The 12th Kiss

by Laura Hogg

  She took a soft ribbon from her hair and tied it around his upper arm. He glanced down at the pink satin, as she formed it into a bow. Aware of her slender hands, he noted the tender way she took on this task. He inhaled sharply. She is with me. Her slow, deliberate movements betrayed her hesitation to withdraw her hands from his skin. He encouraged her to explore with a soft seductive glance, picturing her skimming his moist skin from shoulder to fingertips with a delicate dragging of her hand. I need you, Relief. I want to feel your intimate touch. Heat flushed through him.

  "What is this?” he asked in a hushed voice, considering her actions, his heart pounding, hoping he was correct in his assumption that she shared his need.

  She leaned to whisper to him. “Marry your demimonde, my lord."

  "You do have a temper.” Delight lit up his insides at her display of jealousy. A charming curl fell upon her lovely shoulder. He longed to touch the soft, creamy skin.

  She clenched her jaw then took in a long breath through her nose. “Indeed. I would be your lover before the wedding ceremony."

  "You do not wholly approve of me taking another as a wife?” Tell me, my darling!

  "I do not!” She closed her eyes a second, composing herself.

  "Then stop me."

  "I ... can't. But, Benjamin, I must—” her lip trembled. “I must know your love. We shall have to take precautions ... er ... against—” She blushed grandly, and pleasure enlivened him at the gloriously happy idea of her carrying his child.

  "Against becoming in a family way?” he finished her sentence, suppressing a smile. “Why would you want to be my lover?” Because you're deeply in love with me? Say it!

  "To make you pay."

  "I have done nothing. You are misguided, speaking with jealousy."

  "My lord,” she set her jaw and played with the strap of her reticule. “I will give you memories to haunt you until you die, and then I will leave London, permanently. You have hurt me."

  "You are absolutely, profoundly impossible, lady."

  "You have hurt my pride and broken my heart!” she decried.

  His lips parted, but no words came out.

  "Be my lover, Benjamin. I will surpass the wickedest of your fantasies, but I will never be your wife,” she said with a tone of vindictiveness.

  She wants revenge, I want her love, and maybe if we make love, I can make her see reason. Could I be so fortunate?

  He felt an intense shiver surge through his body compelling him to pull her into his arms and kiss her frantically. It seemed lightening had struck him, and he burned up. He kissed her as if he were dying and reaching for heaven. People in the room hooted and hollered. Lord Cheltham pulled away from her, feeling as though he would die, thrown into a fire.

  "I will take your offer, madam."

  "You will?"

  "Yes."

  "What has changed your mind?"

  "If there is no way you will ever marry me, then I care nothing for finding my downfall.” His eyes fell, and he shook his head. “May I go to the devil. My cousin can have my future estate. My parents like him better anyway. The most proper Marquess can make them proud, as I have never been able to do. Raphael and I could start going after the more dangerous criminals, a killer ought to be able to clear the way for my parents’ dearest nephew. I'll go down a hero, Relief.” He lifted his head and seared his love into her eyes. “Then at least you will remember me and wished you had married me."

  She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. She dropped a trembling hand, reached for his shoulder but let it fall instead. “No,” she said harshly.

  * * * *

  Honora looked over her sister to assure herself that she had done an absolutely perfect job of making her look like a goddess. She was dressed in a ravishing white, classical muslin trained ball dress with white glass beads embroidered all over the gown, a silky ivory collar and short, puffy sleeves with ivory silk to make the gown all the more glamorous. Her hair was up, decorated with sparkling jewels. She was a vision. She smiled, quite pleased with her professional results. She herself wore a pale primrose gown with ribbons under the breast and a fashionably low neckline framed by lace. She wore a thin gold circlet over her golden ringlets.

  "The word of the day is ‘inexpressibles,'” Relief said to Honora, in a soft voice, her posture, relaxed but correct. She used a dainty hand gesture, palm up, facing the ceiling, a wicked coy attitude behind her eyes.

