Promise: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  Reggard shook his head. He took a long swallow of port and shook his head again. His fingers ran over his eyes, rubbing them. He finally looked to Fletch. “Why can you not do it?”

  “I have to get married tonight.”

  “Married? But I thought—”

  “It cannot be helped, Reggard.”

  Reggard stared at him for a long moment calculating. Finally, he offered one curt nod. “But tonight? You arranged a wedding for the evening?”

  “A special license from the archbishop. Aunt Penelope and her dragons have made it so. The wedding will be in three hours. You can see how I cannot make it to the Jolly Vassal.”

  Reggard tossed back the remainder of his second glass of port, his bleary eyes making their way to Fletch. “So I am sure I am not misunderstanding—you want me to buy a virgin in a brothel in order to save her?”

  Fletch eyed him, considering going to the sideboard and tipping over the decanter of port. It would at least slow Reggard for the moment. Fletch’s voice took a hard edge. “You are the only person in town I can trust with this, Reggard. Trust to have the utmost discretion about the business. No one can know the virgins are not purchased for their…purpose. You are the only one I can ask this of. But you cannot do this soused.”

  “I thought you hated me, Lockston.”

  Fletch sighed, his fingers tightening about his glass. “I thought I did too. But my options are limited. And I need someone I can trust. I trust you more than I hate you. Buy a girl. Turn her over to my women. That is all I ask.”

  Reggard nodded, rubbing his eyes once more. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I miss her, Lockston. Rachel.”

  “You do not get to speak her name to me.”

  Reggard’s hand dropped from his face and he met Fletch’s glare. “So you still blame me.”

  A statement, not a question.

  Fletch fidgeted, stepping to the side of the room to set his glass on a table. He looked Reggard dead-on, his voice cutting. “She was the one in the family that was supposed to survive, Reggard. The one to live. The one to keep memory of all of us.”

  “I did not kill her.”

  Fletch saw the pain in Reggard’s eyes. Heard the tremor in his deep voice. None of it curbed his own tone. “No. You merely put your babe inside of her. A babe that did kill her.”

  Reggard blanched. For his size—a head taller than Fletch with a battering-ram chest—the man looked fragile, about to break.

  Fletch tried to ignore the visceral rage that surged from the deepest part of his soul. “I am here for your help, Reggard. Nothing more. Will you do as I ask?”

  It took a long moment for Reggard to compose himself, to draw himself to his full height. “I will, Lockston. Your sister would have demanded I help.”

  { Chapter 8 }

  Talia stared at her reflection in the tall mirror at the corner of the room. The chambers in Fletch’s townhouse that she had prepared herself in were feminine—his sister’s or his mother’s, she did not know. She tugged the outer edges of the silver lace trim along her bodice, adjusting the soft, smooth silk below it along the slope of her breasts. A robin’s egg blue, the fabric had been pressed to impossible crispness—so much so Talia was afraid to sit and wrinkle all the hard work of the maid.

  She captured a stray blond hair, tucking it behind one of the several braids that started along her forehead, whisking back to an elaborate upsweep that highlighted the many shades of her red-blond hair.

  She almost didn’t recognize herself. It had been so very long since she had looked like this, shined to a twinkling star of the ton. She recognized the veneer now like she never had. Four years ago, she would look in a mirror and see this, and know herself. And then she would skip out the door.

  But now. Now she knew what she saw in the mirror was not who she was. Far from it.

  Three quick taps rapped through the door, and before Talia could answer, the door swung open.

  “I assume you are proper, Lady Natalia, for how long that maid was primping you?” Aunt Penelope bustled into the room, her cane flicking behind her to bang the door closed. A red turban covered her head, a matching red shawl draped over her dark blue dress.

  Talia turned to Aunt Penelope, a smile on her face. “I believe I am, but I will let you be the judge on whether I appear an appropriate bride. I do not think I can judge it on my own eye.”

  “Nonsense, dear.” Aunt Penelope stomped with her cane into the middle of the room. “I put no stock in appearances. I am here to see you, child, before you commit to what is downstairs.”

  “Before I commit to Fletch?”

  “Yes.”

  Talia’s hands landed flat on her belly, her fingertips twisting together. “That sounds like a warning. Do I need to know something?”

  “I am the one that needs to know something. I found you acceptable in our first meeting, but I want to know what he is marrying.”

  A flush skittered along the back of Talia’s neck. “You now think me a woman without morals? I understand your concern. What you witnessed in that alcove at Vauxhall was inexcusable.”

  Aunt Penelope waved her cane in the air. “Please, child. I know that nephew of mine is as handsome as sin. You cannot possibly be to blame for that untoward scene.”

  “But what you saw—”

  “I have seen worse in the middle of a ballroom, dear. That scene in the gardens bordered on innocent.”

  Talia’s brow furrowed. “But your reaction—what you said to him.”

  Aunt Penelope cackled. “I did feign quite the scene, did I not? You can wipe free the worry from your eyes.” Her cane tapped on a honey hued-floorboard with glee. “I have never been able to pin Fletcher into a commitment. He is as slippery as an eel, and he has never taken seriously his responsibility to the title. I merely saw an opportunity in the gardens to blast him fully, and quite possibly, spur him into action. I do not let opportunities pass me by, child. Not at my age.”

