“What?” She was obviously stunned, but she had begun to smile. “Do you know what an absurd thing it is you have just said to me, when you, my lord, are the adventurer? Or am I mistaken and ‘tis someone else who is holding me captive and insisting on a kiss before I am to be released?”
“Well,” he said, feeling amused once more, for she was very right, “that is a very different thing entirely for if you do not know already, I promise you that though I am an adventurer, you may trust me.”
She laughed anew.
“Upon my honor,” he continued. “‘Tis true. You may inquire of my friends and acquaintances and only one answer will return to you—Kelthorne is a man of his word. I do not hesitate to say that there are a hundred more who would have used you very ill in this moment.”
She laughed more heartily still, or at least as well as she was able given how tightly he held her. “Yet, you hold me in your arms quite against my will. Besides, have you not the smallest notion, my lord, as to the wretched extent of your reputation?”
“As to that,” he returned piously. “I have never injured an innocent nor advanced my interest beyond the desires of the lady.” He lifted a brow.
“I hardly know what to say. You seem to abide by your own peculiar code of conduct. And since you are profoundly stronger than I, and I have grown fatigued, there is nothing left, I suppose, but to allow you the kiss you are so insistent upon having.”
“Much better,” he said, feeling very pleased with her acquiescence. He lessened his grip.
“I only beg that you will be quick about the business. My, er, uncle will be missing me sorely.”
Kelthorne glanced about the ground. “Will he be overset that you have failed in your object of collecting my apples for his kitchen?”
“Abominably so. He will probably beat me.”
He laughed. “Yet I do not sense the smallest fear in you on that score. What are you about, miss?”
“If I tell you, will you permit me to depart in peace?”
“Without a kiss?” he asked.
“Aye.”
He shook his head. “I would rather have my kiss than a hundred confessions.”
She sighed heavily. “Then have done with it.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head back so that once more the moonlight grazed her face.
He withheld another surprised gasp for he vowed even in London, whether consorting with the pretty in the drawing rooms of Mayfair or with the petticoat brigade in the East End, he had never seen such a beautiful woman. He wondered precisely how old she was. Glancing at her youthful manner of presenting her lips for kissing, puckered as they were, he rather thought she was quite young as well as lacking in any significant experience, twenty at least, perhaps one or two, but not much more.
Well, after tonight, he hoped she would have a new measure by which to judge all future kisses. He slid his hand behind her neck and leaned very close. Although, if she thought he would kiss a pair of lips that presently resembled a prune, she was greatly mistaken. As he readied himself he could only imagine what her thoughts might be.
*** *** ***
Judith did not comprehend in the least why he did not tend to business. She waited and waited and was about to demand that he take what it was he required, when she suddenly felt an odd whisper of air on her cheek followed by a very tender kiss in the same spot. She ceased pursing her lips and would have inquired what he was doing, but another whisper of air touched her cheek along with another kiss. A shiver raced from her ear down her side and her breath caught again. A series of such airy whispers and kisses followed until it was as though a continuous stream of shivers slid over her neck and side, sometimes even down her right leg.
She began to smile, for the whole experience seemed rather silly and yet exceedingly pleasing. What a strange man Kelthorne was. She wondered if this was how a rogue tended to his victims. She should have objected, but she could not seem to open her throat to begin a protest. When, however, the little puffs of air and small kisses reached her ear, her smiles gave way to a string of gasps. What on earth was the fellow doing?
She lifted her hand and caught his arm awkwardly, trying to fend off this strange new assault but he took her hand in his and held it firmly cradled against his arm. Again, she felt the need to protest, but she found she could not form a single word on her lips. She felt confused, every rational thought obliterated by whispers of air. Really, it was quite extraordinary.
An odd sound trembled in her throat, but still no words emerged to halt the rogue in his progress, for now he was kissing her neck and whispering air over it all at the same time. More shivers, lightning-like this time, raced one after the other down her back.
“Kelthorne,” she finally managed, but so hoarsely she sounded liked a frog. Whatever he was about, he should most definitely cease at once.
Her use of his name had an effect. The whispery air ceased, but without warning his mouth was on hers, very hard and deliberate, so different from all the other migrating kisses. At the same time, he released her hand and she found she was grateful that he was still holding her tightly, now about the waist, for both her arms simply dangled at her sides. Her head drifted backward as if she were floating in a dream and his lips followed. She was as limp as a doll made of knotted rags.
After a very long moment, the kiss ended and he drew back ever so slightly, still holding her fast, one arm still firmly about her waist, the other holding her back. She found she was now staring up between the leaves of the trees. Ethereal clouds drifted beyond the leaves, teasing the moon.
“I believe I should keep you chained to my bed,” she said. She blinked once, then twice. Her head cleared and panic rolled through her. Oh, dearest Lord in heaven. Had she actually spoken these words aloud? She had thought them, of course, but had she indeed let them pass her lips?
His abrupt laughter bespoke the truth and as he drew her toward him so that she was once more upright and looking into his eyes, she felt a hot blush instantly suffuse her entire face. What must he think of her?
