Promise: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  Three blocks of racing after the carriage, and Talia was within yelling distance.

  “Arnold—Lord Roserton—Cousin Arnold,” she screamed at the black coach. “Lord Roserton, stop. Stop. Cousin Arnold.”

  The carriage slowed.

  Talia caught up to it, her chest burning with every breath. She reached the carriage door before the footman alighted from the back of the coach.

  Flinging the door open, she forced breathless words. “I will do it.”

  Lips pursed, Cousin Arnold looked down at her. “Do what?”

  Talia gasped for air, one hand clutching her side. “I will do it. I will marry you.”

  His eyebrow cocked at her. “Need I remind you that you are already married, Lady Lockston?”

  Talia reached down and yanked out the metal carriage step, jumping up onto it and leaning into the carriage, her voice low. “My husband. Lord Lockston. You have heard of the curse of his family?”

  “Curse?” His curved nose wrinkled. “I do not put stock in curses, Lady Lockston. Leave me. Close the door. You are letting a draft in here.”

  She leaned in further. “The curse, Cousin Arnold. No man in my husband’s family has ever lived past the age of thirty-two.”

  “What does this have to do with marrying your sister, Lady Lockston?”

  “My husband is three months shy of his thirty-third birthday.” Her stomach flipped at her own words, and she had to take a quick breath to gather her spine with her next utterance. “I will be a free woman very soon, Cousin Arnold. I will marry you.”

  “You?” He shook his head. “I can have your younger, even more delectable sister, Lady Lockston. Why would I not take her over you?”

  Talia made her lips curve into a smile. “You always wanted me, Cousin Arnold. You still do. I saw it in your eyes when I entered the drawing room just now.” She leaned forward, taking a deep breath to push her breasts out as her voice dropped to a whisper. “Louise is broken. And I do not think you want a broken wife, Cousin Arnold.” Her eyes narrowed as her words slowed. “No, I think you want a wife you can break.”

  Bile slipped up into Talia’s throat as he stiffened and then reached down to adjust himself through his trousers. As gruesome as they were, her words had the effect they needed to.

  He cleared his throat. “You say three months?”

  “I do.”

  “You understand what will happen if you betray your word? It is your sister that will be sacrificed.” He adjusted himself through his trousers again.

  “I understand.”

  “Then get yourself off of my carriage. You’re of no use to me now.” He kicked his foot out, the ball of his boot landing on her ribcage and shoving her from the carriage step.

  Talia slipped backward off the metal step, flailing. She hit the cobblestone street hard, her left wrist snapping under all her weight. Brutal pain sparked up her arm, wrapping around her.

  Gasping at the stabbing agony, she dropped her head, fighting for breath.

  She couldn’t let him see.

  Toes scrambling on the rounded stones of the street, she found her feet but refused to look up. The carriage door slammed shut and it rolled away.

  Clutching her mangled wrist to her belly, vicious pangs rolled up her arm. Talia started to walk, wobbling.

  The spasms collected in her gut before running to her head, wooziness setting thick into her mind. Talia searched in front of her.

  Park. Bench. Sit.

  She stumbled across the street and a horse brushed her backside. She staggered. Yelling. Lots of yelling.

  At her?

  The park. The bench. She forced her feet forward. Step. Step. Another step. Then blackness fought into her vision, even as she tried to blink it away. The park started to slide sideways in front of her.

  A tree. She could reach that tree. Catch it. A tree could hold her upright.

  Her fingertips went forward, far, far from her face. She touched bark. The bark slipped away into darkness.

