Kiss Me Darkly

by Cecilia Gray

  “Is Sera . . . Was she willing?” he asked, steeling him against a dreaded affirmative.

  She shrugged. “To the degree that it would not occur to her to assert her own wishes if they existed, perhaps. If you ask me whether she had ever sought to free herself from the engagement, the answer is no.”

  He released a long breath. “I am, of course, sorry to hear the intimate details of your father’s pain. But I believe you may do him more harm than good with this plan of yours.” He forced himself to his feet. An entire day of speaking his mind was not to end yet, apparently. Instead of telling her what he normally would, instead of politely saying he would consider it or would appreciate her assistance, he told her how he felt. “Love is not a damn experiment.”

  For a man who was still half-drunk, he stalked away with relative steadiness and speed.

  * * *

  Lord G.,

  Please forgive the impertinence of my correspondence. I hope this letter finds you in better health than you experienced at the wedding.

  I am making inquiries on the matter we discussed, and I hope that in your return to good health, you are better able to consider the offer. To begin, there is a decidedly unproven but general agreement that taking on the intricacies of an emotion may eventually yield the results of that emotion. I request that you begin each day renewed and happy, in the hopes that one day it will prove true.

  I am joining Sera and your brother on their honeymoon travels in Italy. I, too, hope to give the matter more consideration on my travels.

  D.B.

  * * *

  Miss D.,

  I acknowledge the debt I owe you for your assistance to me on that day. Please note, however, that whatever my health may be, my consideration of your offer is concluded. There is a decidedly unproven but general agreement that one cannot use scientific reason to rule a matter of the heart.

  I pray you use your time in Italy to give your consideration instead to the Trevi Fountain. Trevi, so named because it sits at the crossing of three roads (tre vie), is composed of travertine and draped with marble statues that appear to rise from its depths. Truly an accomplishment of human nature and heart.

  G.A.

  * * *

  Lord G.,

  I did chance to visit your fountain in Rome, and I thank you for the recommendation. However, upon speaking with the locals, it appears the spectacle is more accurately an accomplishment of human vice, as it was funded entirely by gambling when Pope Clemens reintroduced the lottery into the city for the sole purpose of financing the project.

  As with most matters, the heart is entirely moot.

  D.B.

  Chapter Two

  Dinah’s account of Viscount Savage

  April 11, 1817

  London, England

  Dinah joined Sera on a search for a horse at Tattersall’s on Hyde Park Corner. It was the Friday before the Newmarket races so the courtyard was relatively empty. No more than two dozen gentlemen in fine coats and hats surveyed the line of horse rumps, and there was no wait for entry into the riding dome, where one might trot a prospective horse around the track before making a purchase.

  Sera searched the faces in the meager throng.

  “Are we meeting someone?” Dinah asked, glancing through the crowd to see if she could recognize Sera’s target.

  “Yes, Graham said he would meet us by the rotunda.”

  “Graham Abernathy?” Having spent the past two months touring the continent with Sera on her honeymoon, she had not spoken to Graham since his moody drunkenness at the wedding. She had hoped to establish a correspondence during her trip, but he never took the bait. This was to be expected, as her note posed no need for response. She was undaunted. Multiple attempts were to be expected in any scientific endeavor. Still, she was vexed to acknowledge that his lack of engagement, along with his romantic state, preoccupied more of her thoughts than was natural.

  There was the identity of his mysterious Lady X, which she was ashamed to admit she had tried to uncover. She could not remember ever having met a Lily in their social circle. She had even tried to initiate conversations about recently engaged young ladies with Sera and to Bridget. But without being allowed to be truthful about the nature of her thoughts—it would betray Graham’s confidence—her inquiries proved fruitless.

  There was also the question of how she could persuade Graham to allow her to test her theories on curing love. It seemed so logical to Dinah that this would be a desirable outcome that she had no idea how else to present the idea to him. Who wouldn’t want to be cured of such an ailment when there was no fruition to it?

