“Which he earned.”
“And his most fortunate wife shall have the plea sure of spending.”
“Earlier you were of the opinion that he’d have difficulty securing a wife,” Lauren reminded her.
Lady Blythe smiled as though she were suddenly superior. “One never knows. When a man has enough coins in his pockets and a title as well, a good deal that one might find distasteful can be overlooked.”
“Although one can’t deny, as Fairfield reminded us, that he earned his money. Terribly unfortunate that,” Lady Cassandra said.
“But he earned it before he knew he was an earl,” Lady Blythe said, “so surely it is a forgivable offense.”
Lauren found herself feeling incredible empathy for the man, who undoubtedly was about to have a strange new life thrust upon him as she’d once had one thrust upon her. Perhaps she would seek him out and advise him to return to Texas as quickly as possible, before he was shaped and molded into an aristocrat, blending in with everyone else, no longer his own man with his own thoughts, opinions, and dreams.
He heard her voice—surprised that he could identify it after all these years. It had changed slightly, he couldn’t deny that. Grown softer, with a gentler timbre that could lure a man in before he realized he was well and truly captivated.
That’s how Thomas Warner felt. Captivated.
And he sure as hell didn’t want to be.
There wasn’t much in life that Tom dreaded, but he’d been dreading this encounter from the moment that it had dawned on him that sooner or later it would come to pass. He’d put it off as long as he could, and now that it was about to happen, he was torn between wishing it had come along sooner and wishing that it had never arrived.
While the butler—in a snit because Tom didn’t have a proper calling card—had gone to inform the Earl of Ravenleigh that Tom had come to call, Tom had been standing in the entry hallway, cooling his heels, waiting. But he hadn’t been doing it patiently. Being accustomed to giving the orders and having them obeyed without question, he wasn’t used to waiting on any man.
Then he’d heard the voices, talking almost too fast to decipher…then her voice. She’d lost a good bit of the slow drawl that had once been music to his ears, but he could still hear it when she spoke certain words, like a memorable chord wafting off a fiddle. So he found himself listening intently for the familiar.
He’d eased over to the doorway, leaned against the doorjamb, and just…spied on them. A gathering of women, so intent on their visiting that they weren’t noticing him. He remembered times in his life when he’d yearned for a woman’s presence with such longing that he’d thought he’d die from the wanting. Not only her touch, but her fragrance, her softness, the comfort she could offer.
He knew it was wrong to stand there, knew he should announce his presence, but he wasn’t sure what would happen once Lauren saw him.
Did she even remember him?
When he’d never been able to forget her?
Chapter 2
Ten years earlier
“I saw what you did.”
Sitting against the back wall of the general store, Tom Warner peered out from beneath his dusty, battered hat and squinted at the young gal standing before him, legs akimbo, fists planted on her almost nonexistent hips. She sure was a pretty thing, with eyes the color of bluebonnets in spring and hair the shade of the full moon that looked down on him while he slept. “So?”
“You stole those crackers.”
Tom shoved the last of his bounty into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed, wishing he had some milk with which to wash them down. “What crackers?”
Her jaw dropped, and she began to blink those startling blue eyes of hers. “So you’re a liar, too?”
“What do you care? It ain’t your store.”
“But it’s wrong to steal and lie about it.”
Lord save him from the self-righteous. “It’s only stealing if you take something when you got the money to pay for it. Besides, I was hungry.”
She furrowed her brow. “You ain’t got no money?”
“I’ve got a bit”—two bits as a matter of fact—“but I’m saving it for an emergency.”
“Being hungry is an emergency.”
“Nah, it ain’t.” He shoved himself to his feet. He was considerably taller than she, so she had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. He liked the way she kept watching him. “I been hungry lots of times. Something always comes along.”
“You mean you always steal something.”
“I mean the Lord provides.”
“Are you a preacher?”
“Hell, no.”
She gasped, her eyes growing even wider. “You’re not supposed to cuss.”
Hell wasn’t really a cussword, was it? He’d used far worse words in his day. Might be fun to use one now, see her get more riled.
“Well, damn,” he said, taking plea sure in her horrified expression. “What’s left to a man if he can’t steal, lie, or cuss?”
“You ain’t a man,” she said indignantly.
“Close enough. I’m almost sixteen.”
He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a paper and a pouch of tobacco, and slowly rolled himself a cigarette. He stuck it between his lips. While she watched, mouth agape, he flicked his thumb over a match, the strike causing it to ignite. Touching the flame to the cigarette, he inhaled deeply. Smoking always took the edge off his hunger. Course, stealing the makings wasn’t as easy as stealing crackers, but sometimes a man simply needed a challenge.
“You ain’t supposed to smoke in the presence of a lady without asking permission,” she said, a scolding tone to her words that would have had him turning on his bootheels and walking away if she wasn’t so pleasing to look at. He wasn’t partial to being chewed out, didn’t see much point in tolerating it.
Blowing out the smoke, squinting through it, he gave an exaggerated look around the area. “I don’t see no lady around here.”
“I’m a lady.”
“You’re just a kid.”
“Am not. I’m a young lady, almost fully growed.”
“Let me see.”
She blinked rapidly, her nose no longer pointing at the sky. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, let me unbutton your bodice. Let me see if you’re almost fully growed.”