“I am so sorry,” she said. “To have said such a thing—! I never meant…that is, I should never think to do anything so...that is, I cannot imagine why I said such a…and of course I do not have any chains at all.”
She gasped anew. She was reminded of digging deep pits, deeper and deeper.
Kelthorne began to laugh, throwing his head back. “What a darling you are,” he said, gathering her up once more. “And I should let you keep me chained to your bed, at least part of each day.” His smile nearly made her swoon. So this was what it was to be seduced by a rogue. How dreadful. How dreadful and how wonderful all at the same time. No wonder innocent maids, if they were not very careful, could be persuaded to relinquish what should only be given in matrimony.
She spoke rapidly. “No, no. Pray forget that I said such a wicked thing. I did not mean to. I spoke my thoughts aloud and never should have done so for I fear I will have given you such notions of me. But I promise you, my lord, I am not such a female.”
“In that I believe you either to be greatly mistaken or you are telling a monstrous whisker. Regardless, you shall not hear a single reproach from me. Your apologies are completely and utterly rejected.”
At that Judith stiffened. She could see that Kelthorne meant to continue as he had begun. She had to bring this unfortunate conversation to an end. “I beg you will release me as you promised. You told me earlier I could trust you. Will you now make a mockery of your honor?”
“Tell me your name first.”
She hesitated, but saw little harm in it. “Judith.”
“Well, Judith, go home to your uncle, only do not imagine for a moment that I shall rest until I have found you again. I fully intend to make you a gift of the chains you say you do not have in your possession.”
“How vile you are,” she said.
He merely laughed in response, but he was as good as his word and finally let her go. Judith turned and hurried away.
“Until we meet again,” he called after her.
She ran into the woods, not looking back as he began calling his dog.
She had not advanced far, however, when she remembered her shawl, her hat, and the apples. She stopped and returned to the edge of the beech wood where she could not be seen. She saw the earl walking his horse slowly in the direction of the town.
“Kelthorne,” she murmured, her fingers touching her lips quite unwittingly.
Rufus bounded along beside the now trotting horse. She remained watching him for several minutes until he disappeared into the lane that led to the castle. She glanced up at the turreted outer wall visible in the moonlight, wondering what it was like to live in such an evocative dwelling.
The castle stood in strong relief, outlined by a bright moon, which now descended over the Bristol Channel not a mile from the vale. The breeze freshened from the west and the smell of the sea was strong in her nostrils. She felt changed and frightened. The awful truth came to her that a rogue had breached the careful order of her world.
Long after he had disappeared, Judith at last ventured slowly back into the orchard. She recovered her hat and shawl but retrieved only two of the apples. One of them she would give to Charles for she still needed proof that she had accomplished at least a portion of the dare. The other she meant to keep for herself as a memento. The remaining fruit, however, she left in the orchard. She simply could not bring herself to take it.
*** *** ***
Laurence sat on a sofa in the billiard room, squinting his eyes at Kelthorne. “Was she very beautiful?” he asked. His speech was slurred, his eyes red-rimmed and he waved a brandy snifter about as though it were a flag. “And I wish you would stop moving about. You’re making me dizzy.”
Aubrey Watchfield, fourth Earl of Kelthorne, had been standing in one spot the entire time he revealed his most recent encounter with his Judith. He pointed his cue at his friend. “Just how foxed are you?”
“Excessively, but not so very much that I should be disinclined to hear about this apple-lady of yours.”
Kelthorne sighed leaning the cue on the edge of the pool table, preparing for his first shot. “She was exquisite. I have never seen the like in all my days.”
“That is saying something, indeed.” He weaved and squinted his eyes anew.
Laurence Doulting, had been Kelthorne’s closest friend since time out of mind. He was a man of intelligence, a great deal of humor, and in possession of an interesting face. He was broad in the cheek, upon which a few freckles had chosen to make their home, had a somewhat pointed chin, and an excellent smile. He also had a great deal of curly brown hair which, it appeared to Kelthorne, he had been pulling at for his locks looked like a cloud about his head. His shirt points had wilted and his coat had been removed as well as his shoes. The big toe on his left foot stuck out of a hole in his black stocking.
Pulling at his hair again, he asked, “Did you kiss her?”
Kelthorne chuckled and moved about the table in search of a better position from which to break up the neatly grouped balls. “That is none of your concern,” he stated firmly.
“How is this?” his friend inquired, clearly surprised. “You always tell me of your conquests.”
“Well, not on this occasion.”
“That is quite sin…gu…lar,” he said, leaning back and stretching out his legs. “Good God, I must be foxed. Could hardly get that word out. And you. Why must you be moving about in that manner? And why are there two of you?”
“Good God, Laurence, I have only been absent an hour or two. How much brandy have you imbibed since I left?”
Before Laurence could answer, Rufus appeared in the doorway then bounded over to him. Kelthorne rubbed his ears. “Was your trip to the kitchens successful?”
Rufus sat back on his haunches and panted happily, staring up at him in his adoring manner. The presence of his dog put him forcibly in mind of Judith sitting on the ground and rubbing his ears.