  She dropped.

  ~~~

  It was only the smallest fold of her plum-colored skirt trimmed in gold cording. That Fletch saw the tiny swatch of fabric in itself was a miracle.

  But there it was, a splash of gold and plum flopping out past the feet of a group of men huddled around a tree, looking downward. One of the seven riffraff had a hatchet propped over his shoulder.

  His heart sank.

  He had missed Talia at the townhouse by only minutes, her mother had said. So frantic she could barely get words out, she had sent Fletch out the direction Talia had disappeared.

  One of the men by the tree shifted, stepping on the edge of the skirt, digging it into the cold dirt.

  It was that slip of cloth, the gold cord grinding into the ground that turned him savage. That sent a raw rage so brutal through his limbs that he transformed into a warrior of old.

  He was across the park in seconds, ripping the closest man to him from the group and throwing him to the ground.

  “Get the hell away from my wife, you bastards.” Fletch’s roar echoed around the trees of the empty park.

  “Pardon, sir.” The man directly across from him standing by Talia’s head threw his hands up. “The lady was bumped by our horse.”

  Fletch pushed his way to the man by her head, shoving each of the men near Talia a step back on his way. He stopped in front of the man that spoke, his hands shaking to choke the bastard. “Your bloody horse hit her?”

  “T’was just a nudge, sir, honest.” The man’s palms stayed up, attempting to calm. Fletch would have none it. Talia was lying in the dirt.

  “Sir, honest, we all seen it. Her eyes be closed when she ran in front of us and then the rump o’ the beast sweeped ‘er back. She stepped away a ducky, but then she staggered along, fell by this tree.”

  Fletch’s head whipped around, looking at the crowd of men. Through the blinding red in his eyes, he could see all of them were nodding.

  “Truly, sir, we seen she be a lady, and we stopped to help her. Good thing ye came. Cause we ain’t know what to do with ‘er.”

  “Do with her?” Fletch’s look snapped back to the man.

  “She fainted—she still be in blackness—look at ‘er. We think it be ‘er wrist.”

  For the first time, Fletch truly looked down at Talia. He hadn’t wanted to do it for fear of what he would find.

  His stomach curdled. Talia’s eyes were closed, dead to the world.

  His look travelled down her body.

  Her left arm was awkwardly splayed onto her belly. Her hand flopped over to the side, grotesque, the angle of it unnatural in every sense. Fletch could see raw bone poking rough just below her skin.

  “Oh, shit.” His grunt came out flat. He turned from the man, dropping to his knees at Talia’s side.

  “Can we help with ‘er, sir?”

  Fletch shook his head, staring at Talia’s closed eyelids. “No. No. I will bring her home.”

  “Do you need help carrying ‘er?”

  “No. I can bloody well carry my own wife.”

  “As you say, sir.” The group of men backed away, the lot of them going to the wagon that they had been riding in.

  Fletch glanced up to the departing group, offering up a weak, “Thank you.”

  A few nods and a wave came in his direction.

  He turned back to Talia, a rock settling into his gut. “Dammit, Talia, what did you do?”

  Slipping his arms under her knees and back, he lifted her, trying to curl her body into him so her head wasn’t completely limp, dangling off his arm.

  He walked through the park before he realized her left arm was starting to slip from her belly.

  Fletch shifted Talia, getting her rebalanced in his arms. Her wrist bumped into his chest.

  Damn.

  Her eyes jarred open, terrorized with a gasp. Then she saw his face and instantly calmed, but the pain remained evident in the crinkle in her forehead. “Fletch?”

  Rel
ief swept him, his arms almost turning to jelly. Her eyes were clear. Pained, but clear. Whole—a wicked crack in her wrist—but she was whole. He gave her a half smile. “Sorry. I didn’t want to move your wrist, but I bumped it.”

  She gasped against the pain, her eyes squeezing shut. After a long breath, she opened her eyes. “Fletch, you’re carrying me.”

  “Yes.”

  She paused, looking up at him, confusion plain on her face. It took several steps before she looked from his face to her wrist resting on her belly. Her face blanched as the confusion drained away and she identified where her pain came from.

  Her eyes stayed on her crooked wrist. “Fletch, I can walk.”

  “Not at the moment, you cannot.”

  “I can. I got dizzy and I fell. I did not eat. That is all.”

  “That is all? Is that how you broke your wrist?”

  She looked up at him. “I broke it?”

  “You did look at it, didn’t you? That is what a break looks like, Talia.”

  Her gaze dropped down to her wrist once more, a soft groan floating up to him.

  His earlier savage rage not fully dissipated from his veins, Fletch glared down at the top of her head. “Dammit, Talia, what were you doing? You nearly sent me to my grave seeing you unconscious under that tree.”

  Her look flew up to him, her hazel eyes skewering him. “Do not utter such blasphemies as your grave, Fletch. Never. Not in front of me. You do not get to do that. Be mad at me, but you will not speak of your grave in front of me. Save it for your whores.”