  Then she held up her right hand and fisted it. She lowered her voice.

  "With this the lowlife received a nobber to the head. And with my flyers a swift kick in the nutmegs.” She sighed.

  "Honora, deal with me roundly. Am I mad for having such conflicting sides to my personality?"

  "Leafy, when you speak in Italian, do you keep in mind the cultural values that follow the language and support it?"

  "Yes, that is only appropriate. The values of a nation strongly influence the language."

  "So you would not use Spanish mannerisms or French folk tales when speaking the language of the Italians?"

  "Of course not, unless explaining them. Each culture should be respected."

  "You speak eight languages and each has its own set of cultural rules and history and expectations."

  "Yes."

  "You switch from one frame of thought to the next as you change languages."

  "Yes."

  "Is it not the same with human nature? Most people do have other sides to them, Leafy. It's what makes them interesting. Your sides are just more sharply defined."

  Leafy drew her into a hug, before they walked into the candlelit ballroom in the lovely mansion in Berkeley Square. There they heard graceful music from the strings of a Viennese orchestra. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Long tails, evening breeches of satin, silk stockings, waistcoats with fobs and seals, frosty white high cravats with glittering gemstone stick pins, close-fitting evening coats and shoes with diamond buckles were a ubiquitous occurrence among the gentlemen. The ladies sported gowns of various colors and styles, feathers, turbans, jewels, little silk shoes, or Roman sandals, and bronze kid gloves.

  The warm illumination of the candles cast a lush, sparkling glow to the whole of Relief's appearance. Hundreds of beads captured bits of light and reflected it back with every move she made. Several people looked over and stopped their conversations. She saw the Viscount halt his conversation with Lord Whittingham. Lord Cheltham slowly placed his wine-glass down and looked at Relief so blatantly passionate that she grabbed Honora's arm. He rubbed the side of his face, feet frozen to the spot where he stood. Lord Whittingham had attempted to gain his attention again but failed.

  Finally Lord Whittingham gave up and made his way to the sisters. He gave a slight bow as he greeted them. Taking one on each arm, he led them to a refreshment table, smiled, and then excused himself explaining, as the host, he must speak with all those present. Honora leaned and whispered to Relief.

  "Your prince, he's staring open-mouthed. I'll wager his mouth just went bone dry."

  When Relief did not answer, she stopped walking and took a careful look at her. Relief was also staring, at him.

  He looked as dignified as her heart could handle in his dark blue evening coat with a velvet collar and cuffs. His breeches were of the finest quality and were the color of the silk that adorned her dress.

  "My prince has overcome me,” she muttered so softly, that Honora almost did not hear her.

  "Sister, you are strange tonight. What is wrong? I know that something is terribly amiss."

  "Do not repine over me, my little Honora. Do what you came here to do."

  Honora nodded, looked around, and then disappeared. Relief quivered. She not only decided against approaching Lord Cheltham, she avoided him altogether. She could see his increasing frustration in his features as he caught the occasional glimpse of her across the large room. Every time he would make his way to her, she would disappear. He was making her crazy. She had to stay away from
him. Thoughts of surrendering wildly to him raced through her head over and over. Visions of their joining put her on the high-ropes all evening.

  Later, right before beginning the country dance, Honora gave her a serious look as if to say, “The mission is completed."

  Relief gave her a barely perceptible nod to acknowledge this. The couples lined up and danced, and the sisters hid their fears. Afterwards, Honora pulled Relief into the shadows of a corner of the room and whispered to her in the now eerie candlelight.

  "Leafy, we must make our exit as quickly as possible."

  "Honora yes. Concerning the other matter...” Her heart felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

  "Come Honora, we must go.” Deep disappointment cut into her. “But—"

  "I fear I cannot follow through with my original plan. I am afraid that we must leave London as soon as possible and never look back."

  Suddenly, to their apprehension, his voice broke across their whispers.

  "Ladies, may I have a private word with my soon-to-be bride?"

  They turned to look at him.

