Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me: A Brethren of the Coast Novella

by Barbara Devlin

  “Still, it is rather charming, is it not?” As she glanced at the tall yew holding pride of place in the drawing room, she envisioned Nicholas, sitting on the floor and bouncing a babe on his knee. Despite their outward affinity, an undercurrent of tension marred the otherwise perfect evening. “Indeed, it is the stuff of fairy stories.”

  In silence, Almira uttered thanks for her beau’s discretion, because not once did he broach the subject of her embarrassing collapse on the streets of Portsmouth. Never had she expected to spot one of Lodge’s associates in the seaside community so far removed from London, and the experience caught her off guard. Although she wanted to explain the cause of her terror, she had not divulged the circumstances of her marriage, and she feared Nicholas’s reaction to the horrible truth, but on that night, she resolved to think only good thoughts.

  Still, when someone pounded on the door, she jumped. “Who could that be?”

  “Gather round, everyone, because the carolers are here.” Daphne clapped twice. “Dalton, inform Mrs. Jones that we are ready for the trays of shortbread and pots of wassail.”

  It had been years since Almira participated in such spirited merriment and camaraderie, and she realized, in that moment, how much she missed the simple pleasures of the season. Like a helpful hostess, she set doilies on the side table, so Mrs. Jones could arrange the refreshments.

  Soon, angelic voices echoed in the foyer. Assembled in the entry hall, and hugging a steaming cup of the spicy beverage, Almira stood before Nicholas and sang various carols, including her personal favorite, “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks at Night.”

  “Are you warm enough, my sweet girl?” Perched behind her, he hugged her about the waist. “Should I fetch your wrap?”

  “No.” Resting against her man, she peered at him. “You do the job, admirably.”

  “Ah, my lady flirts with me, and I like it.” As the group launched into another song, he led her to the drawing room. “I noticed Dalton hung the kissing bough, my dear. Shall we give it a go, given there are berries aplenty?”

  Looming as a specter of doom, a ball of mistletoe, adorned with a bright red bow, dangled from a piece of twine, and she recalled the associative lore. It was believed, since the Middle Ages, that any young lady who refused a kiss beneath the kissing bough would not wed in the next year, but that did not frighten her. Rather, it was the possibility of disappointment, should she yield only to have her hopes dashed.

  “Might we wait, until a more opportune moment presents itself?” As he enfolded her in his arms, she bowed her head. “If I give you what you want, and you refuse me, I would not survive your rejection.”

  “We travel full circle.” Resting his chin to her crown, he sighed, in a mournful expression that touched her very soul. “And I have not done right by you, if you doubt me, thus.”

  “It is not your fault I am a coward.” It struck her as the height of unfairness, that he should represent her greatest strength and her most lethal weakness. “Can we postpone the ritual, until I make my full confession? After that, if you are amenable, I should bestow upon you a thousand kisses.”

  “All right.” He pulled her from beneath the kissing bough to linger near the window. “But I would caution you not to delay, too long, because no more kisses may be claimed, once all the berries are gone. And this I vow, when next you journey to London, you will do so as my bride.”

  Then Nicholas bent his head and claimed her lips, and Almira forgot everything.

  HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In a show of nature’s splendor Nicholas interpreted as a good sign, Christmas Day boasted a clear blue sky and calm seas, and he stood at the window of his bedchamber, dressed for the ball and cursed with nervous anticipation, because he planned to propose to Almira in full view of the guests. Then he would claim that kiss beneath the kissing bough, in celebration of their impending nuptials.

  With a betrothal ring tucked in the breast pocket of his black formal coat, he strode through the sitting room, into the hall, and met his lady on the landing. “Oh, my sweet girl, you look beautiful.”

  “Thanks to you.” Stunning in the gown of luxurious burgundy velvet, with her hair coifed in countless loose curls, she rotated for his delectation. “Do I meet with your approval, kind sir?” Then her elegant demeanor broke, and she splayed her palms to his chest. “You are wearing the crème and gold waistcoat I gifted you, only this morning.”

  “I shall treasure it, always, because you gave it to me.” And it would forever remind of him the night she accepted his suit. “Are you wearing the silk hose I procured to grace your luscious legs?”

