by Laura Hogg
"And?” He opened his eyes.
"We were jumped from behind, both thumped on the head. When I awoke, I saw her, tied up. This big, ugly, smelly man, missing several teeth, was looking over her body as if she were a piece of meat."
He gripped her back, fury uncoiling in his belly. He wanted to dart out the door but had to hear more.
"He said he wanted to kill her, but he would allow her to live if she lured you to him. She refused. He picked me up under my arms and told me that I had better fetch you, or he was going to kill her slowly and painfully. As I jumped up and started running here, she was crying out and screaming, begging me with tears pouring from her eyes not to do it. I came straight here."
"Thank God you did!” He went to his gun case and pulled out a favorite weapon of his, an eighteenth century flintlock pistol embossed with wood and having metal grips. A friend had given it to him when he was living in America.
He dragged the sobbing Honora with him. “Lead me there."
"It's ... just...” she gasped for breath, “...down the road. No need ... to drive."
Honora's tears ceased and she lifted her skirts so they wouldn't hinder her swift steps. Dusk was upon them, the sky gray in the falling shadows, and there was a chill in the air. He marched alongside her, the pistol under the folded jacket which hung over his arm. He was prepared to shoot to kill, barely suppressing his rage.
They hit a main road and advanced down it quickly. A commotion up ahead caught his attention. Carriages were blocking the path.
He swore and gripped the pistol tighter.
"Devil take it! Time is wasting!"
Deeply vexed, he weaved around several citizens who were staring at something with traumatized expressions. Ladies held their hands over their mouths. A couple had their faces buried against the chests of their men. A gentleman frowned and held his hands out, keeping two women behind them. A heavy man with straggly hair falling along a dirty face, dressed in tattered, soiled clothes grasped Relief tightly from behind, one hand across her waist, and one with a pistol pointed to her head. She heaved and gulped for breaths between sobs. She shivered in the cold evening air.
Her eyes found his. “I love you! Help me!” She reached a hand out to him.
He stepped closer.
"Uh! No!” her captor shouted. “Stay back, yer lordship, unless you want ‘er dead at yer feet!"
He froze, trembling, terrified. “Good God, let her go!"
"Nay, she needs to die. Killin’ ‘er will be quite amusing!"
He was going to lose her.
Lord Cheltham stumbled, his heart pounding, his head spinning. “No, oh, God, no.” He moaned.
His world was about to be darkened forever. He'd never been so scared in his life, not even when the pistol was pointed at him—that day Raphael rescued him from the highwayman.
She rescued him.
He inhaled deeply. The shock of seeing her so helpless gripped him with disbelief. Willing to do anything to save her, even take the man's weapon off her for a second, and receive the bullet as he shot the man, he broke through the crowd and aimed his weapon. Relief's captor, to his surprise, did not turn the gun on him.
"Release my wife, and I won't shoot a hole through the center of your head,” he said with deadly calm.
"Shoot me,” he said in a gruff voice, “and your wife will die, too."
"It's me you want, you coward. Be a man and let the lady go. We will settle this like men."
The criminal scoffed. “Yer a coddled nobleman. Ye know nothing of honor, of protection, of real life in the real world!” He scowled. “Now, I'm a man who knows how to use my hands.” He shrugged. “To the devil with it, I'll beat ye ta death.” He spit onto the dirt. “What ‘av I got ‘a lose? I'm wanted for murder. ‘Ight as well get a li'l pleasure ‘for I go to my hangin.’”
"He escaped, my lord!” Relief shouted.
"Put down the gun and prove you can handle a soft nobleman like me."
"Ye have a deal, Viscount."
He lowered his weapon, and so did Lord Cheltham. The big, ugly one shoved Relief hard to the side. She fell into the dirt, and Honora rushed to her side in comfort. Lord Cheltham attacked Relief's abductor. They fought until both of them had spilled blood. Finally, Lord Cheltham got the upper hand and knocked his opponent to the ground, bewildering him. The man's eyes closed, and his head rolled to the side.
