The Promise

by V J Dunraven

  Jeremy released her mouth and stared at her with startled eyes.

  “D-did that hurt?” She certainly did not intend to murder it again.

  “No,” he breathed, sliding off her to lay on his side.

  “Let me show you.” He placed his hand over hers and wrapped her fingers around his member.

  She watched his lids flutter, a look of ecstasy on his face, as he guided her hand up and down his rigid length.

  “You like this.” She glanced down as she stroked him. Even now, after seeing it beforehand, she was still amazed at the size and girth of his sex—a terrifying notion indeed, if all those naughty books were to be believed. Surely, she couldn’t accommodate him—she just couldn’t see how it could be anatomically possible.

  A tiny drop of moisture beaded on the tip of his manhood. Without a thought, she scooted downwards and flicked her tongue on it.

  “Oh God, Cassie.” His breath hitched. “That felt so good. Do it again.”

  She ran her tongue on it again—twirling it slowly this time.

  “Kiss it,” he rasped, “the way you kissed me.”

  Cassandra could not quite understand what he meant, but she must have done the right thing because Jeremy suddenly tensed when she took him in her mouth—and pretended that his snake was his tongue.

  A moan that almost resembled a growl escaped from his lips and she found herself on her back, pinned beneath him. He pushed her legs apart with his knees. She would have been petrified if not for the tender look in his eyes as he settled himself over her body, the coarse hairs on his chest and legs tickling her skin.

  He returned his attention to her breasts, all the while rubbing the length of his sex against the triangle between her thighs. Cassandra felt a hot pool of wetness trickle into her feminine folds. She closed her eyes at the warmth and urgency that bloomed in her belly. Is this what desire feels like? A constant ache that will not go away—unless it is satisfied?

  “Ah, Cassie.” Jeremy shifted and slid downwards, trailing his warm tongue over her stomach, dipping into her belly button. “You’re intoxicating.” He moved further down.

  Cassandra stole a glance at his dark head. Surely, he was not headed for—

  He effortlessly pushed her knees up and spread her thighs wide. Cassandra would have jumped off the bed if not for her captive limbs. This could not be right—no one, not even her mother, had seen her privates since she was eight—and certainly not this close—it was lewd, abominable! “Jeremy—”

  “I want to see you.” He parted her cleft with his thumbs, his eyes glued to her—her—

  She struggled to cover herself. He brushed her hands away and to her mortification, touched her—there—with his tongue. Her soul must have somersaulted in the air—because that was how she felt like—except her body stayed right where it was—writhing on the bed. Good Lord, what was he doing down there? She shivered as pleasure lanced into her sex. He was licking her most intimate secret, torturing her with the power of a thousand feathers.

  She arched her spine and muffled a scream with the back of her hand. His wicked assault was sheer torment—but she wanted more—she didn’t want him to stop. A mixture of pleasure and agony escalated in her belly. She was hostage to his torture, begging for the gilded key to liberate her from its chains.

  “Tell me if this hurts,” he said, and she reluctantly peered down to see one long finger disappear into her woman’s flesh.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped, but her protest drowned in the delicious sensations playing inside her silken walls.

  “I’m pleasuring you,” he replied huskily. “Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” He inserted another finger into her sex, sliding in and out in a mesmerizing caress.

  Cassie lost her voice—and her senses—when his tongue joined his wicked fingers in exploring the recesses of her feminine cleft. Her legs turned into jelly and every inch of her skin prickled. She floated in and out of consciousness—like a drunken sailor swimming out to sea, unaware of certain death.

  Then, just when she thought she had sunk into the very depths of the ocean, he circled his tongue around the most sensitive part at the peak of her woman’s flesh. A burst of pleasure shot straight to her core and she threw her head wantonly from side to side. Her thighs quivered and her toes curled, every stroke of his tongue making her pant in excitement. For what or from what—she did not know—but when he drew that part of her cleft into his mouth and suckled it none too gently, lightning flashed before her eyes, sending a bolt of pleasure and pain, lust and desire, hot enough to make her scream. It was too much—way too much for her to bear. Her breathing escalated into large gulps of air and her delirium crested, then, like a blast of hot steam from a kettle, she broke the water’s surface.