  “Nicholas.” Glancing from left to right, she bit her lip, retreated, and lifted her skirt. He could have dropped to his knees, then and there. “Only for you, my darling.”

  “Almira, if we did not have to attend the party, I would lock you in my apartment and have my wicked way with you. But we are not properly wed, so I will suffer in silence.” As would a gentleman, he extended an arm. “Shall we join everyone in the grand ballroom?”

  “Yes, please.” Bouncing on her heels, she stepped aside and accepted his escort. Together, two of the most notorious figures in London society cut the picture of poise and refinement, with nary a hint of scandal, as they descended the staircase.

  The ballroom at Courtenay Hall featured the same unique Rococo décor, including mezzo-frescoes in the Tiepolo style, vivid pastorals, and gilt-bronze floor to ceiling mirrors framed with abstract and asymmetrical stuccowork distinct to the palatial estate. But the signature attraction was a ceiling mural composed of an impromptu outdoor celebration. In the resplendent, colorful landscape, gentry frolicked amid the woods, and couples hid amid the trees, engaging in licentious trysts, while chubby cupids flew overhead, firing arrows into azure heavens.

  In the corner, a quartet sounded practice notes. Near the double-door entry that led to the family dining room, numerous tables had been set with the finest linen, china, crystal, and silver, in order to provide the primary inhabitants of Portsea Island’s community an extravagant affair.

  “Almira, your dress is a work of art.” Daphne glanced at Nicholas and dipped her chin, which clued him that all had been arranged, per his specifications. “And I wonder if you might help me welcome the guests, as I cannot possibly greet everyone, and I would ignore no one.”

  “I would be honored, Daphne.” Facing him, Almira curtseyed. “Pray, excuse me, my lord.”

  “Of course.” With a flourish, he bowed, and he counted her answering giggle a priceless boon.

  “In so short a span, your lady is much changed, Nicholas.” With a narrow stare, Blake studied Almira. “Had I not known her prior to your reunion, I would not recognize her now.”

  “It is remarkable, indeed.” Dalton shook his head. “She is a different person.”

  “Actually, she is her former self.” Nicholas could only hope he was partly responsible for her miraculous transformation, because he was as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night. “This is the Almira I knew, when we were young and in love. I told you, she is a sweet, gentle girl at heart.”

  “Then it was worth the gamble.” Blake rested a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “In all the excitement this morning, with the children, I never got a chance to thank you for the bundle of letters.”

  “Your Grace, it is the least I can do, given you upheld your end of the bargain.” Nicholas admired Mira’s profile, committing every subtle nuance to memory, as he wanted to forget naught on the special occasion of their engagement. “And you have my word, as a gentleman, even if the King revokes my title, I will provide sworn testimony to aid your case against my brother, because it is the right thing to do.”

  “I owe you a debt I can never repay, Waddlington.” As Lenore strolled into the chasmal chamber, Blake waved to her. “If Damian were here, he would agree with me, because the safety of Lenore and Lucilla is our chief concern.”

  “But yo
u did as I asked, granting me the opportunity to win my lady, which is far more precious to me than any false family loyalty I might extend my worthless younger brother.” Just then, the hostesses beckoned. “It appears we are to join the receiving line.”

  And so Nicholas assumed his place at Mira’s side, a position he committed to fill for the remains of his days. With pride, he stood as her partner, as she extended salutations, and he pretended she was his wife, inserting bits of levity into their shared conversation—until a well-groomed stranger addressed her, and everything changed.

  “Lady Moreton, this is an unexpected pleasure.” Tall and strapping, the somewhat awkward brute kissed her knuckles, and she stiffened noticeably. “May I have the honor of the allemande?”

  “Mr. Glendenning, it has been a long time.” Lines of strain marred her heretofore relaxed and buoyant countenance, and Nicholas wondered about the connection between the high-ranking noblewoman and the ruffian. “And the honor is mine, sir.”

  “Lord Waddlington, I presume?” The visitor smirked. “I have read a lot about you in the newspapers.”

