Promise Me Forever

by Kimberly Nee

  He didn't let her finish, but gave her a lopsided smile. “A nice attempt, Heather."

  "What makes you think I am not serious?” she demanded, rising to her feet to face him squarely. She didn't know what else to say. On one hand, she was quite moved by the fact that he was so willing to walk away from everything. On the other, she knew she could never rid herself of the guilt, knowing she had cost him the people he loved so dearly and the company for which he'd spent almost half of his life toiling.

  She thought of the child she carried, of what awaited her in London, should she return with a bastard. She also thought of when that child was five, six years old and asking for his father. What would she tell him?

  She looked up at Drew, trying to imagine his features on a little boy or girl. How strong would the pain be, looking down at that child and seeing his handsome father, who was no longer a part of her life? It hurt now, and he stood right there before her. She couldn't imagine it would be any easier in several years.

  Still, she knew what must be done. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and said, “I could never ask you to make that choice, Drew."

  "You aren't asking me to do anything,” he replied calmly. “This is a choice I've made alone. A decision I made months ago."

  "Think of what that means, though."

  He closed his eyes for a long moment, his expression that of a man in mortal agony. She didn't need to tell him what it meant—that he would have to start from the beginning, rebuild his life, that he would never again be able to count on his family, his name.

  Then he opened his eyes and his gaze was soft as he regarded her. Shaking his head, he reached for her hand, saying, “It's a sacrifice I am more than willing to make, Heather."

  She stared at him for a long moment, then glanced down at that large hand holding hers. “I do not wish for you to come to regret this, Drew,” she whispered, slowly pulling her hand free. “And I am afraid that is exactly what will happen. Perhaps not tomorrow, or next year, but it will happen. You will awake one morning to the terrible realization that your life has gone horribly awry."

  "That will never happen."

  "You don't know that."

  "I do know that. I know you think I've made this mistake before. And perhaps I came very close to doing just that. But all I know is that what I feel for you does not even compare to Rebecca. I am not that same man any longer. I know what I want, Heather. And you are what I want.” He moved to close the gap between them, taking her into his arms. “You are what I want and I could never regret that."

  He did not give her the chance to argue as his lips came down to seize hers in a fierce kiss that left no room for her to doubt exactly what it was he felt for her. When they parted, he wrapped his arms about her, pulling her to his chest. She sighed softly, resting her head against the broad expanse, listening to the strong, steady thumping of his heart.

  Kissing the top of her head, he murmured, “Tonight we will be married. Tomorrow, we will leave for London."

  "London? Are you certain?"

  As she looked up at him with questioning eyes, he nodded. “Yes. There is no reason for us to remain here. In London, I can make a fresh start for us. If we remain here, there is nothing but rumors and innuendoes facing us. I'd rather give our child a brighter future in England."

  "If you are certain...?"

  He nodded. “I am. I will gather the Aphrodite's crew together and we will leave with the tide tomorrow."

  "But—"

  He cut her off with a kiss. “The Aphrodite is mine. The deed is in my name. My father cannot touch her."

  She heard the bitterness in his voice and couldn't help but again think he was making a mistake—a terrible mistake. “Perhaps we should wait, then,” she murmured, chewing at her forefinger, “until tempers cool. Then, if things have not changed, we can set sail."

  "Heather—"

  "No.” She pulled free from his embrace. “You are angry. Your father is most likely angry as well. Give it a few days, Drew. See what happens. At least then, we will both know that you gave it a chance. I know what your temper is like, and I'll wager your father has the same fiery temperament as well. Can we not see if cooler heads will prevail?"

  A flash of irritation glinted in his eyes, but he slowly nodded. “Very well. I will give it a few days. But, I do wish us to be married as soon as possible. Perhaps that will prove to them I am most serious about this."

  She had to agree. After all, she'd been growing most concerned about their wedding. She was nearly three months along. It would certainly raise eyebrows if their baby was born too soon after their wedding. It wouldn't make much of a difference, since the child would be legitimate at birth, but would cause much speculation amongst the populace of Brunswick. Of course, if they did return to London, it would be a moot point. Still, the sooner they were married, the easier Heather knew she'd breathe.

  Thirty-eight

  At sunset that evening, Judge Montgomery Adler presided over the wedding ceremony of Andrew Kiernan Kennedy and Heather Elizabeth Spencer. It was a simple ceremony, taking place at the elegant, white marble edifice of the Brunswick courthouse. Jeremy Allen and Christina Anderson were the only guests present, acting as witnesses as the judge read the simple vows.

  Heather's eyes filled with tears of joy as Drew eased a delicate gold ring onto the third finger of her left hand, then took her in his arms for their first kiss as man and wife.

  When it was over, he ordered their driver to take them to the harbor. As their home remained unfurnished, he explained, they would spend their wedding night in the privacy of his cabin aboard the Aphrodite. In the morning, he would confront his father with the news of his marriage.

  "But for now,” he whispered, setting her gently in the middle of the bed and covering her body with his, “we shall forget the outside world and celebrate our first night as man and wife the way it was meant to be celebrated."