Yes, Judith. He liked knowing her name and hearing it in his head. He liked that she had treated Rufus so sweetly when he had so disobligingly knocked her to the ground.
“I have only had a bottle,” Laurence finally responded. “Well, not the entire bottle but a great deal of it. I hope you do not mean to complain. For, if you must know, I find I am quite miserable tonight. Wretchedly so. The lowest wretch on earth.” He sighed heavily and sipped his brandy once more.
Kelthorne patted Rufus on the head and attended once more to the pool table. He bent over slightly, aligned his shot, and scattered the balls. “You do this every summer, you know, despite how attentive I am to you. I had thought we would finally escape your melancholia this year.”
“But you do not understand. You never did. Fanny was my entire world.”
“That was fifteen years ago,” Kelthorne stated reasonably. “You cannot possibly still be in love with her. Besides, she has no doubt given birth to a dozen brats, orders her husband about like a slave, and I am convinced she speaks in a shrill voice even when tending her babes.”
Laurence reclined carefully on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, balancing the snifter on his chest. “You are probably right and perhaps my love is not so passionate as it once was. I can’t even remember the precise shade of her hair though I believe it was a very light brown, though sometimes blond in the summer months.” His words were still abominably lazy. “But her marriage serves to remind me of my lot, that I am still, and forever shall be, the eldest son of an impoverished vicar—no property, no prospects, no profession, no chance at love. Fanny loved me, but she married the squire’s son. He had prospects.” He frowned. “But the devil of a temper. I have always wondered how my poor Fanny fared.”
“Undoubtedly very well since I am persuaded she is become a fishwife.”
“You are horridly cruel to my memories. I refuse to listen to you anymore.”
“Have you written an ode in her honor yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“How many do you have in your possession now? You must have enough for a volume. Perhaps you should see them published.”
“I do not have sufficient genius to be in print. I have always known it.”
Kelthorne moved around the table, ordering his shots once more. “But I hope you do not mean to despair of love.”
“I have never despaired of love,” Laurence responded. “But I have despaired of marrying for love, or marrying at all. You, on the other hand, will probably be wed before the year is out.”
“So it would seem.”
Kelthorne had known Laurence since schooldays at Eton. He was the eldest of seven children and wholly lacking in ambition. He was a mixture of romanticism and pragmatism and the best friend a fellow could ever have. His sole interest was in the poetry he wrote and since Kelthorne rarely had the privilege of reading Laurence’s scribblings, he had not the smallest notion whether or not he was a man of talent.
Together, they had had many adventures; all of which had come to an end in recent months when the death of Kelthorne’s uncle had forced him to take up his new life as heir to an earldom. Laurence had borne the change nobly, but he did seem more inclined of late to empty whichever bottle happened to be at his elbow. Laurence was not happy.
As Kelthorne slung his cue again and cracked as many billiard balls as he could, he smiled. “You may be easy, you know, since both Radsbury and Newnott are coming with my sister. Radsbury, at the very least, will be content to lose at least a hundred pounds at cards or even hazard. He is equally fond of both.”
“Don’t know what the deuce your sister was thinking in marrying the old goat. Good God, Radsbury must be twenty years her senior.”
“You are too severe,” Aubrey stated. “Rad dotes on Mary. He is a good husband to her.”
Laurence shuddered and his eyelids drooped. “Do you know that his teeth are made of rhinoceros tusk? I can only imagine what it must be like to kiss him. How does Mary bear it?”
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“Just as a viscountess should, I imagine.”
“I would never marry to get a handle to my name.”
Kelthorne glanced at him and smiled. He was very foxed, indeed. “No, I do not think you would. Nor do I think you could.”
Laurence turned to squint at him again. “You know very well what I mean. I mean if I were a female.”
“Of course.”
Laurence lifted his brows. “All I know is that Mary was deuced pretty when she was young. Now she has a pinch between her brows which never goes away.”
“She has five daughters,” he said, moving around the table as he spoke, striking ball after ball with his cue. “The eldest thirteen and the youngest nine, all of whom she intends to marry off to wealthy young men. And as for her three sons—and did I tell you she is increasing again—she spends every waking moment cultivating her connections and planning for each of their futures. Stephen will inherit, of course; Marcus is for the church; Sylvester apparently shows all the proper qualities to make a most excellent solicitor though he is but four. And as for this next brat, should the darling prove to be a boy, I would expect him to be born with a sword in his hand.”
“I am grown fatigued from listening to your story. Though I must say it is no wonder she has the look of a merchant on market day. I would advise her to stop kissing Lord Goat.”
“You may tell her yourself when she arrives in a sennight’s time.”
At that, and even in his state of inebriation, Laurence sat up quickly, if unevenly, and just barely kept the snifter from rolling off his chest. “They are coming so soon? When did you learn of it?”
“A few minutes ago. My sister’s letter has been waiting on my bedside table for three days, but I could not bring myself to open it until today.” He sighed heavily. “It would seem my sisters are bringing a young lady who I believe they hope will become my bride, a Miss Currivard, a very great heiress.”
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