  “Indeed?” Nicholas ignored the insult, because he was too curious about the newcomer to take offense. “You have me at a disadvantage, as I do not believe we are acquainted.”

  “Ralph Glendenning.” The buffoon offered a curt nod of obeisance. “I own several shops in London and Portsmouth.”

  “So you are a tradesman?” Nicholas sniffed. “Well that explains it. You are excused.”

  A shade of red spread from Glendenning’s collar to his not-so-smug face, and Nicholas gave his attention to the next guest. At his right, Almira exhaled, and he peered at her and winked.

  After completing their duties, they separated to mingle with the crowd, because he intended to keep a close watch on Glendenning. So when Nicholas discovered the outsider all but dragging Mira from the ballroom, he gave pursuit.

  In the hall, he hugged the walls, skulking in the shadows, and Glendenning led Almira to the drawing room, whereupon he shut the doors, and the hair on Nicholas’s neck stood on end. At the oak panels, he paused and lent an ear, that he might eavesdrop on the discussion. When she gave vent to an unmistakable objection, he burst into the chamber.

  “What in bloody hell is going on here?” Angered in an instant, because Almira wrestled with the blackguard, Nicholas charged the fore. “Unhand the lady, now.”

  “See here, Lady Moreton and I are old friends.” The bastard licked his lips. “She and I are on intimate terms, so to speak, and how well I remember her warm and inviting mouth. Is that not correct, my dear?”

  “I beg you, please, say no more.” Sheer terror ravaged her expression, and she shoved free of her oppressor. “Oh, Nicholas, I am so sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” He bared his teeth. “The villain assaulted you.”

  Just then, Dalton, Daphne, Dirk, Rebecca, Blake, and Lenore appeared in Nicholas’s wake.

  “What happened?” Dalton peered left and then right. “What is wrong?”

  “That scoundrel slandered Almira.” Clenching and unclenching his fists, Nicholas squared his shoulders and set his sights on Glendenning. “And in the name of Lady Moreton, I challenge you.”

  “Nicholas, no.” Almira turned and faced him. “Although it kills me to admit it, Mr. Glendenning speaks the truth.”

  “What?” A chill shivered down Nicholas’s spine.

  “I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you, but you would not listen.” With a mournful sob, she shrugged. “And then I did not want to ruin the holiday, because I feared you would never want me, once I explained the horrible reality that was my marriage to Lodge, and that is why I delayed the inevitable.”

  “Dalton, close the doors.” Daphne shifted to one side. “I expect we require privacy.”

  “What is it, Mira?” Stifling further protestations, Nicholas inhaled a deep breath and braced himself. “What did he do to you?”

  “For you to fully comprehend my reality, I should begin with my wedding night, as it set the tone for my union.” With arms folded, Almira shivered, and he ached to comfort her. “If you recall, I was but six and ten and quite the provincial. As I dreamed of you, because we were so in love, with grave trepidation I awaited my new husband. Late that evening, Lodge brought three men, dirty rogues who appeared to have come straight from the docks, into my bedchamber and proceeded to auction my maidenhead, my bottom, and my mouth. Once the bidding ended, the fiends stripped me bare, held me down, and claimed their prize, and I cried the entire time. And my dear husband, who only a few hours before pledged to protect me, perched in a chair in the corner, sipped his brandy, and laughed at me.”

  “My God.” Blake pulled Lenore into his arms, and the women gave vent to a collective gasp of shock.

  “But the torture did not stop there.” To Nicholas’s unimaginable regret, Almira continued her dreadful history, with tears streaming her cheeks. “He told you, that day on the steps, that I would learn my place, and I did. Henceforth, Lodge brought various friends and associates to my room, and I performed, on command, whatever they required, because any rebellion was met with the harshest discipline, and his punishments were unspeakably cruel, thus I endured three years of his abuse.” In that second, Almira uncrossed and crossed her arms, and then she collapsed.

  “Just a minute.” Glendenning shuffled his feet. “Let me assure you I am no rapist. I thought she wanted it. I had no idea Lady Moreton had been forced, else I never would have used her.”

  “Get out.” Crouched on the floor, Nicholas held her. “Get out before I gut you with my teeth.”