  Fletch had to hide an instant smile. She was furious at him—and rightfully so—but he didn’t care. The harsh edge in her voice told him that she was fine—her fire was already back about her—and that was all that he cared about at the moment.

  “And you need to save your ire, Talia. You are going to need all your strength about you for the next hour.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

  “I’m going to have to call the bonesetter.”

  She swallowed hard. “A bonesetter?”

  Fletch nodded. “Yes. He is going to have to reset that bone. And it is going to hurt like hell.”

  { Chapter 18 }

  Fletch afforded himself a quick look out the back window of his chambers. He had watched nothing but Talia’s face contorting in pain for the last half hour, and he could take no more.

  He could take no more of the bonesetter’s rough hands on his wife’s delicate skin. Of his chest crushing with every whimper that escaped through Talia’s tightly drawn lips. Of her hazel eyes, huge, filled with tears, begging him silently for the pain to stop. Of her body convulsing against his chest as he held her while the bonesetter stretched the contracted muscles in her arm.

  He almost wished she hadn’t woken up on the way back to the townhouse. He would have much preferred she suffered this in unconsciousness, her pain hidden from him.

  The bonesetter was fast in assessing how the bone had broken. But not nearly fast enough for Fletch. He wanted his wife out of pain, and he wanted it with haste.

  Talia screamed, but before Fletch could look from the window down at her, she had cut herself off, swallowing the sound.

  The bonesetter yanked her left arm, grunting. Fletch had to tighten his grip around the front of Talia’s waist and chest, holding her steady as he propped her upright in front of him on his bed. Another yank. The wide span of her back shook against his chest as she gasped for breath and Fletch had to hold down his left foot from kicking the bonesetter away from his wife’s body.

  “Done.” Splints in place, the bonesetter quickly wrapped Talia’s arm in a long, tight bandage.

  Yet Talia was still quivering, wave after wave of pain rolling through her body.

  Fletch felt every single tremble as his own.

  The bonesetter stood, collecting his belongings.

  Fletch gave him a nod, not moving from his clasp on his wife. “My man will pay you downstairs.”

  The bonesetter disappeared out the door, leaving them alone, and Fletch remained still, holding Talia against the shudders of her pain.

  His lips dropped to the crown of her head. “You could have screamed. It would have helped.”

  “I could—” She had to swallow back the shake in her voice. “I could not. I could not have Louise hear. She would worry. And she is already in such a state.”

  “She would understand. You cannot make everything in the world always right for her, Talia.”

  Talia stiffened under his arms, twisting on the bed and wedging her right hand in between them to push him away. “I can try. For every moment I failed her by not finding her in time, I can try.”

  Fletch released his arms from her body, his head cocking to the side at her sudden vehemence. She moved gingerly away from him on the bed, collapsing against a stack of pillows by the headboard.

  Fletch eyed her. “How did that happen? Where were you going, Talia? Your mother could not get three words out of her mouth—just enough to send me after you.”

  She winced, and Fletch wasn’t sure if it was from pain or his questions.

  Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “It does not matter, Fletch. I got dizzy because I have not eaten, and I fell. And then you were there.”

  His jaw slid to the side, but he did not press her for details. “You left Wellfork Castle.”

  She exhaled, the blue in her hazel irises sparking as she opened her eyes to glare at him. “I was not about to stay there and watch you fornicate with that woman. I went there for you—begging—and that—”

  Her left elbow twitched, and she closed her eyes, a rush of pain clearly overtaking her words.

  Fletch waited until her face slightly relaxed. “You came back to London on your own, Talia. You didn’t wait for a carriage. You didn’t wait for Reggard. It was not a safe thing to do.”

  “I have done it before.” Her eyes opened, but she refused to look at him and tilted her face to the grey canopy above the bed. “I needed to leave and I thought it would be quickest to do so on a horse.”

  “But not on the Duke of Wellfork’s prized mare.”

  Her look dropped to him. “That is his prized mare?”

  “Yes.”

  She shrugged, her gaze returning to the canopy. “Then I shall send a groveling apology when I have the mare returned.”

  “You never should have left the castle alone, Talia.”

  Her eyes centered on him. “I denied every spec of pride I have to go there for you, Fletch. And then for you to…to…” Her head started to sway, her eyelids dropping as dizziness cut her words. Her mouth kept moving, words slow as they struggled against the faintness overtaking her. “For you to—”

  His hand clamped over her mouth. “Stop. We are talking no more until you eat.”