  Talia’s fingers relaxed from their frantic twisting, yet she couldn’t quite believe Aunt Penelope. “So your sensibilities were not offended?”

  “Too many years have passed me, my dear—my sensibilities do not shudder at a mad kiss coupled with a wandering hand.”

  Talia nodded, exhaling. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Do not give it another thought.” Aunt Penelope’s hawk eyes sank into Talia. “I do know about your past, child, how unfortunate these years have been for you and your mother and sister since your father died.”

  Talia blinked hard at the sudden switch of topic. “Fletch told you?”

  “No. The dragons and I know everything. But I was not about to impress upon you I was privy to gossip about your family in our first meeting. Especially given that nephew of mine has never brought a woman before me.” Both of her hands clamped onto the top of her cane, tapping it on the floor. “It is unfortunate, your past, but it has also given you character. I can see that. You are a very fine match for my nephew. Or so I think.”

  Talia read the question in her grey eyes. “You still have reservations about who I am?”

  “Why did you say yes to him, dear? Your eyes are too canny to harbor fantasies of love at first sight.”

  “I…” Talia bit the inside of her cheek. This woman would accept nothing less than the truth. “I am not positive why.”

  “That is not an answer I want to hear.”

  “I understand,” Talia said. “But when I think upon it, I do not know how he convinced me. Regardless, at the end of our conversation, I agreed to the marriage.”

  “Fletcher had to convince you?”

  Talia nodded.

  “I would have thought it the opposite. Ladies have been trying to twist his thumbs into marriage for ages—none even neared success in that endeavor.”

  Talia shrugged, her hands unconsciously smoothing down the fabric she had just wrinkled about her waist. “I tried to express upon him what a horrendous wife I would make. The years remov
ed from society—it has changed me. I do not see this world as I once did. I do not trust this world—being surrounded by the wealth, by the security of it.”

  “Why then, dear, did you say yes to his proposal?”

  “I trust Fletch.” The answer came easily from Talia’s lips, surprising herself. Her head cocked in wonderment at the realization. “For all I do not trust everything around me, I trust Fletch. That is why I said yes.”