  Then, in her most private of thoughts, there was the matter of his touching her ankle. She could remember even now, with a flush of her cheeks, the pleasant warmth that had shot through her body. She had tried to duplicate these results several times. She’d asked her lady’s maid to put on her stockings to see how she reacted to the brush of her hand. In Rome, Sera had walked in on her poking at her ankle with a hairbrush, given her a raised brow, turned, and left. Try as she might, Dinah was unable to replicate the sensation, either with her own hand or another material. Given that the entire basis of the scientific method was replication of results, she found the outcome depressing.

  Worst yet, she couldn’t silence the inappropriate suggestion buried within her that perhaps Graham could be encouraged to repeat the action. No sooner did she give internal voice to the idea than the phantom sensation rose within.

  “Graham! Graham!” Sera ran toward him in a completely inappropriate show of affection for her brother-in-law that only a sixteen-year-old could get away with. Her white-blond chignon came unbound as she ran, catching the attention of all she passed.

  Graham looked well. His brown locks were lightly mussed, as if he’d enjoyed a ride on one of the horses. But his coat was pressed and neat, his boots shined to a high buff. His eyes were clear and his smile sincere, too. He was the Graham who Dinah had seen regularly before the wedding, so why was something about him so different?

  Graham caught Sera in a friendly twirl and then set her down. His gaze lifted past Sera’s shoulder and he bowed under Dinah’s stare.

  “Miss Dinah,” he said in greeting.

  “Lord Graham.” She curtseyed. They were exchanging the most boring of pleasantries, so why were goose bumps breaking out across her skin? Was this the consequence of keeping a secret? If so, she needed more of them to keep.

  Sera, none the wiser, said, “You’ve saved my life, dear brother. I know nothing of horses and Tom seems to pay them no mind, but he’s to be a duke and every duke must not only know how to ride but should enjoy it.”

  “Such serious thoughts for a wife just back from her honeymoon,” Graham said with a glint to his eye.

  “I thought if I purchased a sweet mare as a gift,” Sera confessed, “he might consider more outings on horseback.”

  “Have no fear, dear sister. Not only am I here to lend my considerable expertise in the matter but I have also arranged for us to meet with one of Newmarket’s resident celebrities, Lord Savage.”

  Dinah couldn’t contain her gasp, which quite conveniently occurred in unison with Sera’s intake of breath.

  Graham glanced between them, a mirthful quirk to his lips and a knowing arch to his brow. “You have heard of Viscount Savage, I take it?”

  “Hasn’t everyone?” Sera asked.

  Even Dinah had to admit she was atwitter at the thought of meeting the infamous viscount. There was an entire gossip sheet dedicated to tales of meeting him, and all accounts seemed to have salacious endings. She couldn’t fathom how they could all be true, but she was never one to doubt a hypothesis merely for sport, and found that a personal observation of the man in question might assist her in determining the accuracy of the claims.

  “Tom had mentioned you were friends,” Sera said.

  “The best,” Graham agreed.

  Graham and his brother Benjamin were often seen in the company of Mr.
Robert Crawford, who had led their regiment in the Battle of Salamanca, and Mr. Christian Hughes, who was dubbed Homicide Hughes because he was rumored to have killed a man with one blow in the boxing ring. It was said this group of close friends ran with Viscount Savage, who had also been in their regiment, but Dinah was rarely in the kind of mixed company that would include the likes of someone who graced the gossip sheets.

  “If he is your friend,” Sera asked, “why was he not invited to my wedding?”

  “Father is not Savage’s greatest admirer, you’ll find, and Tom follows suit. But horses adore him. He is well known in these markets, and the prestige of having sold to a friend of his will get you a great price.”

  “But I don’t need a great price,” Sera said.

  Graham laughed. “There’s no need to waste your father’s money for the sake of it. Savage is already warming up candidates at the rotunda. I believe he has his eye on a filly for you.”