  "My lord—"

  "Miss Honora, would you please excuse us?"

  Honora nodded and walked away, looking at Relief, nervously. Relief gave her a reassuring look. When alone, she considered the Viscount.

  "My lord.” She forced a smile, her heart pounding in apprehension.

  "Oh please, be more intimate. You are American, and you are about to become my wife."

  She opened her mouth to protest. The poor fool.

  "Do not speak,” he cut her off. “You will listen to me, and you will obey."

  Anger filled her. She curled her fingers into little fists. She jutted out her chin in defiance and shifted it. He grinned.

  "You are terribly adorable, even when provoked to anger."

  "Lord Cheltham—"

  "I know about Raphael, who he really is."

  She grew cold. Oh God. “You ... you do?” Dizziness overcame her. She struggled not to show her anxiety. Her world was coming to an end.

  "Yes."

  She met his eyes, and her stomach churned with nausea. He stepped closer.

  "Sweet love,” he muttered. “Why have you never told me that he is your brother?"

  "My what?” She was taken off-stance. Appeasement gave her an easier breath. She stood on lighter feet, and tingled as elation over her still safe secret reassured her of her future as a crime-fighter.

  "My brother.” She grinned. “Ah yes, my brother.” She shrugged. “He asked me not to. It was his opinion that he could best protect me by keeping the secret."

  "Well, my dear. I will keep your secret. It pleases me to know that my closest friend is going to be my brother-in-law."

  "You arrogant, obstinate—"Anger rushed her.

  He put up his hand. “Enough, Relief. In the next ten minutes, you and I are going to announce our engagement to this room full of people."

  She spun away from him. He grabbed her arm and forced her to look at him.

  "Relief, do not be afraid. I will be exceptionally good to you. I will love you tenderly and with all the strength of my heart."

  Moisture came to her eyes. “That is not in my doubts, my lord.” I'm losing control.

  He frowned. “I feel intimate with you already, for some inexplicable reason. Call me Benjamin, as if we were in America."

  "My lord, I realize that you must have sustained a blow to the head and are currently ill. Maybe your brains were arranged out of order by the shuffling of your cradle, or perhaps it was all that boxing you do but please, listen to me carefully. We are not engaged. I can never marry you."

  "That's where you are wrong, Relief. You will be my wife within three weeks."

  Fifteen

  She closed her eyes. “You poor dear. You are crazy."

  "No, my love. I know that your dear sister, even as she sits on that bench looking around with poorly disguised fear is now carrying on her person a rather large pink diamond. I saw her exit the room momentarily, and I followed her."

  Fear flooded her body in a flash. She put her hand against the wall.

  "Benjamin, if you report this, she will—” She couldn't breathe.

  "Be harshly punished by the law, to be sure. I know."

  She collected herself. Reason with him.

  "It was stolen from our uncle. We are only going to return it to him. She ... she saw a note at the dinner party at which Lord Hawksworth dishonored me. Lord Whittingham's handwriting matched that of the note written by the thief. My sister is a master makeup artist.” The words flowed from her before she could stop them. Fear tightened her stomach painfully. She took a series of labored gasps then continued.

  "She was able to disguise herself as a house-servant and snoop around until she discovered how to get her hands on the diamond."

  The expression in his gray eyes seemed to cry his understanding, his sympathy for her cause. “My love, don't—” he hesitated, glanced down briefly, and then met her eyes again with pleading regret. His voice came out as a harsh whisper. “Don't force me to do what would kill me to do."

  She cupped her hands over her face, pondering what his words meant. If she didn't do as he asked, Honora's life would be over. She imagined her sister hanging for her capital crime or spending her life in prison. As Raphael, Relief had stood in a crowd and watched a boy being hung for stealing. Her anguish nearly overwhelmed her control. She lowered her trembling hands and behind eyes blurred with tears, broke the terrible silence between them with a desperation she had never known before.

  "Please, my lord, I beg you. Please, let us walk away.” She swooned, but caught her balance, holding out a hand to stay him as he reached for her. “If you truly love me, let us walk out of here. We will never bother you again. Your torment is over."

