Promise: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  “Why not?”

  He looked at her. “I fell in love with Lockston’s sister. Rachel was the end of our friendship.”

  “But I would think Fletch would have been happy—relieved at the very least—to have his sister marry one of his best friends.”

  “She died in childbirth.”

  “Fletch told me that. I am so sorry for your loss.” The pit of her stomach hardened, and Talia was glad she hadn’t had a chance to eat before they had left. Food in her flipping stomach would do her no good. “But Fletch was there for you as a friend to see you through, I imagine?”

  Lord Reggard stiffened. “No. You do not know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Lockston blamed me.”

  Talia’s eyebrows drew together. “Fletch blamed you for her death? What could possibly have made him do so?”

  “The babe was too big for her body. Rachel was slight. My babe was not.”

  A lump formed in Talia’s throat at the tone of pain in just those few words from Lord Reggard. The air thickened in the coach. Lord Reggard had obviously loved Fletch’s sister deeply, and was still wounded by her death.

  She scratched for some flimsy hope in the story. “But you still count the Earl of Newdale as your friend?”

  Lord Reggard shrugged. “I have avoided him as well since Rachel’s death.”

  “Surely he did not blame you as Fletch did?”

  “No, he did not.” Lord Reggard looked out the window of the carriage, his face going blank, resigned. “But I blame me. Lockston warned me, fought me on it until we were married, but I did not listen. He knew what would happen to Rachel. But I…I never expected it. Never imagined—refused to imagine.”

  Talia inhaled, dragging air deep into her lungs, the pain of her own father’s death slicing unexpectedly across her chest. Lord Reggard had had everything—the world—and then lost it. That, Talia understood.

  “Lord Reggard, I know how a sudden death can tear a life apart. In a thousand unexpected ways. How one can be so happy one day, and then the next…everything is ripped away in seconds. How one is left searching—wondering what it was they did wrong to deserve such a fate. I have been that way since my father died.”

  His gaze on the passing fields, Lord Reggard did not look to her, but the flicker in his eyes told Talia he knew exactly what she was talking about.

  Her hands clasped in front of her belly, pressing into the plum fabric of her carriage dress to hold against the churning in her gut. “Frankly, it has left me slightly insane.”

  He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “How so?”

  “I cannot be in social situations very well—I panic.”

  His fingers flicked toward her. “You appear fine at the moment.”

  “Kind, but you are family to Fletch and Aunt Penelope—and it is just you. Larger gatherings resemble too closely the happiness of the past for me, before my father died, and then I can only fear the loss. It closes in upon me and I lose all sense of speech and moving and even breathing properly.”

  “Overwhelming?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and I am aware that it is not at all proper for a marchioness. Fletch must have been a little mad himself to have chosen me to marry.”

  “Why do you think Fletch was drawn to you in the first, Lady Lockston?”

  Talia’s cheeks flamed. Fletch wanted her body—while he had always been a gentleman, he had never made any secret of that fact. But she wasn’t about to discuss their guttural attraction with Lord Reggard.

  “Can I make a guess?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “You are a survivor, Lady Lockston. You did not let death defeat you when your father died. Aunt Penelope has told me of the poverty you experienced after his passing. My guess is that Fletch knows you can survive him. Make sure a part of him lives beyond his death.”

  Her forehead crinkled. “You think he chose me as a legacy?”

  “I think he chose you for your spirit.”

  “My spirit?”

  Lord Reggard shifted on his seat, his long leg bumping into her calf as he worked to find space to stretch. Talia wondered how he rode anywhere in a coach for any length of time with his size.

  He leaned forward, his forearms balancing on his thighs as he looked at her. “Tell me, with your father, would it have been worse to know his death was approaching—to have had time to prepare?”

  Talia pondered the question for a long moment, only to find herself without an answer she could stand behind. She met Lord Reggard’s look. “I honestly do not know.”

  “Now imagine not even having that choice. Fletch was handed a death sentence thirty-two years ago.”

