HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME
A BRETHREN OF THE COAST NOVELLA
BARBARA DEVLIN
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me Copyright © 2016 Barbara C. Noyes
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Barbara Devlin
The Brethren of the Coast Badge is a registered trademark ® of Barbara Devlin.
Cover art by Lewellen Designs
Interior art by Dar Albert
ISBN: 978-1-945576-94-2
HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME
PROLOGUE
Kent, England
November, 1808
A pristine blanket of snow cloaked the landscape, as Lord Nicholas Sheldon trailed Lady Almira down the hill. Laughing, he scraped up a handful of the icy fluff, tamped it good, and threw the ball at her, and she darted to the side, evaded his playful attack, and shrieked.
“Faster, Almira, because I am going to catch you.” In a rush of exhilaration, he gave chase and reached for the hood of her bright red pelisse. “I have you now.”
“You do not.” With a squeal of delight, she picked up her skirts, favoring him with a scandalous display of her calves, as she sprinted toward the verge. “I am too fast.”
“We shall see.” As she veered to the right of a massive oak, he charged left, and she bolted straight into his arms. “A-ha, I have you, and I will never let go.”
“Nicholas, stop.” With palms pressed to the lapels of his wool coat, she protested. “What if someone spots us?”
“Does it matter?” Pulling her close, he shrugged and admired her shimmering blue eyes, which danced with amusement. “The contracts are signed, and we are to marry in the spring, just after your sixteenth birthday, and I cannot abide the delay.”
“Until then, we will observe all proprieties, sir. Because I am a good girl.” Glancing to the side, she sniffed, but her coy demeanor did not fool him for an instant, since he doubted not that she harbored genuine fondness for him. “Now, unhand me, you brute.”
“Not until you grant me a kiss.” How he adored her fit of pique, which combined with the chill and colored her cheeks a lovely shade of pink. “Please, just one kiss?”
“It would not be proper for a young lady of character to indulge in such dreadful behavior. As it is, we should not frolic about the countryside, unchaperoned, and I know not why my father permits it.” Yet she bit her lip. “Perhaps, next month, when the kissing bough hangs in the entry to the drawing room, you might stake your claim, and I shall be only too happy to accommodate you.”
“But I cannot wait, my dear Almira.” With his nose, he traced the curve of her jaw and inhaled the subtle jasmine scent that was uniquely hers. “Shall I beg? Should I drop to bended knee and make my plea on pain of insanity?” In her ear he whispered, “I love you, Mira.”
“Do you?” She flinched, as his declaration snared her full attention. “Truly?”
“Indeed, you own my heart.” He tucked a wayward brown tendril beneath the crown of her blue velvet poke bonnet. “You always have, given our fathers betrothed us from birth. And while I considered you a friend when we were younger, what I harbor for you now far surpasses anything so casual, and I sincerely look forward to the day when I can call you mine, in every way.”
“Then more’s the pity, as I share your affinity.” To his surprise, she pressed her mouth to his, giggled, broke free, and scampered down the hill. Over her shoulder, she called, “If you tell anyone, Nicholas Sheldon, I will never forgive you.”
Stunned into silence, and incapable of motion, he stood there and grinned like a giddy debutante. Although their first kiss posed no extended, intimate affair, it manifested a cherished memory he would carry for a lifetime and beyond. Calming warmth spread from top to toes, his ears rang, and a chorus of fanciful cherubs magically appeared overhead. When he blinked, came alert, and found himself alone, he dug in his heels and pursued his bride-to-be.
Across the back meadow, they ran at full speed, until they rounded the east end of her home. In the drive, two carriages, one of which belonged to his family, loomed. The other magnificent coach boasted an impressive coat of arms he did not recollect.
On the side steps of the porte-cochère, his father lingered, as her sire shook hands with a tall and distinguished nobleman Nicholas did not recognize. As usual, Almira raced to the top of the stairs.
