met his. “I love the Earl of Hawksworth."
He inhaled deeply but said nothing.
She looked once again at the stage. “This is a new performance."
"Yes. A tragedy they say.” He glanced at the stage but then scanned the audience for signs of his beloved Relief. “Miss Moore hurt her arm, and it has been paining her, but I understand she is to be here tonight. She was in some degree of discomfort when I last saw her."
"My dear cousin, you do not need to worry about her. She has an air of str
ength and independence, an American defiance, if you will,” Mary offered.
"I suppose you are correct.” He continued to look around. She wasn't in attendance yet.
The lights were dimmed. After the first act, the last of the notes faded into the air. Lord Cheltham surveyed the attendees. No one moved. They were enthralled. Worry squeezed his heart. Where is she? Relief loves music.
The performance went on, and his anxiety built up. Finally, the presentation ended, and his cousin touched his shoulder.
"What wonderful music!"
He gave her a warm smile in attempt to hide his misery before he turned back toward the stage. His smile became authentic and brightened. His beloved was making her way to her seat down below by the stage, and she wore a dazzling white gown. A character that was not there before jumped onto the stage. He wore a long dark, hooded cloak. Relief's scream rent Lord Cheltham's heart. He followed her terrified gaze and saw the pistol aimed at her.
"Good God!” He ran harder than he'd ever run before, his eyes never leaving her.
A shot reverberated throughout the theatre, and Relief splayed her hands over her abdomen. She looked down, and a red splotch grew, spreading out on her opera gown. Her eyes rolled back, and she fell.
Lord Cheltham leapt past people, shoving them out of the way. Mary ran after him.
"My lord! My lord!"
He was breathing heavily when he reached the back of the stage, through a thick of people. He heard someone say that Miss Moore had been carried to the back. He pushed his way forward. Several hired men would not let him pass.
"Let me pass! I must see Miss Moore!"
"No one can go back there!” A sturdy security man crossed his arms and stepped in front of him.
"I must!” He pushed forward but was stopped by several more men.
"Damn it, she is my fiancée!"
Several people stopped what they were doing and stared at him. A very large man put his hand on Lord Cheltham's chest.
"She didn't mention you. You were not seated together. Therefore we cannot let you back."
"I speak the truth!” Lord Cheltham reached for his money pouch. “How much?"
"What?"
"I will pay, just allow me to pass!"
"Not tonight!"
Lord Cheltham pressed forward again but couldn't get through. Heart pounding, he ran outside, gulping for fresh air. He paced the outside of the theater. When two hours passed with no news, he wondered if she had been removed surreptitiously. He was frantic, ready to punch a hole right through the side of his finest carriage. He raced to Relief's house and banged on the door. There was no answer. He went to Raphael's. Again no one responded.
He dashed about the heart of London and searched the streets all night long. No one had heard from Raphael. A young boy was discouraged because Raphael had promised him he would be there for their weekly games. Raphael had never before let him down. Terror chilled the Viscount to his bones.
He slapped his hands to his face, grief-stricken. A week of this passed; he took in a long, slow breath and once again went to Relief's house. To his great joy, Honora answered the door. His relief was short-lived though. He took a closer look into her face. Her red-rimmed eyes spoke of serious trouble.
"Oh my God, what has happened?"
"She's gone."
His stomach heaved, and his legs went weak. He pressed his hand to the door railing. “What?” he spat out. “Gone?"
She swallowed visibly. “My lord, she has gone to the country to rest."
He slapped his hands to the sides of his head and laughed crazily.
"My lord?"
Dropping his hands, he gave her an incredulous look before pulling her into a suffocating embrace. Again he laughed incredulously. Honora blinked, not moving a limb, uncertain of how to react.
"She's alive! She's alive!” Another laugh.
She sighed deeply, and a little sob escaped her lips. He pulled away, gazing at her with uncertainty as a tingling sensation of fear alarmed him.
"Why do you appear to be so distraught, Miss Moore?” He grasped her shoulders. “Miss Moore?"
"I am just here to gather some of her things.” One little sob escaped her again, and she wiped a falling tear. “She has a doctor—but he doesn't know if she'll survive. I might lose her!” She rubbed her wet eyes.
He trembled, freezing from dread and not the weather. “I ... m-must go ... t-to her."
"No."
He tensed his jaw. “Honora."
"No. She does not want to see you."
"Honora?"
"No."
"We love each other, damn it! She is going to be my wife! I demand to see her!"
"She will never be your wife! She muttered after the surgeon removed the bullet that she never wanted to see you again."
"Why for the love of God, would she say that?” he asked quite desperately.