He looked down on him with pure disgust. “It will be a hanging for you."
The crowd cheered.
He went to Relief, and crouched down near to where she sat, taking her hand in his. He pulled her into a tight embrace.
"Oh, Relief! My love!” He plopped onto the ground pulling her sideways onto his lap.
She gripped him close as if for dear life, muttering against his ear, wetting his neck and hair with her tears. “I failed ... I ... I failed."
"No, no, sweetheart. Don't say that. Shh. I love you so much. Let me be your protector."
She nodded. His heart leapt. He stroked her hair.
"If you hadn't come along..."
He brushed a wet strand from her face. “Let's not discuss this here.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Come home, love."
One respectable-looking man dressed in the clothes of a merchant stepped forth. “Lord Cheltham?"
He looked at him.
"I'll take him in. Bring your wife home and take care of her."
He nodded, stood, and held Relief close against his side as they walked in silence, the quiet Honora next to them, the crowd staring, tongue-tied.
It's finally over. His heart sang as they neared the crescent where his townhouse was. Now Relief will come home and be my wife.
The joy he felt at that moment almost overcame him. He stopped walking. Relief lifted loving, grateful eyes to him. “Benjamin?"
His lips turned up at the corners. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and brushed her pretty chin with his thumb but said nothing.
At home, in their chambers, he laid her on their bed, sat beside her, took a handkerchief from his pocket and ran it gently over her tear-stained cheeks. He looked into her sweet face.
It was almost as if she had never been such a good fighter.
"Relief.” He placed the back of his fingertips against her cheek. “I was frightened to the very depths of my being."
Something in her eyes changed. Was it fear he saw, of him? Alarms went off in his head.
"Oh, Benjamin, my failure almost cost us both our lives.” She looked away from him, as if ashamed.
His heart sped up. “Wife? What do you mean?"
"I was careless, and he took me from behind."
He sat back, and rested his hands on his thighs. “I have seen Raphael spin around and take out five men at close range. What happened, and do not tell me a lie. If I had not been so terrified, I might have been disappointed by your lack of...” he snapped twice, placed a finger under her chin, and forced her to look into his eyes. “...heroism. You are not a little mouse.” He clenched his jaw, coming to a realization.
"Benjamin, your manly reputation is spared."
He closed his eyes. “I knew it."
She sat up. “He was a hired man. The one who offered to take him in was also hired."
He opened his eyes, took in a deep breath, and stood up. “You did not really need me.” His heart sank to his feet. His shoulders fell in deep resignation.
She jumped up and went to him, grabbing his arm. He cast a glance at her hand.
"What do you want of me?"
"Benja ... Benjamin?” her voice cracked. “I did it for you!"
"You know, Lady Cheltham, we could always make our separation known to the world. I'll take a lover—"
"No! I love you!"
His heart burst with agony, and his eyes widened in incredulity. “You jest with me, madam."
"No, I do not! We will work this out!"
"How?” He ripped his arm from her grasp, spitting out the words. “A
re you going to stop fighting forever, and be a woman, Relief?"
Tears glistened in her eyes. “Benjamin, you don't understand. It's who I am."
"You sicken me."
She fell back onto the floor, landing on her bottom.
He left the room, vanquished. Ten minutes later, he saw Relief and Honora exit the front door and walk in the chilly night in the direction of their house.
* * * *
Relief paid him a visit at his home two days later. Her husband was practicing pugilism with a man she didn't know, the furniture pushed to the periphery of the large salon. Lord Cheltham stopped boxing and frowned at her.
"How was your shopping, my love?"
"Oh, it went very well, my lord.” She forced a smile. “May I have a private word with you in your office?"
He nodded, wiped his brow with his arm and led her to the other room. When they were alone, he stood and faced her. “Leave me be, madam."
"Benjamin, please!"