  Talia’s lips drew inward, her heart constricting.

  “Fletch has always known it—death is coming for him. The year he would not live beyond. Can you imagine how that has shaped every single day of his life? How that would make most things pointless?”

  “I can.”

  “So I think he chose you for your spirit—for your grit—to make his last days mean something, to not be pointless.”

  “Did he ever not believe he was cursed?”

  Lord Reggard’s lips drew in sharply. It took long seconds for him to exhale. “I think he did. Before Rachel died. He adored her.” He shook his head, his eyes landing squarely on Talia. “Lockston would have fought to live for Rachel. She would have made him. She was so delicate, soft—but with him, she was nothing but steel. Iron that would not bend.”

  “So I make him fight?”

  “That is what his sister would have done.” He sighed, sitting back against the cushions. “And, quite frankly, why I am delivering you to him. He is still my friend, will never be anything less, whether he wants it or not.”

  Talia nodded, her heart heavy. Lord Reggard didn’t speak it, but Talia could see it wasn’t just friendship in his eyes that drove his actions, it was atonement as well.

  { Chapter 16 }

  Looking down from the minstrels’ gallery, the balcony afforded Talia the perfect view of the great hall—a stone-walled relic from the years of maces and knights. Its evenly spaced Gothic arches lined long walls that soared into a delicately vaulted ceiling. Portraits, tapestries, large windows, and the flames from the largest fireplace she had ever seen lightened the hall, but she could still feel the weight of hundreds of years in the cold stone.

  She shivered as her eyes swept to the far end of the great hall and she scanned the ten round tables set up near a long sideboard laden with breakfast dishes.

  Too many people.

  She took a gulp of air, searching the many bodies moving about, several of them balancing plates of food as they moved to open chairs, footmen scurrying to fill glasses. Too many men and women sat in their morning splendor chatting with ease and gaiety.

  She had been prepared for an intimate gathering, ten, fifteen people at most. Fletch being one of them. Not this.

  She took another gulp of air. Her eyes skittered from face to face.

  At the second table on the left—Fletch. She barely caught his profile as he looked to the woman on his right before smiling. His head turned to the other two at the table, one man and one other woman. They were all laughing.

  The woman to his right touched his arm, drawing Fletch’s attention back to her. She was in mourning, if her black dress—low-cut that it was—was any indication. But that didn’t stop her smirk as she talked, drawing the table into laughter again.

  Even across the cavernous hall, Talia could hear the rumble of Fletch’s low laugh, but she couldn’t see his face. She could, however, see quite clearly that the woman intent on garnering his attention was beautiful. Dark hair. Almost exotic for how she had twisted her locks into an intricate upsweep. Maybe she wasn’t in mourning. Maybe she just thought dark colors were proper in the morning because they framed her beauty perfectly.

  Fletch’s table burst into another round of laughter. Dizziness seized Talia’s head and she grabbed onto the stone ba
lustrade before her.

  She hoped it was lack of food and not panic seizing her head. She could not have an episode at the moment. She could not. She would not.

  “May I accompany you down?” Lord Reggard pointed in Fletch’s general direction.

  She gave Lord Reggard a weak smile, grateful that he gave her a very distinct task to undertake. Get down the stairs. First goal to accomplish.

  Taking his arm as they moved to the staircase to the right of the balcony, her other hand went to the smooth stone railing that snaked along the ancient stairs. Her fingers dug harshly into Lord Reggard’s thick muscles, but he did not appear to notice as they started down. Again, a wave of silent gratitude passed over her. She needed all the support she could get at the moment to make it down the steps without passing out.

  Why had she not considered there would be a sizable party here? But it was too late now to excuse herself back to the coach and London. She set her eyes on Fletch, walking down the curved stairs and toward him. Lord Reggard’s gait kept her steady, and as long as her look didn’t slip off of Fletch, she would be fine.

