by Laura Hogg
He hopped up onto the driver's seat, snapped the reins, and they dashed off. The image of Relief's beautiful face drove him on hard, his focus sharp, his intention hard as steel. They passed two coaching inns and came to a third before he knew he had to stop, for the sake of the horses. The inn was built around a central cobbled courtyard. The chatter and movement of passengers and their servants going about their business rang through the air. A horn shrilled, and a coach departed, filled with travelers. He jumped down, and his feet hit the ground with a loud thud. He handed the reins to a team of hostlers.
"We will not be staying. We need to lease another pair. Do this quick."
One of the young men nodded and took his money. “Aye, my lord."
They got to work, immediately, changing the horses.
He went to Miss Honora and peered into the window of the chariot. “Do you require refreshment before we go?"
She shook her head, her eyes puffy from the fatigue of crying. “No, and you?"
"I'll be lucky if I can eat before I drop from hunger."
Minutes later, the horses were ready. He leapt up to his seat, and they were off. He drove until the small, rented house was in view.
Miss Moore poked her head out and shouted, pointing, “That's it!"
He turned onto the driveway. Once at the house, both he and Miss Moore dashed to the front door. She snatched it open and ran up a set of stairs, he sprinted after her. She tore into a room. He stopped in his beloved's doorway and hesitated, bracing himself for the worst, as fearful images developed in his mind. If Relief was at death's door, he didn't know what he'd do. He stepped carefully into the room but stayed off to the side. He dared a glance at Relief's pale face and body, holding his breath. The pastiness of her skin intensified the dark color of her hair. Her chest moved up and down slowly. She slept deeply. He swallowed tears down his constricted throat. Honora whispered to him.
"My poor sister! She needs her rest, my lord. I pray you, do not disturb her."
"I wouldn't think of it,” his voice relayed his sorrow.
They watched her sleep. Miss Honora's fists rested at her sides, and tears ran silently down her cheeks. The Viscount touched her arm, and she turned and pressed her face into his chest. He held her tightly. He swayed from extreme fatigue, and his stomach ached with hunger.
"My lord, if I may."
He released her. She sat in a satin chair by the bed, and put her hands on Relief's arm. He gazed around. There were no other chairs in the tiny room. He sat on the floor with his knees up, put his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He clasped his hands together and prayed fervently. Sometime during the night, he had fallen asleep and woke up on the wood floor. In the circle of the dim light of a candle resting on a small table, Miss Honora was asleep in the chair, holding Relief's hand, leaning forward onto the bed. He stood up and went to her, laying a soft hand on her shoulder.
"Allow me. Please, settle yourself in the guest room. I'll watch over her."
"My lord—"
"Miss Honora,” his voice came out scratchy. “I must insist."
She nodded and stumbled out of the room, grabbing the doorframe on the way out to steady herself.
As streaks of light from dawn filtered through a window to the side of the bed, Lord Cheltham's eyes flickered open. He bent to kiss Relief's forehead. It was cold. His stomach growled. He stood up and made his way done stairs, calling out.
"Hello?"
A man in the suit of a doctor turned the corner. “Would you be Lord Cheltham?"
"Indeed, sir. You're Miss Moore's doctor?"
He nodded. “I am Doctor Timpson."
"She needs food, sir."
He gestured to another room. “Come with me to the kitchen. I have prepared a big pot of soup. You appear pallid yourself. You should eat as well."
"After she has, and I will have the honor of feeding her."
"As you wish."
"Is she going to survive, Doctor?"
"It's in God's hands."
Lord Cheltham swallowed a lump in his throat and followed the doctor to the kitchen.
With soup in hand, he went upstairs. Miss Honora greeted him with an anxious smile when he stepped into his love's room. Miss Honora removed herself from the chair.
"Thank you.” He dipped the spoon in the bowl.
"Wait,” Miss Honora said.
She went around to the other side of the bed and propped up her sister's head against the pillows. He lifted a trembling hand then steadied it so he wouldn't spill broth on Miss Moore. He placed the spoon to her lips and gently parted them with the utensil. Miss Honora aided him by adjusting her sister's head.
"Swallow, Leafy. You need to eat."
Miss Moore moaned, and the Viscount swallowed his anxiety. He glanced at the doctor, standing nearby. “That is a fortunate sign, is it not?"
He responded with a grave look. Lord Cheltham turned back to the task at hand. Spoonful by spoonful, he fed her until she would take no more, each time, saying a silent prayer that she would swallow another little bit.
Two more days passed, and Miss Moore did not awaken fully. He spent almost the entire time in the room with her, only stepping out for the necessities. And once, Miss Honora talked him into stepping outside for five minutes for a breath of fresh air. He slept on the floor on a blanket at night or in that chair, holding her hand, and he looked at her often, his own life hanging in the balance. His heart pounded with anxiety as he beheld her, as if he were running down a long, dark road. He'd either find the light at the end, or fall off a cliff. In the light of day, he studied her face for the smallest signs of recovery.
He turned to her sister in the morning and smiled. “She has a bit of color now, don't you think?"