  * * * *

  Samantha Kennedy slammed her hairbrush onto her vanity table, affixing her husband with an icy blue stare. “You told Drew what?"

  Warren was unmoved by his wife's expression of temper. “I forbid him to have anything to do with that harlot."

  "Have you gone mad?” she demanded, rising from the vanity bench, drawing her pelisse tightly about her as she crossed over to the bed. “He is our son! You cannot do such a thing!"

  "You would have a strumpet as a daughter-in-law?” he countered, yanking off a boot to fire across the room.

  "Oh, you do not know for a fact that she was anything of the sort!"

  "I do know that is what people are saying, what the impact of those words will have on this family, on Eagleton. He will ruin his life if he marries her."

  "But to disown him, Warren? How could you do such a thing?” She gave a vicious tug on the bedcovers, practically tearing them from the bed. “I cannot turn my back on him. Perhaps you can, but I cannot go along with that."

  "You are my wife,” he replied in an icy voice. “You will do as I say."

  "Oh, will I now?” Her words were scorching hot, almost smoking with fury. “I hate to break this to you, but I will be doing no such thing, then. It's ludicrous!"

  He threw up his hands. “I assumed you would be the first to see the folly of his actions. It's the most idiotic thing he has ever done, Samantha. We've always indulged his every whim, always thought his unconventional ways were something he would eventually grow out of. Perhaps we made a mistake. Perhaps we should have encouraged him to be more serious, like Garrett."

  She shook her head. “That would have been an even bigger mistake, Warren. Garrett is far too serious at times. Drew has always been able to make him forget that seriousness for a while. He has always been able to do that for all of us and I would never wish for him to change, to lose that puckishness. No, the most idiotic thing he could have ever done would have been to marry that Rebecca trash,” she stated flatly, slipping into bed.

  She leaned back against
the pillows, arms crossed and glaring at her husband. She could not believe what he was telling her. Her son in a brothel. Heather the strumpet he'd paid for ... The very thought made her skin crawl.

  She was not so naïve as to believe Drew was an angel—that he never put a foot wrong. But, she did like to believe she'd raised her children with some modicum of decency. That did not include visits to such places as Delilah's. Oh, she knew both of her sons had developed somewhat rakish reputations, but no matter what, she could not condemn them for their behavior. Both followed in their father's footsteps, for Warren had been every inch the irrepressible rake before she came into his life. As long as neither one brought too great a scandal to Shadowbrook's doorstep, she was most willing to look in the other direction. They were grown men, after all, and thus entitled to live their lives as they saw fit.

  She genuinely liked Heather Spencer. The girl seemed every inch a respectable lady and Samantha refused to believe she was anything but that. “I don't care what people are saying, Warren,” she continued, her voice softer now. “You do not know if it's even true."

  "I do know."

  She thought her heart had actually stopped beating for a moment. Leaning forward, she whispered, “What?"

  "Drew confessed, Sam. He met her in a brothel. He told me as much. And, he paid for her—ah—services.” As her pale skin went paler still, he nodded. “Yes, exactly. The rumors are not entirely false. He does, however, claim that she was—” he cleared his throat—"not very experienced at her profession."

  She resisted the urge to shudder. It wasn't a conversation she ever thought she'd be having in regards to Drew. No mother wishes to see her son as every other man, with the same urges and desires when it came to the pleasures of the flesh. It wasn't a subject with which she was entirely comfortable dealing.

  "So, she—"

  "Was a virgin,” Warren finished for her. “But, that does not change the fact that—"

  She interrupted. “It does change things. As far as I am concerned, it does. I will not, and I cannot, simply pretend that Drew no longer exists. He is in love with her. You would destroy that for him? I have seen them together, seen how he looks at her and how she looks at him. I cannot ruin that for him. For the first time in years, he is truly happy, Warren. He is the man he was before that Rebecca came into his life. I do not wish to see that man die again and he will if you do this to him."

  Warren sighed softly. “This will mean a scandal beyond any we have faced."

  "As if scandal is anything new to this family,” she reminded him gently, as he slipped into bed beside her. “Eventually, talk will die down and people will forget."

  "I certainly hope so, Sam, but I am afraid I am not as confident as you seem to be."

  She smoothed a hand over his graying black hair. “Trust him. Trust that he knows what he is doing."

  His mind refused to rest though. She extinguished the lamps, plunging them into darkness, and it wasn't long before he could hear her deep, even breathing beside him.

  Sleep evaded him, though, as he lay there, staring through the darkness at the ceiling. In fact, he wasn't the least bit certain he would ever get a good night's sleep again.

  Thirty-nine

  London had not changed at all in the time Heather was gone, and she quickly settled into the townhouse where she had agreed to become Drew Kennedy's mistress. It took several weeks for her to work through the anger she'd felt, upon waking the morning after her wedding to learn they had put to sea, leaving Brunswick, and America, far behind.

  She couldn't believe Drew would lie to her so easily, agreeing to sit down and speak with his father when cooler heads prevailed, and then doing just the opposite. Instead, he deceived her, fully intending to leave for England as soon as possible. She refused to speak to him for almost a week, giving him the coldest of shoulders, despite his stubborn insistence that he knew what he was doing.