“Almira Dorothea, behave yourself.” Lord Kettering wagged a finger. “Would you embarrass yourself before your prospective husband? It would not surprise me if Lord Moreton rescinded his most generous offer.”
“What do you mean, Papa, as you speak in riddles?” Her joyful expression faltered, and something inside Nicholas fractured. “Everyone knows I am to wed Nicholas.”
“Not anymore.” Lord Kettering glared at Nicholas, and he shuffled his feet. “You are to be the marchioness of Moreton, as opposed to a mere countess. Is that not grand, my dear?”
“No, it is not.” When Lord Kettering drew her to his right, she resisted. “I wish to marry Nicholas, and I care not for the title.”
“You will do as you are told.” Lord Kettering yanked her to the fore, and Nicholas jumped but checked himself. “Forgive her, Lord Moreton, as she does not understand the great honor you bestow upon her.”
“That is quite all right.” The marquess gazed upon her and leered, and Nicholas gritted his teeth. “She will learn her place, soon enough.”
For Nicholas, that was the last straw.
“Let her go.” Without hesitation, he hurried to aid his intended. “Our betrothal is sealed, and Mira is mine, as we were bound from birth.”
“You forget yourself, sir, and I would thank you to leave my property and never return.” Despite the longstanding friendship between their two families, Lord Kettering appeared a stranger in his unmistakable ire. “Lord Waddlington, the contracts are voided, and our business is concluded. Take your son and leave.”
“Come along, Nicholas.” To his horror, with nary an objection, Father flicked his wrist. “Let us away.”
“No.” He shook his head, even as his sire dragged Nicholas to their rig. “Mira is to be my wife, and I cannot abandon her.”
“Nicholas.” Her plaintive cry struck him as a punch to the gut, and she wrestled with her father. “Nicholas, stay.”
Clenching and unclenching his fists, he squared his shoulders.
“I would not do it, if I were you.” Stretched to full height, Lord Moreton smirked. “Your actions do you great credit, but this is not a battle you can win.” All trace of civility vanished from his expression, and what Nicholas glimpsed in the man’s gaze, a palpable malevolence, frightened him. “The girl is my property.” Then Lord Moreton narrowed his stare. “Have you touched her?”
“How dare you insult Lady Almira by questioning her virtue.” In the shadow of the marquess, Nicholas retreated. “She is pure of heart and character. Indeed, she is the sweetest creature I have ever known.”
“Excellent, as that is just what I seek, and I would gain an equitable return on my investment.” Again, the marquess exhibited an illicit tendency, when he gazed on Almira, and Nicholas’s skin crawled. “Now, run along, pup. This game is for men.”
“No.” Almira struggled to break loose. “Nicholas, please, do not leave me.”
In
the face of such formidable opposition, he relented, and something within him died in that moment. “I am sorry, Almira. I hope you will be happy.”
As she screamed in protest, he climbed into the coach and sank into the squabs. Again and again, she called his name, which echoed in his ears, in a loathsome refrain, and he peered out the window. Pressing his nose to the glass, he wept as Mira wrenched from her father’s grasp and followed in their wake.
“Nicholas, come back.” Frantically, she waved, tripped, and fell into a large rut. “Nicholas.”
HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME
CHAPTER ONE
London
December 1, 1815
Utter ruin had a way of changing a man, of harkening to past regrets, of emphasizing the importance of family, of accentuating such desirable aspirations as hope and love. Ah, love. The singular sentiment could carry him to the highest peak or deliver him to the gates of Hades, depending on the circumstances. Condemned to the latter, having tasted the former, a poor soul might have been quick to yield.
For Nicholas, the reluctant patriarch of a dynasty entangled in scandal and on the brink of extinction, ignominy offered a chance for something more. For happiness. After years of languishing in his private hell, chasing light skirts among the demimonde, indulging in excess drinking and gambling, all the while denying the truth of his character and his conscience, it appeared fate gifted him one last opportunity to travel the righteous path and thereby seize the long-cherished prize.