  They ambled over the cobblestone street and entered the rotunda through round wooden doors. The building had no roof and no rooms, just a circular track surrounded by posts with horses tied to each. A single rider sat astride a horse as it trotted with dainty steps.

  The smell of the market wet the air, damp and fresh with manure or hay. Dinah sneezed, eliciting the best wishes of those around her.

  Graham stilled and his gaze slid to Dinah and Sera. “Mr. Hughes is with him. I hope that is acceptable.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Dinah asked. “Mr. Hughes was a guest at the wedding, if I recall.”

  “Yes,” Graham agreed. “But there is the matter of his . . .” He cleared his throat.

  “Crime?” Dinah asked.

  Graham frowned. “Crime? Not that story again. The nickname? No, I meant his parentage.”

  In addition to being a pugilist renowned for size, breadth, and fists of stone, Mr. Hughes was also the son of a Scotswoman and a baron who were not married

  “I don’t know why we should care about parentage,” Dinah mumbled under her breath, but Sera had gone very still beside her, her pale face taking on a sallow pallor.

  “We can ask him to leave if you are uncomfortable,” Dinah offered.

  Sera shook her head and forced a smile that didn’t make her eyes twinkle. “No, he was kind enough to come, and this is a public forum. Besides, we received him at the wedding. Why on earth would we cut him now?”

  Dinah would not have figured her youngest sister for a snob, but perhaps she felt the burden of being a future Duchess on her shoulders. She made a note to speak to Alice about Sera’s proclivities. Titled or not, she wouldn’t want to sister to stand on such ceremony.

  Having found Mr. Hughes in the crowd—quite easily, given his shoulders were practically above everyone else’s heads—Dinah was able to confirm his companion as Damon Cade, Viscount Savage.

  While he must have been tall—six feet or so—next to Mr. Hughes, he seemed of average height. That would be the only thing average about him, however. His nose had a perfect tilt, his cheekbones were spectacularly scooped, his lips Byronic beyond measure, and his eyes a hypnotic green.

  Even the horse before him was not immune to his charms as it bent its proud head and rested its forehead against that of Lord Savage. With a soft whinny, it knelt and posed as if a child. She felt something stir in her breastbone at the sight of the viscount, rather as she had felt gazing upon the Trevi Fountain. Her soul was honoring a work of art created by a hand greater than man’s.

  She sneezed again.

  “Have you an aversion?” Graham asked her.

  Dear Lord, how could she have an aversion to a man with beauty such as that which Lord Savage possessed?

  “To horses,” he clarified, as though he could see the awe shining in her eyes.

  “I don’t believe so.” She sneezed again. “I was conveyed here by horses, after all.”

  “That is very different from being in this place.” He sighed and looked at Sera. “Can you make your own way to Lord Savage while I escort Miss Dinah outside?”

  “Don’t be—” sneeze “—ridiculous.” Sneeze.

  Sera rested her hand on Dinah’s cheek and frowned with concern. “Dinah, there is no need to torture yourself on my account.”

  Dinah had a witty retort loaded on her tongue, but yet another sneeze took its place.

  “I apologize for my haste,” Graham said, “but I believe she worsens.”

  “She—” sneeze “—is standing right—” sneeze “—here.”

  Graham threw her a look that brokered no argument then turned his attention back to Sera. “As you are already acquainted with Mr. Hughes, he may introduce you to Lord Savage.” He set a hand at Dinah’s elbow and whisked her outside. She sneezed several more times, her eyes watering, and he held out his handkerchief. She blew into it—dreadfully unpleasant—and then pocketed it. She could never return it to him in such a state of contamination.

  “Take deep breaths,” he said.

  She gulped the fresh air. Heaved it in through her nose. It was the most unladylike display, but she didn’t care. Now that she was out of the rotunda and free from the spell of Lord Savage, she fully felt the burning of her eyes, the dryness of her throat. Even her ears tingled with something foreign.

  After a few moments, she composed herself to sniffles. “Thank you. I have no idea what overcame me.”