"Because she said that after this incident, you would make her give up her independence."
"Damn right I would."
"See?"
"What do you expect?” He lifted his hands, open-palmed in gesture, and then slapped then down at his sides.
"This has nothing to do with that."
"It has everything to do with it."
"No, my lord, it does not. She has had a man after her for some time now."
"Raphael told me a story about a man who took your uncle's diamond. He had an obsession with her."
"That is not to whom I refer."
"What are you trying to say, Miss Moore?"
"I have said too much already."
He grasped her arms again. “Miss Moore, look into my eyes. I am going to be your sister's husband. I swear it on my honor as a man. I will give you ten thousand guineas if she is not my wife within one year."
He looked down, shook his head and smiled in deep sarcasm. With his family's current situation, that kind of money would have to be stolen. He wasn't going to say that. There was always the gaming tables. But he would bet his life on being able to convince Relief to be his wife, so it wasn't an issue.
He gazed up at her. “She loves me, and you know it. Now, tell me what I demand to know."
She hesitated then said, “Only if it will help my dear Leafy."
"It will, I vow it to you."
She nodded. “We lived in Asia for a couple of years."
He watched her intently.
"Something happened when we were there.” Honora fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, ringing her hands together.
"I cannot tell you everything. My dear Leafy would disown me."
"Highly unlikely."
"I will not betray her then, my lord."
"Honora, please.” His despair was so keen that it was a physical ache, rendering his breath shallow, and his stomach sick.
A light of trust, of faith brightened her eyes. She nodded. “Leafy was always an adventurous girl. She and Raphael chased squirrelly characters around the rolling hills of Ireland, and they climbed cliffs and discovered secret caves in Scotland. They pressed themselves against darkened walls along the narrow streets of Italy at three a.m. to discover the happenings of seedy characters, and in Asia, she came across a man who taught her—I mean her and Raphael—an ancient self-defense art.” She stopped.
"Please, continue."
"He was a holy man, but he had enemies. One day Relief and Raphael were with this holy man in the gardens of his monastery. His enemy climbed a wall. He attacked with the intent of murdering this man. Raphael's teacher ordered them to take cover. While they watched from behind a short wall, their teacher fought a death fight with his evil adversary. It ended badly—Relief and Raphael's teacher fell under his enemy's blade, after a valiant fight—right before their very eyes."
"Oh my God."
"The murderer approached them. Raphael had run to find help—he was so young then. Relief was frozen to the spot; she couldn't be dragged by Raphael, though he tried. The man grabbed her by the neck, ready to sn
ap it. She used her palm and did an advance move to hurt him, striking him in the chest. He stumbled back, totally dazed. She ran.
"Since that day, he has tormented her, following her from country to country. He gave me a note promising that he was going to end her life. He has dragged this on for a long while. Raphael has worked very hard to sharpen his skills. He is a top fighter, my lord, formidable so he can protect Relief. Do not worry. And do not say a word. She never even told our parents or our brothers."
Angry tears stung his eyes. With fisted hands, he swore, “I will kill this man."
"Our servants and Mrs. Miller believe her injury is far less serious than it is. She never came back to the house. You, I, the doctor and the nurse are the only ones who realize she might die. She wants this unknown, hoping she'll survive. Even in her feverish state, she begged me."
He could barely contain his rage. He wanted to find the man now and spill his blood.
"He can practically fly, my lord. He has tools to help him, and great skill. He got away when there were at least ten security guards at the theatre. He is almost inhuman. Yet Relief does not believe in murder or execution. She is quite sickened by it. She would let a criminal go with a beating first, though, or send him to prison. She has a temper, but one she can control."
He frowned. For some inexplicable reason, he remembered the day he met Raphael when Raphael had chased the highwayman into the woods but let him off with a warning.
"Bring me to my wife-to-be now."
It was not a request.
Thirteen
"We will take my father's traveling chariot. He is at one of his estates. I'll drive, Miss Moore. We will head there directly."
She already had a case packed, intending on taking a public coach there until the Viscount showed up. They went to his townhouse in the dark of night, where he grabbed the barest necessities, throwing them in a leather bag in haste. She had thrown on a wig for disguise.
They approached his family's chariot, and he helped her into the body of the vehicle, which had room for two people inside. He glanced at the sword case fitted to the back. Remembering the day he was accosted by the highwayman, he decided to keep a weapon up front, where he could get to it quickly.
The leather straps which connected the body to the perch would prevent too much side sway as they hurried along the roads. He would lead the team of horses from the box seat and would not be bringing servants. Though he seethed with increasing fear at losing the love of his life, he kept a calm composure, thinking clearing and acting quickly.