She looked down at her sister's sleeping form and smiled. “I believe she does!"
"Nora,” Miss Moore muttered.
The Viscount gasped, staring down at her. Her eyes did not come open.
"Nora,"
"Leafy?” she said in breathless tones, going on bended knee and taking her hand. “Does it still pain you?"
"No,” she barely managed.
"Leafy, your prince..."
"I ... never want ... to ... see him ... again."
All pleasure drained from him. He frowned and exchanged a look with Miss Honora.
Agony laced the girl's eyes, and she tore her gaze from his and looked at her elder sister. He stared at Miss Moore, suspended over the precipice of his alarm.
"Surely you do not mean that. His lordship loves you."
"I will marry him."
"What?” Honora said, casting a quick glance at the Viscount.
His heart started again and raced.
"If..."
"If what, Leafy?"
"If...” She lifted a weak hand and gestured Honora closer. She whispered into her ear. Honora repeated her words out loud.
"If he would let me continue all of my activities. If he knew about this though, he would not. He would most likely kill the man who did this to me, who got away, and I would stop loving my dear Benjamin."
The Viscount straightened tight as a bow. He strode out of the room. He was pacing in the corridor when Honora came to him.
"Miss Honora, this is intolerable."
"You have to pretend not to know, my lord."
"Why?"
He frowned but argued no further.
"Do you wish to become my brother-in-law?"
"More than I wish for my next breath."
"Then you know what you have to do."
He didn't say another word knowing he could argue no further at this point. He was formulating a plan. He stayed a few more days until he knew Miss Moore was well on the way to recovering.
He went home and spent most of his time locked in his private office, taking care of business he had neglected. In his moments of free time, he thought of her, and many possibilities of how to reach her crossed his mind. He knew he'd have to be bold, sensing that mer
e polite inquiries would not win her hand. She was the most unusual woman he had ever known, and she was worth what he would have to do to make her see reason.
* * * *
He saw her at tea at the home of a mutual acquaintance after a week of intense work and thought that had ensued. Not knowing she would be there, his heart leapt with surprised joy. She looked well! His beloved had come through without a relapse. He said a prayer of thanks.
Honora was leading her gently by the elbow at this lawn party. She was dressed elegantly as usual and to him was still the most beautiful woman there. Many people graced her with smiles, delighted to see her amongst their ranks again. Lord Cheltham heard comments here and there about how fortunate it was she had only suffered a superficial injury. She told everyone that she had been visiting relatives recuperating from a flesh wound.
The Viscount looked across the table at her, not hiding the love he felt. She closed her eyes a moment, and then turned away.
What are you thinking, my love? Uncertainty disturbed him.
Later, on the lawn, he crossed over to her. She gave him a snub.
Startled, but determined, he walked around and faced her. He would not give up so easily, not with the most important issue that ever concerned him in his life. “Miss Moore."
"My lord, I would appreciate if you would take care to harass me no further. I have had my fill of obsessed fanatics. I fear I can no longer tolerate your attentions."
Deep frustration exploded in him, and he forgot who he was and where he was for the moment. Primitive intention took over. “Damn it, Relief! How can you say such things to me? An obsessed fanatic? My God, I am no such thing!"
"You are no better than the man who stole my uncle's diamond."
He took in a full, deliberate breath. “Do not do this to me."
"You will not dictate my life to me, sir!"
"I will protect you, Relief, whether you like it or not!"
"Go away! I do not want to be protected! I am not helpless!” she exclaimed and rushed across the lawn toward her carriage. Her white horse neighed when she laid a hand on its mane and petted it.
He raked his fingers through his hair and paced, deciding to take this to the next level.
He saw her again in public in front of a shop with her sister, Mrs. Miller and a couple of lady friends and again attempted to reason with her.
"Leave me be, leave me be!"
An older woman approached the Viscount.
"My lord, is there a problem?"
"I demand to speak with Miss Moore!"
"My lord, she does not wish for your attentions."
"Too damn bad!"
I'm losing control.
A frightened shiver ran the length of him, but he had to continue down this path or he'd never forgive himself for his lack of courage.
The ladies gasped.
"You may be nobility, my lord, but there are laws against accosting an innocent woman!"
He turned to this elder protector of Miss Moore with his hands fisted. “Accosting madam? I am doing no such thing!"
Tears glistened in Miss Moore's blue eyes. Her friends looked at her with pity.
"My dear Miss Moore, do you want him here?” the elder lady asked.
She shook her head.
Lord Cheltham turned to her and his anger softened.
"Relief, my love, we should discuss this. Please, darling. Come with me. We need to talk. I promise to keep an open mind and hear you out. I swear to consider your point of view in the most profoundly earnest way. I will not dismiss a single word out of hand. What do I have to do to win your hand? When you disappeared, I went crazy. I cannot possibly have a future without you. I will protect you with my life because your life is worth more to me than my own."
Several of the women standing nearby developed tears in their eyes.
Teardrops rolled down Relief's pretty face. She gazed upon his face.
"I do not wish to be protected,” she said softly.