"You have no idea the terror I went through, Relief!” he exploded, his eyes burning.
"But I did it for you!"
He glared at her.
Her heart banged against her chest. She was losing him.
"Benjamin,” she took a step towards him, softening her voice, shaking with panic. “I can't tell you how sorry I am."
He didn't move. She raised trembling fingers, and set them against his cheek and leaned closer, slowly, preparing to give him that twelfth kiss. She lowered her gaze to his lips.
How many times had she dreamed of this very kiss, the one that would join them forever?
She brought her hand to his jaw and cupped it, lifting her gaze to his. “I'm so in love with you."
She lifted her hand and brought it to the back of his head and began to caress his hair. She parted her lips. He didn't move. His eyes broiled with passion, and his chest moved in quick breaths.
Was it still anger, or was it intense need she saw in his eyes? She did not know. Her heart would not slow down. Her hands would not stop shaking.
She brought her lips to his and felt the warmth of his breath. Their skin touched, and he took a giant step back and wrenched her arm away. Instant tears came to her eyes.
"Benjamin,” she said in a shaky voice, reaching across a few feet of air. “Husband—"
He held out his hand, palm facing her. He turned his head aside as if her presence revolted him. “Leave, now, madam. Go on another shopping trip. Be gone all day."
She dashed toward him and grabbed him around the chest in an embrace before he could stop her. She pressed her ear to his heart.
"Please, Benjamin! I beg you!"
He gripped her arms and yanked her away. She stumbled, caught herself, and stared into his eyes searching for any remote possibility that he could forgive her.
He stared back at her with unfathomable eyes. They darkened to the deepest gray, and he would not say a word. She pressed a hand to her sick stomach, almost fell over but recovered herself.
"Good day, my lord!” She ran out of there and out the front door, feeling like the world fell out from under her.
As soon as she entered her and Honora's little house, her sister was there to greet her. They embraced in the front entrance. Relief stepped back and gazed at Honora not really seeing anything.
"Honora, as soon as I find Lord Cheltham's real would-be killer, I am going to leave the country,” she informed her, feeling dead inside.
Honora pulled her into another hug. “No! Leafy, what are you saying?” Her voice came out like a scared little girl's.
"He has been pushed too hard, Honora. He no longer loves me, and I do not blame him one bit."
"Of course he loves you! My God, did you see his face during the ordeal, Leafy?” She pulled back and shook her roughly by the arms. “He was ready to be shot for you! He was inviting it, for the love of God, Leafy!"
Relief continued as if her sister hadn't spoken. “I have a secret savings, Honora. I am going to leave it to you. You could live off of it long enough to find a husband. Sell my wardrobe and you could survive for a couple of years."
"Leafy?” She went down on her knees and took her sister's hand, pleading. “Leafy, what are you trying to tell me? Tell me the truth!” There was panic in her voice.
"I'm trying to tell you that as soon as I find Lord Cheltham's pursuer, I am going to put myself in the most dangerous situations as often as I possibly can. I might as well go down in flames.” She inclined her head, and her lip quivered. “I don't want to live without him!” She burst out into a sob.
Honora stood and squeezed her close again. “Leafy, no!"
She sniffled and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her wrist. “I'm sorry, Honora. My mind is made up."
Honora stared at her, pale and speechless.
Relief read her eyes. “Do not worry, little one. I haven't found the villain yet. I'll be here for a little longer. You'll be fine. Perhaps we'll find you a husband before I have to go. And oh, if you're thinking of running to him about this, don't. Because if you do, I'll disappear tonight."
Honora let her go, and considered her with angry eyes. She turned, picked up her skirts, and ran up the stairs.
* * * *
Relief kept Honora carefully informed of every move she made, feeling sorry for the poor girl. She hoped this would ease her heart. Relief followed her husband, always looking for signs of the man who wanted him dead. For a week she saw nothing. Then during a cloudy afternoon, she saw a well-dressed man around fifty wearing a powdered wig. He was dressed in the old-fashioned clothes of an older generation with his stockings and buckled shoes. He was her man, the one she had fought before, and he was roaming around the streets of London like an arrogant bastard.