  She slowly opened her eyes, her pulse racing, and found Jeremy smiling down at her. “W-what was that?” she asked breathlessly.

  “You had your release.” He kissed her forehead.

  “W-we copulated?” She looked down at his still massive erection.

  “Yes, but not all the way.” He cupped her breast and twirled her nipple with his thumb.

  “I-I don’t understand—”

  “You’re still a virgin.” He looked into her eyes.

  “You didn’t—?”

  “No.” His lashes fanned downwards and he looked away.

  “Why?” She cupped his chin and turned his face to her.

  He sobered into such a state of seriousness that she began to worry.

  “Marry me,” he said with such earnestness, crimping his dark brows with an expression that she could only read as that of insecurity—and fear.

  Jeremiah Devlin Huntington, the most notorious rake in all of England—looked utterly scared and vulnerable.

  Her heart skidded to a halt.

  “Please Cassie—will you marry me?” His face dissolved into such boyish fretfulness, that she had the sudden urge to shower his beautiful, beloved face all over with kisses.

  She traced the anxious line of his brow and kissed her favorite spot instead—the bridge of his perfect nose. “Yes.” She rested her forehead against his. “Yes!”

  Chapter 32

  The Day After

  Cassandra woke up to the bright sliver of sunlight on her face, peeking through the heavy draperies in the blue and white bedchamber. She shifted a little and gazed at the man sleeping next to her. He was on his stomach, a muscled arm draped possessively across her waist, his heavy breathing ruffling the hair on top of her head. His long black hair was tousled, thick locks hanging over his brow and cheek. She reached out and gently pushed the stray strands away with her forefinger so she could have a better look at his beloved face. He was in a deep slumber, his deep-set eyes moving slightly beneath his lids, his lush, long lashes fanning in dark crescents above his cheekbones, his mouth curved in a small smile, as if lost in a blissful dream. She lifted her lips and pressed them softly on his chin, marveling at the feel of his skin roughened with day-old stubble. The poor man must have been too exhausted from last night, because he did not even stir nor make a sound.

  Cassandra let her gaze wander around the master’s bedchamber. Though an adjoining chamber for the future Marchioness was on the other side of the common sitting room, she knew that they would always share this bed together, for neither of them could bear to be away from the other. Cassandra smiled to herself. How utterly surprising that they have become so close and have fallen in love. Through the years, Jeremy had always been a constant figure in her life, spending every single day and every single holiday with her family for the lack of his own. She always thought of him as just another sibling, a nuisance always in cahoots with her brother, Allayne, in making her life miserable. Then, all of them went to Oxford and suddenly the house was quiet and she was alone.

  Out of the
three of them, she missed Richard the most—but that did not mean she did not miss Jeremy and Allayne. She missed their teasing and laughter, and Jeremy’s madcap schemes. Richard may be her favorite, but she adored them all. Which was why three years ago, when she heard that Jeremy opted to stay in Cornwall instead of going to Europe with Richard and Allayne, she could not contain how happy she was—even if the cause was his father’s death.

  From the moment Jeremy arrived, they spent each day together, save for the occasions when business took him to London and his numerous estates across England. They got along famously, but they also quarreled, called each other names, swore not to see each other again—though one or the other eventually came crawling back to grovel. And more often than his prideful, sulky, onion-skinned lordship, the groveler always ended up being her.

  Cassandra turned her gaze back to the handsome, peaceful countenance of her betrothed. Why it took her forever to realize she loved him—she did not have a clue. She just hoped that he would remain faithful and keep that snake of his in rein. Otherwise, she wouldn’t hesitate to brandish a cleaver and threaten to chop it off, roast it over the fire and serve it with biscuits and gravy, should she learn of any mischief.