He touched her arm, desperate to change her mind. It was eating him up alive. He found himself gripping the velvet of her sleeve and relaxed his fingers.
"I admire a man of courage,” she muttered. “A man who pursues with his heart and soul what he believes to be right, a man who can match the fire that burns within me."
Was that a personal compliment? His lips formed a smile, and warmth spread through him.
"If you were another man, I'd have Raphael teach you some courtesy. However, it's you, and I—” She blushed, took a deep breath, and then continued. “My lord, there is to be a ball at Lord Whittingham's home shortly."
"Yes, I have received the invitation.” He brought his hand to his side.
"He has apologized to Honora and me. He has gone to great lengths to express his regrets at upsetting her the night of the dinner. Honora has decided to give him another chance."
The Viscount smiled. “You and your charming sister are going to attend the ball?"
"Yes."
"I will too then. If he has satisfied your sense of honor, I will welcome him as my friend once again."
"You ended it, over one comment he made about me?"
"Yes. We were in short coats at Eton together. We were small boys when we met, but I would have dismissed him from my life permanently if he had not retracted his insult to you."
"I will see you at the ball, my lord. Dress well, maybe wear a touch of ivory?” She quirked one brow up a notch, playfully.
His heart lurched. She saluted him. He walked away, smiling and then he chuckled. Raphael must have taught her that, for it was a boyish thing to do. The delightful little lad was always brightening people's day with that gesture and his winsome smile.
* * * *
He was hiding around a dark corner, waiting. Finally he heard the pounding of steps heading his way. Raphael was running, chasing a criminal in the night. Something was wrong with his friend. He had seen the young lad do back-flips and land in front of his prey, shocking them and then overtaking them before. Raphael wasn't doing this now. His running seemed labored.
Lord Cheltham jumped out, surprising them both. They stopped suddenly and stared at him.
"Come on man!” He shouted, taking a wide stance, fists drawn, left hand close to his body, right one extended. He threw a downward left hook and several more punches in the air with amazing speed, displaying his excellent skill and technique. The heavy-set man struggled to catch his breath and looked from Raphael to Lord Cheltham nervously. Raphael crossed his arms and stood back, grinning. He glowed with amusement. Then he gestured to his friend. Lord Cheltham nodded and stepped forward.
"Wait!” Raphael shouted.
They turned and looked at him. He pulled a short blade out of its leather sheath at his side. He walked up to the big man and gave it to him, then promptly stepped back. The large man's eyes grew wide.
"So you will be evenly matched with my friend. He can fight, you dirt-bag. Cheltham, show that you are worthy of that arrogance you carry around so well."
Lord Cheltham grinned and attacked the brick-wall of a man who outweighed him by at least half a small horse. Lord Cheltham roared a battle cry, swung with his entire weight behind the punch. The man went flying, back four feet, scrambled to his feet and charged him. He grabbed him by the waist, running. Lord Cheltham fell to the ground with a heavy thump and coughed. His adversary slashed with his blade. He kneed the man in the groin and rolled away. The criminal came at him again and managed to slice across his leg. Stinging fire ripped over his flesh. He spun around and hit the man in the jaw with his palm—a very Asian-type fighting move that Raphael had taught him. Lord Cheltham stood back, bleeding from the leg, panting, and looking down at the unmoving man. He wiped his brow with the back of his arm.
"That was exhilarating, Raphael. What was he guilty of?"
Raphael laughed. “You don't know?"
"No, how could I, lad?"
"But you knocked him out cold!"
"If you were
going after him, he was a bad man."
"You have a lot of faith in me."
"Of course,” he answered.
"He attempted to take a child, a pretty little girl, surely to sell her into prostitution. Thank the Lord I stopped him. I shall report on his whereabouts and have him taken in. He should be laying there for another..."
"Thirty minutes or so. I will accompany you."
"How's your leg?"
"It barely hurts.” Blood was seeping out.
Raphael bent to look. Lord Cheltham stopped him with his hand.
"No, boy, ‘Tis not necessary."
"As you wish. Relief would be proud."
"Oh?"
"Yes, you are becoming the hero of which she dreams."
He turned to face Raphael as hope seared through his spirit. “Dear God, I must make her my wife."
"She doesn't want your protection."
"Why? Does she not have faith in me? Does she not believe in my abilities?"
"That's not the case. She does not want to feel helpless. The thought terrifies her."
"Now we are getting somewhere."
"She wants a hero who will stand up and protect other people, but not her. She feels that it is imperative that she has a sense of independence. Does that make sense?"
"I have never heard of any woman in the history of women wanting this."
"She has her reasons."
"I swear that I won't permit her to be hurt ever again."
"If she cannot protect herself, then she's going to be doing the waltz with Old Mr. Grim."
"I will never allow that to happen, I promise you!"
"You cannot guarantee that. Besides she has said that it would be an ugly feeling placing one's survival in another's hands."
"But she's a woman!"
"Get over your low viewpoint of women, sir!"
"I do not look down upon her or other women!"
"I teach her how to defend. She will be fine."
"It's my job to protect her!"
"It's her own damn job, damn it!"