She crept up behind him as he aimed his pistol at her unsuspecting husband. When she tapped him on the shoulder, he spun around, and she shifted her feet and punched him in the face, dazing him. With the movement, her foot hit a pebble on the road, and she slipped back.
He saw his advantage and took it, taking the butt of his gun and ramming it against her head, saying, “This will be vastly more amusing."
Her eyes shut with blinding pain, and she collapsed into darkness.
* * * *
Honora rushed into Lord Cheltham's private office, hysterical. He jumped up from behind his large, polished desk.
"Miss Moore?” He frowned.
"My lord, you must help me!"
"What is it now?” he said with exasperation.
"He has her!"
Incredulity filled him, and he sat back down, shaking his head.
"My lord?"
"Go home, Honora."
"But, he has Leafy!” Tears streamed down her face.
"Really, enough of this nonsense!” He pressed his hand to his desk, irritated beyond measure.
She plunged toward his desk, and placed her own hands on the surface, breathing quickly. “I had her followed, my lord. She did not know. She was following you. My hired man reported back to me. Your pursuer was about to shoot you. She confronted him from behind. He turned around, and she tripped on something in the road. He hit her in the head, and she collapsed. He swept her up into his arms. As he carried her limp body away, he vowed to enjoy killing her as you watched, and then he would enjoy killing you. My hired man followed them. Please! Come with me!” She waved her hands like a madwoman in the air, hopping from foot to foot, as her sister had once done.
"You are exceedingly clever, as is your sister. Now excuse me. I have work to do."
"Devil take it, Lord Cheltham!” She marched over to his gun case, lifted the hem of her gown and wrapped it around her hand and broke the glass. She pulled out a gun.
He jumped up, astonished. “Where did they go?"
"Follow me!"
* * * *
The room smelt musty. Relief could see only with the ring of light around her, offered by a couple of candles on a small round table. The eeriness of the room made her shiver.
Her head throbbed, and she had to concentrate to bring back her focus. She moaned from her aching body.
Wretched and done for, she prayed for her husband. There's no way she could escape and save him, and she was terrified for him. And he would never come in search of her when Honora reported her missing.
Her kidnapper was staring at her, holding his gun by his side, looking quite content in the flickering candlelight.
"I saw a man following behind me as I brought you here. He ducked behind a tree, but he wasn't fast enough for my eye. I am sure your husband will be along shortly."
"No,” she said sadly and sincerely. “You must be mistaken. He won't come. He no longer loves me."
"I would not wager on that one, Mrs. Wright."
"Why do you want him dead? Who are you?"
"You ask too many questions."
"Please, sir. One cannot but understand that you are in the advantageous position. I must know."
"You really love him."
"Yes. You are related to him, are you not?"
He stood back and gave her a look of great surprise. “Why would you say that?"
"The family crest pin."
"Ah, when we tussled before. I know about your disguises. My late partner knew, too. He spied you going in your house as you and coming out as the boy, on numerous occasions."
"You are not related to my husband? You are not the uncle who fled the country?” she asked with great surprise.
"Indeed not, madam."
"Who are you? Or are you not man enough to tell me?"
He chuckled. “I'm—"he paused and gave her an extended look of consideration. “What the devil.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It goes back a little ways. Would you care to venture a guess?"
"Are you acquainted with a Lord Whittingham?"
"No."
"Are you obsessed with me and want him removed from my life?"
"That is not my motivation."
"Then what?"
"Keep guessing. This is amusing."
"You stole his family pin."
"From one of his uncles, yes. It threw you off-track, did it not?"
"Yes."
"Keep talking."
She looked up and to the side, thinking very heavily about the possibilities.
"You are one smart and incredible woman. I have no doubt that you will figure this out."