  Her stomach growled. Lord, but she was hungry!

  She carefully rose from the bed, washed her face and put on her clothes, fixing her hair as best as she could, before she headed downstairs. Barton would probably have an apoplexy if he found out she was still here and the servants would gossip to no end, but she didn’t care. They were betrothed—this time for real. And if the servants had any sense, they would keep their mouths shut or else—no generous bribes and certainly no bonbons would be forthcoming.

  To her dismay, not a scrap of food could be found in the breakfast room. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. Half past ten. Rose Hill would have had a full buffet of sausages, ham and eggs by this time. But then again, the Marquess of Waterford dawdled in his bed till noon, a good enough reason for the servants to serve breakfast at lunchtime.

  She smiled to herself. Her Mama would certainly swoon if she knew where she had spent the night. But not to worry—she could always borrow a horse from Jeremy’s stables and ride into Rose Hill and everyone would think she’d just come back from her early morning ride.

  She decided to go to the kitchen. As she passed the foyer on her way to the servants’ stairs, she heard voices coming from the vestibule leading to the main door.

  “I’m sorry but his lordship is still abed, my lady,” she heard Barton say. “Would you like to leave your card and perhaps a message?”

  Cassandra wondered who could be calling on Jeremy—and a lady at that! She peeked from behind the life-size bronze sculpture of Achilles and was surprised to see the impeccably dressed woman standing on the doorstep, partially blocked from view by Barton’s tall, lanky frame.

  The goat lady! What could she want from Jeremy?

  “Yes, thank you,” Lady Desiree was saying. “I just came by to return this. If you could please let him know that I will not need it anymore and that I truly appreciate all the help he extended to me.”

  Cassandra craned her neck to see her hand a small package to Barton, wrapped in black muslin and tied with a red yarn.

  “I shall relay your message to his lordship, my lady.” Barton took the package from her and bowed before closing the door.

  Cassandra hurriedly tiptoed to a corner and hid behind the wall, listening to Barton’s footsteps as he crossed the foyer. She peered from her hiding spot to see him walk down the hallway and open the first door to the right—Jeremy’s study.

  He came out a minute later with a quick nod at Barney the footman, who stood on guard by the door.

  Cassandra waited until Barton disappeared in the long hallway leading to the other side of Waterford House, which was as grand as Grandstone House, before she came out of hiding. One could literally get lost in the passages and the staggering number of rooms.

  She’d always wondered how Jeremy could live in such an enormous home by himself. He had a full staff, but never held any parties, save for the dinners he hosted twice or thrice a week with only her family as guests. Aside from overlooking his estates and gallivanting around Cornwall with her, he spent the rest of his time at Rose Hill, discussing business with her Father or being doted on by her Mother, or playing target practice with Allayne. Jeremy had become such a part of the family that he even had a permanent place at the table and his own chaise by the fireplace in the library. Morton voluntarily brewed his preferred beverage—coffee instead of tea, and Cook religiously served his favorite meals—lamb chops on Wednesdays and roast beef on Sundays.

  Cassandra smiled to herself. Over the years, Jeremy had become her best friend and they had become inseparable, so much so that speculations about their relationship began to circulate—to her Father’s amusement and her Mother’s annoyance. But even that did not discourage eligible gentlemen from calling on her.

  To her Mother’s delight, she received a number of proposals for marriage—which her Father quickly rejected out of inexplicable dislike.

  Lately, however, her number of suitors dwindled, thanks to the devil Marquess who guarded her like a sentinel. To her father’s approval and her mother’s distress, he glowered at every gentleman who stepped into the foyer, and snarled at anyone who dared touch even the fabric of her dress.

  Cassandra stifled a giggle as she approached Barney, who was standing in all seriousness in front of Jeremy’s study room door. He was a little older than Jeremy and had often accompanied him when he visited Rose Hill. Those visits resulted in Barney becoming hopelessly smitten with her maid, Bess—a condition they mutually shared. He asked her to marry him a fortnight ago and Bess accepted.