The rig came to a halt, and he descended the unmarked black coach, as no one of quality would publicly receive him. As he skipped up the entrance stairs of the respectable residence marked twenty-four, Upper Brooke Street, he reflected on his reception. Braced for hostility, he grasped the knocker and pounded twice on the oak panel.
When the door opened to reveal the host, he retreated in surprise. “Admiral Douglas.” Nicholas backed down a step. “Sir, if you do not wish to speak with me, I understand. I apologize if I—”
“But you mistake me, Lord Waddlington.” The naval legend extended a hand and flicked his wrist. “Please, do come inside, as it is quite chilly today.”
“Thank you.” With shaking fingers, Nicholas doffed his hat and coat. Absent a butler, he hung the items on the hall tree. “I appreciate you taking this appointment, sir.”
“Must admit I am intrigued, especially in light of the attendees you requested I gather, which I did, in accordance with your instructions.” The admiral nodded once. “They await your arrival, in the study, along with Crown Prosecutor Berwick, given the case against your brother. If you will follow me.”
“We could have met at White’s, in a private room.” The empty corridor and missing servants gave Nicholas pause. “I have no wish to inconvenience you.”
“But you are no inconvenience, as I often receive my guests, given I was not to the manor born.” Douglas chuckled. “My wife lunches with friends, our youngest naps in his cradle, I have naught better to do with myself, and I am satisfied that you played no part in the crimes for which your brother stands accused and your father was murdered. Does that put you at ease?”
“It does, sir.” The walls seemed to collapse on Nicholas, and his pulse raced, as he ventured further into the home, and he rolled his shoulders. “How did you know I spoke the truth?”
“Lady Elaine provided substantial testimony, regarding the details surrounding the previous earl of Waddlington’s demise, and Her Grace insists you had nothing to do with her kidnapping.” As the admiral paused, he tilted his head. “Ready to face the firing squad?”
“A novel but apropos choice of words, I suspect.” Nicholas swallowed hard, as he loomed on the metaphorical banks of his Rubicon.
Seated in the elegantly appointed study, His Grace, Blake Elliott, duke of Rylan, Sir Dalton Randolph, Sir Ross Logan, and another gentleman lingered, and tension filled the cigar smoke tinged air. An empty chair had been situated to the right, and he assumed his place.
“So what is this all about?” As Nicholas anticipated, Rylan, laced with contempt, led the charge. “Have you come to beg for mercy? Do you intend to plead your brother’s cause?”
“No, Your Grace.” Swallowing hard, he drew a parcel of envelopes from his breast pocket and tossed the lot atop the blotter of Admiral Douglas’s desk. “I come to bring you these.”
“Letters?” Arching a brow, Rylan sneered. “I have no interest in your personal correspondence, Waddlington.”
“You mistake me, Your Grace.” Nicholas untied the ribbon and handed the first missive to the duke. “These posts belonged to my father, and they were written by my brother, while he remained on the Continent, in the service of General Teversham.”
That revelation brought everyone to their feet.
As the duke scanned the contents of one envelope, Dalton perused another note. Tension built with each passing minute, marked by the constant ticking of the mantel clock. When Rylan at last glanced at Nicholas, he shifted his weight.
“I cannot believe it.” The duke opened and then closed his mouth, as he scanned another post. “Your brother recounts the entire nefarious scheme.” He scrutinized the franking. “Where did you find the letters?”
“In my father’s desk, when I sought a full accounting of the real estate and financial holdings for the earldom.” Indeed, the task had been an enlightening experience, in more ways than one, and Nicholas still could not comprehend how his sire kept so many secrets. “Believe me, I was just as stunned when I located the bundle of incriminating evidence.”