  Aunt Penelope’s grey eyes sat upon Talia, shrewd, for long seconds. She gave one curt nod. “That will do. That, dear, is an answer worthy of a marriage.”

  ~~~

  Fletch stepped into his bedroom, closing the door as he scanned the note Horace had just handed him.

  “All is well?”

  Talia’s voice startled him.

  He looked up to find her sitting at the edge of his bed, a black night rail, sheer, held tight to her body with a row of tied pink ribbons down the front center. Her hair unbound, soft red and blond waves hung past her shoulders and disappeared onto her back.

  The sight took his breath, took all thought from his head.

  He hadn’t expected his new wife to be waiting in his room. He had thought she would hide in her chambers until he knocked on their adjoining door. For all she had witnessed during her time in the brothels, he still saw the innocence in her eyes. Still saw the flush that invaded her cheeks when pleasures of the flesh were mentioned.

  But there she sat. A goddess. Looking at him with wide eyes. Slightly fidgeting, but willing. He saw that in the way she looked at him. She was willing to be in his bed.

  She trusted him.

  And he suddenly found himself standing by the door to his room, his cock rock hard and not even a simpleton’s thought in his head, except for stripping off that wispy black piece of cloth and gorging himself on his wife’s body.

  “Fletch? All is well?”

  “What?”

  “The letter in your hand.” She pointed at his arm. “Is something amiss? Your forehead was scrunched in concern.”

  Her words not making sense, Fletch looked down. The note in his hand. He had completely forgotten he was clutching it.

  “Oh. No. It is just a note from my brother-in-law.” Fletch moved into the room, setting the note down on his inlaid walnut writing desk by the window. “Lord Reggard was taking care of business for me tonight. It went well, that is all.”

  She straightened, scooting to edge of the bed. “Is it about Louise?”

  “No.” Fletch could instantly see his one word answer would not suffice. “There was an auction tonight at the Jolly Vassal. I sent Reggard in my place to purchase a virgin.”

  She nodded, her face slightly blanching as a frown crossed her face. “Good. I am glad you are still ensuring help for them. I had not considered how my monopolizing your time could affect others…other innocent girls. If you need to go…”

  “One, Talia, you need not worry that some girl wasn’t saved because of you. This is the first auction they have held since I have met you. And two, Reggard was there in my stead. He got the girl out of there without the slightest hiccup.”

  Fletch’s look ran up and down Talia’s body, full of heated intention. “So three, I have absolutely nowhere else to be at the moment, than with my new wife. Alone with my new wife. Alone. In a bedroom.”

  His openly salacious gaze drew the smallest smile from her.

  Talia fingered the edge of the gauzy fabric that ran along her chest and up over her shoulder. “Then four, Fletch, I am glad you do not have to attend to other business. Your aunt had this piece delivered for me to wear tonight. And I must admit, if you did have to leave, I do not know that I would be brave enough to put it on again.”

  Fletch stripped off his jacket and his waistcoat, watching her. “A woman who poses as a maid in a brothel, and this is the thing that requires your bravery?”

  She shrugged, a nervous smile twitching at her lips. Fletch recognized it instantly. She wanted to please him. Even with everything askew in her life, she wanted to please him. Him.

  Damn. He wanted to tell her, tell her everything.

  Tell her of his brother, his father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather. Tell her of the burden. How he would be dead within the year.

  But he could not. Not in this moment. Not when that knowledge would rip away the very foundation she thought she was getting by marrying him.

  It was the only reason she had said yes to him during their quick wedding ceremony downstairs in the drawing room. And he wasn’t about to shake that foundation mere hours after they were wed.

  Fletch turned from her, composing himself as he pulled off his boots and dragged his white linen shirt over his head.

  “Should I be helping you?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to her, only to see she had stood from the bed. If he had thought her a goddess before, her standing in the dark night rail, statuesque, made him revise his assessment. Not a goddess. No. This woman was the moon and the stars and the sun and the earth all in one. And she was now officially his.

  He turned to her. “Helping me?”

  Her hand waved in front of her. “Undress. Is that done? I am in this rail and I did not think about your clothing, or removing your clothing, or…” She shrugged, her voice trailing.

  Fletch stepped to her, swallowing the distance between them, but he kept his hands at his sides as he looked down at her. Close enough to smell her. Lavender and honey. His mouth started to water. “Do you want to help me undress, Talia? The work is almost done, you realize.”

  She met his gaze, the blue flecks twisting alive with the brown in her eyes. “Your smile could be less wicked about it.”

  “I pray for nothing but wicked with you, Talia.” He reached down, grabbing her hand and pressing her fingers onto the top button of his trousers. “And I tend to think we are of like mind on the matter. Am I wrong?”

  She paused with an intake of breath, hesitating for only a second before she shook her head. Without looking from his eyes, she popped free the first button and then made her way downward along the flap.

  Every button freed, every brush against his shaft a torture like he had never imagined.

  His trousers loosened, she traced the top of the fabric along his waist with her fingers. Her hands curving along his back, she pushed the fabric down, baring him fully.

  She bent, picking up his trousers and tossing them behind her onto the bed. Yet she refused to look downward. Her hands landed softly on his sides, trailing on his skin, her fingers flipping as her caress went across his abdomen. Close. So very close.

  Her hands stilled and Fletch looked down between them. He grabbed her fingers, bringing them upward with a frown. “Your knuckles, Talia.”

  “What of them?”

  His thumbs traced along the bumps of her knuckles. “They are rough. I do not like that.”

  She jerked her hands away, stepping backward. “I have not had the luxury of keeping them soft.”

  He snatched her hands into his grasp again before she could escape. “No, Talia. I do not like that they are rough because it reminds me of what you have been forced to do. The injustice of it. I do not find it a flaw in you.”

  “Oh.” Her chin jutted out. “You could have started with that statement.”

  He smiled. “I can see I should have.” He pulled her close, curling her hands and setting her knuckles onto his belly once more. “But I do not mind it at all, the feel of them on me. They are real. They are you.”

  He leaned down, nuzzling into her hair until he reached her ear. “And you touching me is exquisite, Talia.”

  Her chest expanded into him, her nipples already taut through the sheer fabric of her night rail. “Fletch.”

  The word came as a whisper, fighting for sound. He had never heard his name uttered in such an innocently carnal way. And it only inflamed the blood that had been pounding through his cock for the past ten minutes. The devil in hades, he did not have it in him to
ease into this.

  “Yes?” He forced the word, rough, from his mouth.

  “I still have clothes on.”

  Fletch ripped the top two ties apart in one second, not bothering with the insanity of the rest of the row of knots as he dragged the night rail down her body. Down her flesh. All of her flesh. Naked.

  His hand went deep into her hair and he yanked her to him, his mouth searching for hers, searching for her body to press into his. True to her like mind, her arms wrapped around his neck, her leg lifting to pull him closer as their mouths met, dissolving into each other.

  He slipped downward from her mouth, his lips devouring her neck, needing the taste of her on his tongue. With every brush of his teeth against her skin, she shuddered, her leg tightening along his backside, demanding him onward.

  She exhaled a vibrating moan, and Fletch reached his capacity for patience. He moved forward, dropping them onto the edge of the bed.

  He pulled up, finding Talia’s swollen lips parted for him, her eyes half open, glazed.

  “The devil take me, Talia, I am going to attempt to do this slow.”

  Her hand reached up, finding the back of his head, gripping his hair. “No. Not slow. Fast, Fletch. Fast.”

  He growled, her words only inflaming his impatience further. “Then you have to come for me, Talia. Now. Do you trust me?”

  Her eyes flew open. “Yes.”

  His hand went between her legs before her word ended, spreading her flesh, his fingers sliding along her slick mound. Her hips bucked, a wispy scream pulling from her throat.