  “It’s not uncommon.”

  “Most things aren’t uncommon,” Dinah said.

  “My own wit excepted?”

  Dinah couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from quirking up. Graham had a manner that would draw a smile even from the Horse Guards.

  “Let’s take a turn around the courtyard.” He proffered his arm. “I believe the movement will do you good.”

  She was still breathless from her episode, but her mind was already churning. She’d imagined countless times what she would say to him once they met again, of how she could convince him to allow her to experiment on him. “I believe you may be right.” She laid her gloved hand on the crook of his elbow. His coat was fashionable but the wool soft and worn, a contrast to the steely strength of his muscles beneath. She noticed the roundness of his cheeks had become leaner since she’d last seen him.

  “You’ve lost weight,” she said as he led her in a walk, avoiding the cracked cobblestones.

  “I’ve spent more time in the ring with Mr. Hughes than is likely advisable.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, as if working out the kinks and knots most likely caused by the vigorous sparring matches with his friend.

  “Do you find it therapeutic?” she asked. “Given what transpired with Lady X?”

  His smile took on a rueful quality, and he stopped beneath a chestnut tree. “It was too much to hope for your ladylike silence on the matter. No, it does you credit. You are due an apology, and I am more than happy to give one for my behavior.”

  “I neither want nor need—nor am due—an apology.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable standing still. They were awfully close together beneath the tree’s shade. “I merely meant to ascertain your well-being.”

  He clasped his hands behind him like the soldier he had been. “Genuinely?”

  “Yes, of course. Why would I mention it if it were not genuine? I would just remain silent.”

  “Most are not as honest as you are. I admire the trait even if I cannot emulate it.”

  She raised a surprised brow. “You admit yourself to be dishonest?”

  He squirmed a moment and she swayed closer. Purely for scientific reasons, naturally. “Not quite. I hold myself to standards. But I’m afraid true honesty makes people uncomfortable, and one prefers to put others at ease.”

  “And one prefers to avoid answering questions,” she noted.

  He smiled. “I am glad to see I have not irreparably damaged our relationship.”

  “We are siblings by marriage. No amount of drunken behavior will damage that.”

&nb
sp; He leaned close to her. “Sometimes I think you are obtuse on purpose.”

  “The very definition of obtuse requires purpose.” She tipped her chin to hold his gaze.

  There was a moment of silence, and then he threw back his head and laughed, drawing the attention of passersby. “And to think they call you the Blasé Belle. There must be an alliterative word for witty. Brilliant Belle? Bright Belle?”

  “As the Blasé Belle, I assure you I don’t care a whit for what they call me.” She was trying to make him laugh now, she realized. He had a nice laugh, if an exuberant one, and every time his eyes lit up beneath his tousled mop of brown hair, she felt as if she’d accomplished something.

  “Miss Dinah, you are the most vexingly amusing creature of my acquaintance.”

  Never had an insult so inspired her to blush. She framed a retort, but before she could deliver it, his expression shattered. His face turned ashen, amusement slid away, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

  “Lord Graham, are you well?” she asked, curious at the transformation.

  His eyes, twin points of displeasure, fixed on a spot behind her, above her head.

  She turned to find the source of this dread.

  A stunning woman with hair of gold silk and a stature to make any queen envious strolled toward them with her arm entwined in that of an older man.

  * * *

  Graham had no idea how long he stood staring at Lily.

  One moment, he hadn’t had a care in the world, and the next, Lily had become the center of all those cares. It felt the same way it had the first—and only—time they had met that fateful night of the concert. He had locked eyes on her from across the room, and just as it was today, her golden hair had been twisted atop her head—though, it was concealed by a bonnet at this very moment. Her blue eyes had twinkled with secrets he’d known were meant only for him. She’d allowed him to beg an introduction, had met him in the music room. As his fingers had trilled across the keys of the pianoforte, her voice had lifted to join the notes, and together they had created beauty the world had never known.