  The Marquis of Collingsworth had been more than willing to allow Drew and his bride to set up residence in Grosvenor Square until Drew could make arrangements elsewhere, as the marquis wished to spend more time at his country estate in Kent.

  After Boxing Day, Drew announced he'd found them a perfectly acceptable town house in Town—in Berkeley Square. They moved in and were settled in almost no time.

  It was a most unsettling time for her. She felt as though she was growing rounder by the day, but Drew did not seem to be the least bit fazed by her expanding shape. He was as lusty as ever where she was concerned and she spent as much time in bed with him as she did outside of it. He was not the least bit put off by her growing roundness. Instead, it seemed to intrigue him. Especially when the baby kicked.

  The first time he felt it, his eyes glimmered with tears, his hand pressed against the flutter in amazement. After that, he developed the habit of talking directly to her belly, chuckling softly when his son thumped back to the sound of his father's voice.

  Yes, he was convinced the child she carried was a boy and he would hear no argument that suggested otherwise. He was a Kennedy and, as such, his firstborn would be a boy. End of discussion.

  Spring came and Heather found moving about more difficult than ever. She couldn't see to even make certain her slippers matched. Her back ached constantly and she had to use the chamber pot every hour. As she drew nearer to the end of her pregnancy, she was filled with a mixture of relief and fear.

  Drew spent most days at the harbor, in the small warehouse he'd leased to start up his own shipping business. He really didn't wish to become his father's competition, but shipping was all he knew. And thus, Zeus Exports was born.

  He was in his cramped office when there came a sudden knock at the door. He looked up, his jaw going slack when he saw who his visitor was. Warren Kennedy stood on the far side of the threshold. “May I come in?"

  He rose to his feet. “Yes. Of course."

  Warren stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. Both men faced each other, tired dark brown eyes locking with defiant blue eyes. Drew could feel his muscles tighten as he anticipated what his father might do or say.

  "I suppose you are surprised to see me,” Warren began after a long silence, in which they simply stared at one another.

  "That would be putting it mildly, yes."

  "Well, your mother is here as well. Along with Garrett and Andie."

  "This is a regular family reunion, then, isn't it?” His reply was cold as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I hope you do not expect to be welcomed into my home."

  "I expect nothing, Drew. I had hoped you would remain in Brunswick."

  "Why would I? I am no longer your son, remember?"

  Warren's cheeks flushed at that. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he said, “Yes, well, I thought we might want to talk about that.” He gestured to the straight-backed chair across from Drew's desk. “May I?"

  "If you wish."

  Warren made himself comfortable in the chair. “Drew, I think I might have spoken in haste. Perhaps your mother was right, tempers were lost and things were said that shouldn't have been uttered. Perhaps I was too quick to judge and in doing so, misjudged terribly. I trust all is well between you and Heather?"

  "It is now. She was a bit upset with me when she awoke to find herself in the middle of the Atlantic, but we've been here long enough for her to let go of her anger. She has a few more important things to worry about now."

  "Such as the baby? Garrett told us Heather is expecting."

  "Due any day."

  Warren nodded slowly. “I must admit, Drew, of you and your brother, it was your brother I expected to give us a grandchild first."

  "Yes, well, that has always been the case, hasn't it?"

  "I did not mean it that way."

  Drew sighed softly, shaking his head. “Is that why you are here?"

  "No. Well, not entirely. As I said, I think I might have made a mistake."

  "Now you think it was a mistake you made. Six months ago, I was making
the mistake.” Drew relaxed then, lowering himself into his chair. “Which is it?"

  Warren shifted. “I don't blame you for being angry. In fact, I'm a bit surprised you aren't more so. The only reason why I came was to set everything right. I was wrong, Drew. I made the mistake. After you left, Garrett found out that the man who'd begun the rumors regarding Heather was a former member of your crew."

  "Yes.” Drew nodded. In his spare time, he'd been combing London's harbor for signs of Henry Donaldson, without much luck. He'd learned through other sailors that Donaldson had been given a commission on board one of Markson's ships, so it was only a matter of time before Drew got his hands on the worm responsible for his current expatriation.

  "And that Melanie Tomlinson, once again, made certain this rumor made the rounds,” Warren sighed, leaning back in his chair. “So, it goes without saying that very few people have chosen to believe this particular story. It seems your wife has made quite the impression that she is nothing other than a lady."

  "I see."

  "So, with that said, I wanted to apologize for my words that last afternoon. I am proud to call you my son."

  "And that is to make everything right again? As if the last six months haven't happened? Am I simply to forget what was said that day?"

  "Drew, be reasonable—"

  "As you were reasonable where Heather was concerned?” he countered sharply, slowly rising and leaning over the small desk. “The way my judgment was questioned? The way—"

  "Captain Kennedy!"

  He turned to see Priscilla, Heather's maid, standing in the doorway, out of breath and her eyes wide. His stomach gave a lurch. There was only one reason why the maid would be down at the harbor and so out of breath.

  "What is it?” he asked, gripping the edge of the desk. “The baby?"

  "Please, Captain Kennedy! You must come home now! I've sent Hodges for Dr. Burnham!"