Page 12 of The Lost Lord
“Not even Richie, as a little boy?” she asked.
Richard lifted on shoulder. “No one ever cared enough to give me one, I suppose. My older brother called me Itchy when we were young. He was barely two when I was born and could hardly pronounce my name.”
Miriam snorted a laugh. Her hands flew to her lips. Horror washed through her. What must he think?
Richard laughed too. Relief washed through her as bracing as a winter wind off the Hudson River.
“Rich?” Miriam tried the name on for size and decided that she didn’t like it.
“Inapt, for I am as poor as a church mouse.”
“Oh.” Miriam had no idea what to say to this revelation. She had never been poor. She could not imagine the first thing about her life if she did not have ample resources to pay for her lodgings, for fine gowns, for a full-time trained nurse and the best physicians in America, along with visits to the seaside whenever her health took a turn for the delicate. Physical labor was not an option. It would kill her in short order if she attempted it. Even with the agreeable sea air, splashing about in shallow water had stolen her breath. What would it be like to lose her fortune and her family in a single stroke of bad luck?
They stood there in the shadows of the party, watching.
“Do you like working?” Miriam asked, inanely.
“I find that I do, actually. It was not until I came to America that I learned to value physical exertion. In England the upper-class scorn labor, generally. Unfairly, as I am starting to understand,” he responded after a moment. She liked his thoughtfulness.
“I work for my father sometimes. Small things, like researching investments.” Miriam did not mention the substantial pile of money that she had amassed by investing her own money. Her one act of rebellion had been to open an account in the name of Marshall Walsh, which she held independently, with her father’s approval and occasional assistance. “Things that don’t trigger my asthma.”
“Is it difficult, living with a delicate condition?” Richard asked.
The last thing Miriam wanted was his pity. “It’s nothing if I manage it. I can’t exercise to any great extent. Overtaxing myself always triggers an episode. It is worse in the late summer and fall, which is why I spend so much time at the seaside. That and of course it is so wonderfully pleasant here.”
“It is, truly. I had not expected such a wild place.” Richard remarked. He sounded genuine.
“Are the rumors true? Did your brother send you into exile?” The question burst out of Miriam. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’ve overstepped. I am unable to fathom such a thing. How could a sibling do that to his own brother? I would have loved to have a sister or brother while growing up…”
Miriam trailed off as Richard cupped her chin. He gazed down into her eyes for a long minute. She found there a sadness that chilled her heart.
“It is true.”
“Why?” Miriam whispered. A whisper of fear sang through her nerves. She did not know this man and had little experience with men outside of her father and his rough set of business partners or the over-mannered wealthy denizens of New York. Lizzie’s people.
“Because I killed my own father,” Richard replied.
Miriam swallowed. He saw it and smiled, not kindly. Like a wolf hunting prey.
“I am a very bad man, Miriam. If I were you, I would run very, very far away from me, starting right now. Because if you don’t leave now, I am not going to be able to resist kissing you. Consider yourself warned.”
Miriam didn’t move a muscle. Instead, she licked her lips in anticipation.
When he bent his head to hers, he smelled of shaving soap and spice. His touch was feather-light, the mere brush of his lips against hers. He was waiting for her to bolt. Miriam did not wait for him to take charge. Her hands reached up to entwine in his thick, dark hair. Richard’s skin was smooth against hers as she pressed her lips artlessly to his.
It was her first kiss, and he made it perfect. Richard’s arm encircled her waist, drawing her close against his hard body. He pulled her closer than Miriam had ever been held by any man, and for a moment the unfamiliar contact made her stiffen.
“Should I stop?” he murmured against her cheek.
“No. Continue, please.” After all, Miriam might never have another opportunity to feel breathless and eager as her breasts brushed his shirt. Lord Northcote’s trousers whispered against the fine fabric of her skirts. The world retreated into a magical cocoon with only room for the two of them and the night air.
Her first adventure with love felt heady and wonderful. When he shifted his hips and led her into a hazy, shifting dance beneath the stars, kissing languorously all the while, Miriam relaxed against his broad, strong body. Ocean waves thundered in the distance. Music floated on air from the balcony above. By the time the last note had faded into silence, they were as entwined as two people could be with their clothing still more or less in place.
Despite his warning that he was a bad man, Richard’s touch was utterly gentle, leaving Miriam desperate for more. She parted her lips and experienced a shock of wanton desire as Richard’s tongue invaded her mouth. Miriam reveled in the kiss, exploring the sensual play of his tongue, inhaling his breath and the warmth of his skin as they swayed gently in the moonlight. Miriam had never felt this delirious. She had hardly touched the wine. She was not drunk on anything but the presence of one impoverished English aristocrat who claimed to be very bad, but who felt wonderful indeed.
“I wish this could go on until morning,” he finally said hoarsely. “But the party is ending. You will be missed. I must return you to your people.”
“Mrs. Kent will be terrified,” Miriam acknowledged with breathless embarrassment.