  “Hello Barney,” she beamed at him.

  “Good morning, Miss Carlyle.” He inclined his head and blushed. He seemed to do that a lot these days—maybe Bess had told him of the things she had taught her from Allayne’s naughty pamphlets, in preparation for their wedding day.

  “Barney, could you go to the stables and ask the groom to saddle a horse for me?”

  “Of course, my lady,” he agreed without hesitation.

  “Thank you. I’ll wait at the front.” Cassandra watched him leave, then darted her eyes at the study room door.

  She looked to her left down the hall and to her right towards the foyer. No one was about. She tried the doorknob. It was locked. She pried a pin from her hair and jammed it into the keyhole, jiggling it a little here and a little there—just the way Jeremy showed her years ago, when they were trying to steal bonbons from Cook’s pantry—until she heard a faint click. The door opened without difficulty. She slipped into the room.

  Jeremy’s study was large, the walls paneled in mahogany and lined with books on business and all sorts of industry. The room was dark and very masculine, with leather chairs, a black marble fireplace on one side and a side table laden with decanters of port, whisky and brandy. She had never been in this room and for the first time, Cassandra saw a glimpse of the other side of Jeremy. This chamber symbolized his real world as a man—the place where he put his sharp mind to use and made a fortune.

  Her eyes alighted on the massive desk situated before a large window overlooking the grounds in the center of the room. On top of it, papers and correspondence were neatly stacked in groups. The muslin-wrapped package sat right in the middle. Cassandra moved towards the table and touched the red string binding it. No, she really shouldn’t. She had no business snooping around Jeremy’s study. She withdrew her hand and took a step back. But—why did the goat lady say she wouldn’t need it anymore? What could it be? She debated with herself if she should go ahead and investigate, or run out of the room before Barton and Barney discovered her caper.

  Curiosity prevailed. With a glance towards the door, she hastily untied the ribbon and unwrapp
ed the package, and discovered a small leather-bound journal which looked personal—much like a diary. Why would Jeremy lend this book to Desiree? She skimmed through the first few pages. The bold handwriting was Jeremy’s all right—she would recognize his penmanship anywhere.

  Her eyebrows snapped together as she read the first few lines. Why was he cataloguing Richard’s habits, likes and dislikes? Then, she noticed a thin silk ribbon inserted in between the pages in the middle section. She opened the journal to the section marked. Her eyes widened upon reading the title.

  Seducing a Gentleman. Her fingers shook as she proceeded to read the contents. Step one—If you want to learn how to seduce a man, you must also learn how to pleasure him. The rest of the instructions blurred as hot tears prickled her eyes. How could Jeremy be so cruel and do this to her? The book fell with a dull thud on the beautiful Aubusson carpet as she stifled the sobs erupting from her throat with the back of a shaking hand, stunned by the hurt and betrayal inflicted by the one person she trusted and loved the most.

  Jeremy woke up with a smile on his face. He had slept so well—the first time in weeks. Today, he planned to go to Rose Hill, speak with Cassie’s father and ask for her hand. Then, he would set out to see about procuring a special license so they could get married as soon as possible. They might have had the shortest engagement—with most of it faked, but he could not wait any longer. After last night, all he could think of was finally making her his—legally—or he would die of an impacted erection.

  He stretched and turned to reach for Cassie beside him, but was greeted with crumpled white sheets and an empty space. “Cassie?” he pushed himself on his elbows to look about the room.

  Only the chirping birds and the distant hum of the ocean answered him. He sat up and raked his fingers through his tousled hair. Where could she have gone? He glanced at the clock on top of the mantle. Half past eleven. His disappointment immediately subsided. Cassie had always been an early riser. She must have ridden to see the sunrise or might have gone downstairs to have breakfast.