  ~~~

  Two hours later, they were alone together once more in his bedroom, and Fletch sat in a chair by the bed, watching his wife in silence.

  Propped against the headboard of the bed, she had eaten—mostly picked at her beef, potatoes, and beets. But her eyes were no longer slipping into random glassiness, and the color had returned to her cheeks.

  Most important to him, though, was that her body had—except for the occasional spasm—stopped twitching in pain.

  Between her shift and the top of the bandaging that ended at her elbow, Fletch stared at the stretch of bare skin along her upper arm. That was the swath where he could clearly see the pain twinge up her arm, and he was busy willing it into nonexistence.

  “What were you doing with that woman?”

  Talia’s sudden question made him jump. His gaze flickered to her eyes. “What? Who?”

  “That woman in black—a widow—the dark-haired beauty at Wellfork Castle.”

  Fletch sighed, leaning back in his chair. “So you did see that. Reggard said you did.”

  “Yes.”

  “What you saw was absolutely nothing, Talia. The woman, Lady Canton, intercepted me in the hall—
she surprised me more than anyone. That woman has a host of her own games she was concocting there at Wellfork Castle. Games that I was not a part of until you appeared. And then she attacked me out of nowhere. Unprovoked. Unwanted. I imagine she knew you were within sight.”

  “It did not look like an attack.”

  Fletch shifted forward, his hand slipping past her knee to squeeze her thigh through the coverlet. “Believe me, it was. I was searching for you. I would not do that to you, Talia, betray you with another—try to hurt you like that.” A wry smile fought through the frown on his lips. “I think it has already been proven I cannot deny you anything, my wife.”

  “But you were having fun with Lady Canton, I saw you laughing with her at your table when I arrived at Wellfork Castle.”

  “Fun?” A dry, caustic chuckle from deep in his chest cut into the air. “I have spent my whole life masking what I feel, Talia. What you saw at Wellfork Castle was exactly how I lived my life before you dropped into my world and took it over.” He stopped, looking up at the bed canopy with a shake of his head. “I am a good guest. A witty conversationalist. A pleasure to be around. Polished. But there is no real feeling behind it.”

  “Not real?” The ire had eased from her voice.

  “No.” His look dropped to her. He shifted from the chair to the bed, setting himself next to her, his hand wrapping along her far thigh. “Not like I am with you, Talia. Real feeling. Real desire.”

  He leaned in, twisting back a red-blond lock of her hair so he could set his mouth next to her ear. “You are the one that makes me feel, Talia. You.”

  His head dropped, his lips finding the strong line of her neck. “With you I am a man with purpose, Talia. With you I am genuine. I am real.”

  “And complicated. Aggravating. Stubborn. Vexing. Hard. Amazing. Brave. Strong. Kind. Generous.” Her words went soft as her head tilted, giving him access to her neck. “And sending me to my knees.”

  He took full advantage of her body’s invitation, his lips dragging across her skin, his tongue moving in slow circles, just enjoying the way her flesh sparked under his taste, the way she stretched, opening herself even more fully to him. “As long as I am under you, I like you on your knees, Talia.”