  “You will leave my home, this instant.” Dalton yanked Glendenning by the coat collar. “And if you ever breathe a word against Lady Moreton, I will hunt you down, rip out your tongue, have my cook roast it, and feed it to my hounds.”

  As Nicholas cradled Almira’s limp form, he glanced at Blake. “What have I done to her?”

  ~

  A series of whispers drew Almira alert, and she woke to discover Mildred and Mrs. Jones, with their heads together in conversation. Peering out the window, Mira noted the sunrise and the clouds dancing on the horizon. To her dismay, Nicholas was nowhere to be found.

  In a rush, a tragedy played in her mind, as she recalled what happened last night, the confrontation with Mr. Glendenning, and her spontaneous confession. Just as she feared, Nicholas spurned her, as his absence spoke volumes. Flinging back the covers, she scooted to the edge of the mattress and stood.

  “Mrs. Jones, will you please have my coach brought to the front door, and be discreet, as I would depart without notice.” At the washstand, Almira poured water into the basin. “Mildred, fetch a traveling dress and prepare our trunks, as we are leaving, now.”

  “But, my lady, Mrs. Randolph asked me to inform her when you were up and about, that I might serve your breakfast.” The housekeeper cast a side-glance at the maid. “And Lord Waddlington requires the same, after he sat with you, all night.”

  “Well, he is not here, is he?” And Almira would not stay to face his repudiation. “Is it not enough that I humiliated myself? Is it not enough that I am a fallen woman? Would you have me prostrate myself, only to be spurned? Do as I say, and ready my coach, as I will not stay here another day.”

  “Lady Almira, calm yourself.” Mildred waved at Mrs. Jones, who exited the room. “It may be the laudanum clouding your judgment.”

  “What laudanum?” Almira drew up short. “You make no sense.”

  “When you came to, in the wee hours, you were hysterical, my dear child.” The maid pulled a wool gown from the armoire. “Mrs. Randolph summoned a doctor, and he dispensed the medicine, so you could rest easy.”

  “As you can see, I am just fine.” A hideous squall of laughter echoed in her brain, and Almira covered her ears, to shut out the mocking refrain. “Mildred, I beg you, I can take no more. Let us return to London, sell the townhouse, and have done with everything and everyone, because I do not believe in f
airy tales and happily ever after. It is a lie sold to naïve young girls who know no better.”

  “That is not true.” Mildred tugged the gown over Almira’s shoulders. “Give Lord Waddlington a chance, because he will not fail you.”

  “Then why is he not here?” She eased her feet into her slippers, as Mildred tied the laces. “Why was his face not the first I spied when I opened my eyes? If Nicholas still wanted me, he would have been here. Indeed, naught could have kept him from my side, were he so determined.”

  And that nagging fact hurt more than Almira was willing to admit.

  “Be that as it may, I cannot help but think you are making a grave mistake, my lady.” Just as Mildred closed the trunk, the butler appeared in the sitting room. “In here, Hicks. Lady Moreton departs, posthaste.”

  “Very good, my lady.” He bowed. “The coach is parked in the courtyard.”

  “Thank you.” In the long mirror, Almira checked her profile, as she donned the ermine pelisse Nicholas bought her. “Then let us away.”

  In the hall, she darted to the landing. Holding tight to the balustrade, she ran down the stairs, on guard for any sign of Nicholas. In the foyer, she almost jumped out of her skin, when Daphne approached from the main corridor.

  “Almira, where are you going?” Dalton’s wife frowned. “Is Nicholas with you?”

  “No, and I would prefer you wait until I am gone to apprise him of my departure.” Breaking with decorum, Almira hugged Daphne. “Thank you, so much, for your hospitality. I will never forget your kindness.”

  “My friend, can I not persuade you to delay your journey, until after you have eaten?” Daphne clutched Almira’s wrists. “I beg you, do not leave like this. You should speak to Nicholas, before you do anything, because I know he—”

  “Ask anything of me but that.” Tears welled, and Almira’s heart fractured. “There are some things that cannot be undone, Daphne. I fear my past is too great an obstacle to surmount, thus I would not ask it of him.”