  It wasn’t until they were close, only three steps away from Fletch, that the other man at Fletch’s table pointed at Lord Reggard and leaned forward with low words to Fletch.

  Fletch spun in his chair, his eyes finding Lord Reggard. “Reggard, what the—”

  Fletch froze as his grey eyes gave a courtesy flicker to the woman attached to Lord Reggard.

  “Talia?” Fletch jumped to his feet, stepping to Talia in one long stride, and he grabbed her upper arm, jerking her away from Lord Reggard.

  Not aware she was about to be manhandled, Talia’s fingers on Lord Reggard didn’t loosen, and she dragged him for a moment before losing her balance.

  Fletch didn’t right her from her stumble, instead using her momentum to haul her to the side of the hall, moving them out under the nearest pointed archway that led to a door.

  His strides long, his grip on her arm a vise, Fletch didn’t stop until they were two hallways removed from the great hall. In the middle of a long, empty corridor of portraits, he halted, spinning on his heel, his grey eyes blazing as he glared down at her.

  Talia’s look veered past his head, only to be greeted by an immense wall of oil paintings—golden, gilt-framed ancient eyes looming down upon her. Judging her.

  Her breath sped, dizziness grabbing a hold of her again.

  Fletch grabbed her other arm, giving her a slight shake. “Get control of yourself, Talia.”

  The long hall shifted, leaning, until her feet felt like they were slipping. Was that the floor or was that her moving? Talia ripped her left arm out of Fletch’s hand and bent over at the waist, gulping mouthfuls of air. It took minutes before she could stand and look at him without the room spinning around her.

  His forehead pulsating red, the few minutes had only enraged him further and his grip tightened on her right arm. “Of all people to show up here with, Talia? That one? Reggard? The bastard that killed my sister, and you just stroll right into the middle of the blasted hall on his arm?”

  Her hand went to her forehead, attempting to still the remnants of dizziness. “Cease your ranting, Fletch.”

  “No. No, Talia.” He flicked his fingers free from her arm, turning and stomping several feet from her, his hands flailing in the air. “You do not appear with that man on your arm and tell me to cease my ranting. My damn ranting is the only reason my fists are not in Reggard’s face right now. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing walking in there with you—he already took my sister and now he thinks to take my damn wife from me before I am bloody well in the ground.”

  “Fletch.” Talia had to nearly screech his name to interrupt his flying words. “Lord Reggard is family—nothing more. Aunt Penelope sent him to accompany me. I was the one that wanted to come here.”

  He spun back to her. “Aunt Penelope did this?”

  “Yes. And Lord Reggard was kind enough to escort me.”

  Fletch growled, both of his hands going to his face and furiously rubbing his eyes. “The blasted old bat. Of course she did.”

  “Fletch, have you gone bloody mad?”

  “She wanted to ensure I didn’t ignore you—she knew where I was and then she not only told you when she had no right to, but she went a step farther and sent the bloody bastard with you, the manipulative old bat.”

  Talia stepped to him. “Fletch, stop calling her an old bat.”

  “She could have sent you with anyone but him. You didn’t know—but she did, she knew exactly what she was doing.”

  “Fletch, stop. Just one moment. Please. You were dear friends with Lord Reggard. I did not come with him here to anger you. But I don’t understand why…” Her hands spun in circles in the air. “Why this reaction?”

  His fingers clenched into fists, his glare left Talia as his eyes ran up the tall wall before them. He stared at the portrait right above them, five children in various poses around a whimsically upholstered Louis XV chair, two hounds weaved amongst their feet.

  He exhaled, shaking his head. “Reggard was always too large for Rachel—too large by far. A monster compared to Rachel’s delicate frame. I never should have allowed the marriage—I almost didn’t.”

  “Yet you did.”

  His eyes closed, his head dropping. “She was in love—I feared what would happen—fears that came true.”

  A sigh lifted his chest, and he opened his eyes, looking to Talia. “What are you doing here, Talia?”

  “I needed to talk to you.”