  His lips were parted, his arms by his side, his fingers extended, and distress on his face. He waited several seconds before answering. “You have three minutes before we announce our engagement."

  She blinked the tears away. “Benjamin, I can't.” You've made your views clear, and I know you won't be the neglectful husband, therefore, I can't marry you. I could never hide my adventures from you.

  "You can and you will. I know that you love me."

  "My lord..."

  "Therefore, Relief, you will become my wife."

  "This is extortion.” The air around her thickened and became darker.

  His eyes caressed her with tenderness. His stammering voice betrayed his regret. “I ... I am no barbarian, so dear love, I—"

  "I will never consummate the marriage.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  "I will not take you against your will."

  "You will never know my touch. Do you still insist on forcing me into marriage?” she snapped, then hissed between her teeth.

  He said with quiet, sad calm, “You will be my wife in three weeks.” He gazed at her as if his heart were broken. He stepped forward, lifting his hand in a gesture of consolation, or pleading—she did not know.

  His actions injure him. Good!

  "I should not wonder at it if you were to take Miss lavender dress as your mistress since I will never warm your bed.” She moved away, tensing her jaw.

  He shuddered. “Good God, no.” He reached and placed the back of his fingers on her cheek.

  "No, my darling, and I promise that you and I will not be lovers until you have kissed me twelve times, one for each of the months that I have been in love with you. You will have full control over the moment of our consummation. The twelfth kiss will be my signal that you are ready to share that with me, to come to me as my wife."

  "In that case, my lord, I will never go above the eleventh kiss.” She scanned this man, this beautiful man that she had fantasized about on many occasions, whom had driven her to distraction with lust, and a burning, intense anger seared through her. She gasped and brought her hand to her neck in an effort to get a grip on her boiling agony.

  "My kisses to yo
u do not count in this.” His anxious eyes lengthened the moment.

  She frowned, confused, and lowered her hand to her side.

  "I may give you thousands of them. I will melt your resolve with love that Shakespeare would be proud of.” He placed his hand over his heart, and his eyes spoke of his passionate resolve.

  Her knees weakened beneath her.

  I lost. Either Honora is dead, or I am.

  He reached and grabbed her arm to steady her. She yanked away from his grasp and glared at him as she recaptured her composure.

  "And, my love, I dare say you have already given me three."

  "I hate you, bas—” she hissed.

  He cut her off, hand up, palm facing her. “I am of noble birth,” he snapped, his brow crinkled with perturbation. “Try, Relief!” His hands came out in a gentle demand. “We can be so happy!"

  "An eleventh kiss is the best you could ever expect from me,” she said in a cold monotone, preparing to make his life hell. “Are you certain that you still want to force me into matrimony?” She licked her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, looked him head to toe with blatant, mocking sexuality, and slid the fingers of one hand slowly down her neck. “You will never have me."

  He shuddered and stared at his feet, fisting his hands, forcing out his breath. Seconds later, he brought his bold gaze back to meet hers. He shrugged. “So be it. But at least you'll be alive."

  A shot of tenderness took her by surprise, and she took a moment to recuperate from this unwanted, unexpected emotion.

  "And I'll have plenty of time to seduce you. You're not going to know what's hit you, Relief."

  Fresh anger rippled through her, and she quaked with it.

  "Come, my dear.” He reached out a hand.

  She glowered at it.

  He sighed. “We have a big announcement to make."

  "Go to the devil,” she spat under her breath, and then saw Honora glancing at them with wide, nervous eyes from fifteen feet away.

  Relief took his arm and pinched it before allowing him to escort her forward. He guided her to the front of the room where the musicians were playing, not hesitating as he made his way through the throng of people staring inquiringly at them. He stopped by the conductor and asked if he would pause for a moment. Everyone standing in the warm incandescence of the room stopped what they were doing and stared. Relief shook with fear and resentment, her mind racing with ways out of this mess.