“Blake, look at this.” Dalton frowned. “The bastard admits killing General Teversham, by poisoning, and his previous aide de camp, Lieutenant Snowley, with a fortuitously timed bayonet charge, at Barrouillet.”
“You cannot be serious.” Without ceremony, the duke snatched the parchment and scrutinized the information. “Bloody hell.” Rylan glared at Nicholas. “Do you realize you just signed your brother’s death warrant?”
“Only if I allow you to use the proof at trial.” And that was what brought Nicholas to the admiral’s study. “I wish to atone, to make amends, to offer redress not only for my brother’s deeds but also for my past failures. For that, I require your assistance.”
“I do not follow.” Rylan rubbed the back of his neck. “Am I to petition His Majesty on your behalf, that you might retain the title, as I am not certain even I can manage that?”
“Or do you want money?” Dalton scratched his cheek. “Is the estate in trouble?”
“Are you expecting leniency for Lord Cornelius Sheldon?” The Crown Prosecutor flipped through the various correspondences. “Because I am honor-bound to tell you that His Majesty is unlikely to grant such a request.”
“But you are mistaken, Prosecutor Berwick.” Nicholas shook his head. “I want no mercy or money.”
“I am confused.” Admiral Douglas studied the controversial missive. “What do you want, Lord Waddlington?”
“It is not common knowledge, but a long time ago, I was engaged to marry.” Standing before the front window, Nicholas clasped his hands, inhaled a deep breath, opened the door to his memory, and braced for the inevitable tidal wave of excruciating pain. “In fact, the lady and I were betrothed from birth, we became fast friends, and we fell in love.”
“I never knew that.” Dalton narrowed his stare. “What happened to her?”
“Life.” Awash in agony and regret, Nicholas shrugged. “But for you to truly understand, I suppose I should start from the beginning.”
In a tormenting recount of his history, omitting names of the involved parties, he shared his darkest secret, which he had held close to his heart since that horrible November day, when he abandoned Mira to a monster. But he could not describe the final tragic moments, when he sat on the bench as she pursued the coach, as even Nicholas had his limits.
“Do you know where your former fiancée is, today?” Kindness personified, Admiral Douglas handed Nicholas a brandy. “Have you
any contact with her? Is she in a position to entertain your proposal?”
“Yes, but she will not speak with me. We had a minor—no, a massive falling out, and she will not receive me.” After a healthy gulp of liquid courage, he sat. “That is why I need your help.”
“What can we do?” Perched in his chair, Dalton propped his elbows to his knees and cradled his chin in his palm. “And how do you know you can rely on us?”
“Because I aided you and Daphne, when you found yourselves in a difficult position, and you owe me.” And Nicholas was desperate. In that instant, he would trust the devil. “More than that, you value love, and in that spirit there is something else I would share, so you might fathom the grievousness of the situation and the magnitude of my offense.”
From his pocket, he drew the final piece of the puzzle, which he passed to Dalton. The younger Randolph perused the document, flinched, and met Nicholas’s gaze. Then Dalton gave the note to Rylan, who reacted in a similar fashion. The Crown Prosecutor grimaced as he read the contents, and he offered the parchment to Admiral Douglas, who digested the meaning and cursed.
“Five thousand pounds in payment for one virgin?” The admiral thrashed the blotter. “Never have I seen anything so vulgar.”
“And your father accepted the money? He told you this?” Exhaling, the duke loosened his cravat. “Even though he knew you loved the lady?”
“Shortly after the confrontation, I begged my father to engage the services of a solicitor, that I might enforce the original contract, but he claimed he had done so without success, because the lady favored the more estimable title.” What Nicholas would give to travel back in time and have his chance again. He would not so readily accept his father’s explanations. “When I discovered the receipt among his belongings, I realized he lied to me. He sold my fiancée and with her all hope for happiness.”
“Now you want her back.” It was a statement, not a question, and the duke speared his fingers through his hair. “Why not approach her? Why not clarify the circumstances and seek reconciliation?”
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