  “The note I left expressed all I have to say.”

  She took one more step to him, her chin having to tilt upward to look at him as she invaded his space. “Yes, you had your say. But what about my say?”

  “Your say is what I am attempting to avoid, Talia.” The air around him palpitated with unspent rage. Rage that was morphing into voracious salacity as his eyes swept down her body and back to her face.

  Talia edged a small step backward, realizing her mistake in setting herself so close to him. The instant manic flutter that manifested between her thighs at his look was taking all wits of reason from her mind. Wits she needed to keep about her if she was to tell him what she needed to.

  She filled her lungs, steadying herself from his stare. “Fletch, in the days that you have been gone, I realized something.”

  His eyebrow arched. Not exactly encouraging her, but neither did he turn and walk away.

  “My mother has already immersed herself into regaining the life she once led. Hosting her friends, days filled with calls. She is attempting quite desperately to make life as it was before Papa died.”

  “Has she been successful?”

  “No. And that is what I realized. Nothing can ever be what it once was. You gave me everything in my life back—my sister, the home, the estate, security. But it is not the same—it cannot be when I have been irrevocably changed.”

  She ventured a slight step forward, her eyes intent on his. “I have been changed by you, Fletch. And I cannot live in the past as my mother wishes to do. Nor can I wait, worrying about living in a future I cannot even fathom. All I want is today. Living with what is in front of me on this day, this second.”

  “What are you saying, Talia?”

  “You are today, Fletch.” She swallowed hard, her chest constricting. Her hand lifted, trembling as she set it flat on his chest. The distinct thud of his heartbeat reached her fingers. Unable to look into his eyes, she stared at her knuckles as her forefinger slipped under the dark lapel of his jacket. “Today you are alive. Today I want you. Today I want you in your home, in your bed, with me. And I do not care what it takes to make it so. I will do anything. Whatever you need of—”

  His lips slammed onto her mouth, cutting her words as his hands wrapped around her waist, pushing her back against the wall. The kiss held fury twisting with ecstasy, his hands frenzied along the sides of her body.

  Just as suddenly, he yanked himself a
way from her. “Dammit, Talia.”

  She sprung after him, her hands wrapping around his neck. “No—no ‘dammit.’ No leaving me.”

  Her left hand dropped, wrapping around his backside to pull his hips hard into her, refusing to let his body escape her again. He tried to avoid her eyes, and she dug her nails into his neck, forcing him to look at her.

  “I was wrong, Fletch. I was trying to make you into what I wanted. What I thought I needed. And I gave no respect to what you needed.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “But what I need is you, Fletch. For as long as I can have you, I need you. I will not ask you to come in me. I will not try to entice you to do so. But I need you—with whatever part of you that you are willing to give me, Fletch. I love you and I am begging you, without pride, without demands—”

  He kissed her, cutting her words once more. He drove her backward again, her back hitting the wall, his shaft jutting into her belly, demanding release. He could no further control himself than she could, his mouth ravaging her lips, seeking truth to her words.

  She fought for air, angling her mouth to grasp a breath enough to speak. “Yes?”

  “Yes.” It spilled into her mouth as more growl than word, but Talia heard it perfectly.

  His mouth closed on hers, his tongue plunging, freeing all of her needs from the past days to his command.

  A purr rumbled through her throat and Fletch dropped, his lips trailing to her neck, his hand cupping her breast, teasing the hardened nipple through the layers of her plum-hued dress. She arched into him, near to losing herself completely in his ruthless onslaught.

  Yet there was one more thing. One more request she needed to make before she lost all ability to think straight.

  “I only have one thing to ask of you, Fletch.” The words tumbled rough, breathless from her lips.

  He did not pull away from her neck. “What?”

  “That when the time comes, you fight.”

  “Fight what?” His voice was muffled on her skin.

  “Death. You will fight it for me.”

  His head lifted, his hands clasping the sides of her face.

  His forehead fell onto hers, his eyes closed.