She blinked again, shrugged, and thrust her chest toward him, a dare in her eyes that astounded him. “All right.”
Sweet Lord in heaven! She was going to let him do it. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and mashed it with the toe of his worn boot. His mouth grew so dry that it was as though he’d chewed the tobacco instead of inhaling it. He wiped his suddenly damp hands on his trousers, then reached for her bodice, embarrassed that his hands were shaking so badly that he could barely get his fingers to work. But he was determined not to stop, because he desperately wanted to see what he’d been growing more and more anxious to see in the past few months. A woman’s bosom. Well, a girl’s bosom in this case, but a bosom was a bosom. Hell, if he’d known it was this easy to get a gal out of her clothes, he would have asked one long ago.
“Lauren Fairfield, what in the world is going on back here?”
The tartly delivered question almost had his skin running out of there without him in it. Once he quickly recaptured his breath, he realized her mama—the woman looked too much like her not to be—must have come around the corner without him noticing, and he was only one button closer to seeing paradise. Survival kicked in, but before he could duck and dart away, her mama sent his hat flying into the dust, got hold of his ear, pinching hard, which brought him up short. “Ow!”
“Have you been smoking back here?” her mama asked.
“No, ma’am. Only him. He didn’t ask me first. And he cusses.”
The girl stopped her explanation there, lowered her gaze, and Tom wanted to kiss her for keeping her mouth shut about his worst transgressions. With her lips pressed tightly together, he
stood a good chance of not going to jail. They didn’t arrest people for smoking or cussing. But if she’d revealed that he’d stolen as well…
“If your pa were still alive, he’d beat this boy to within an inch of life for taking liberties with you, but since he’s not, it’s left to me to take care of this matter,” her mama said, grabbing her daughter’s arm and tugging harder on Tom’s ear.
Prison might be better after all. He followed after them because the woman gave him no choice, not if he wanted to keep his ear, and he was right partial to it. It matched the one on the other side of his head.
They rounded the corner of the building, her mother trudging through the alley, pulling them both along behind her. She turned the next corner. “Marshal!”
Ah, hell, could his luck get any worse? The marshal was leaning against the front of the general store, his forehead pressed to the wood.
“Just past noon and you’re already drunk,” her mama chastised.
The man twisted his head slightly and stared at them. Tom had never seen such pale blue eyes.
“I saw you coming out of the saloon,” her mama continued. “I don’t know why the people of this town saw fit to make you marshal, or why I’m turning to a womanizer with this problem. Reckon because I got no choice.” Without releasing her hold on Tom’s ear, she somehow managed to thrust him toward the marshal.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Tom cried, wincing. Dang, but the woman could pinch.
“I want him locked up for the night.”
Tom tried to look on the bright side. At least he’d get a hot meal and a cot.
The marshal finally spoke. “My apologies, madam”—the man talked so danged funny that Tom almost burst out laughing, but he decided that considering the spot he was in, it was to his advantage to keep quiet—“but I can’t—”
“You sure can, and you’d better. Take him!”
The marshal wrapped his hand around Tom’s arm and pulled him away from the woman. “What’s his offense?”
“He was unbuttoning my Lauren’s bodice, trying to…take advantage of her innocence. She’s only fourteen.”
Fourteen? Holy hell! She was just a kid. Tom had figured she was closer to his age, had just called her a kid to rile her.
The marshal gave a brisk nod. “I shall handle the matter posthaste.”
“See that you do, or I swear I’ll have the town council throw you out of office.” She trudged away, pulling her daughter behind her. The gal glanced over her shoulder, giving Tom a look that said she was as sorry at the way they were parting as he was.
“Who was that termagant?” the marshal asked.
Judging by the man’s prissy voice, all soft and elegant-sounding, Tom didn’t think he was from around there. He looked to be a dandy. Tom was pretty sure that he could outrun the fella. And he wasn’t exactly sure what a termagant was, but based on the way the man had asked and the way Lauren’s mother had been scolding the man, Tom didn’t think he was issuing any compliments.
“The Widow Fairfield,” Tom answered, figuring it was the only name that suited her if her husband was dead and the gal was Lauren Fairfield.
“How old are you, lad?” the marshal asked.
Tom angled his chin defiantly. “Fifteen, and I ain’t afraid of jail.”
“I’m not going to put you in jail for being curious, but wait until you’re sixteen before you unfasten any other bodices. Make certain the woman is older or a sporting sort who is willing to take money to satisfy your natural curiosity.” The marshal released his hold. “Now, be off with you.”
Tom didn’t have to be told twice. He ran around the corner, down the alley, and around the other corner, coming to a stop behind the store. He snatched up his hat, crammed it on his head, and gently scooped up what remained of his cigarette. He could finish it off that night when his stomach started rumbling. Unless he could find something more to eat. He wondered what they tossed out behind the saloon.
“I see you’re still stealing.”
Tom finished off his cracker, before squinting up from his favorite sitting spot behind the general store. There she was again. Lauren Fairfield. Dressed in blue, a row of buttons up the front that went clear to her chin. Had to be durn near choking her.
“Took up drinking, too,” he said, with a grin.
He liked the way her eyes got so big and round whenever he shocked her.
“So you’re still lying, too, I see.”
“Ain’t lying. Found a half-empty bottle out behind the saloon last week. Finished it off.”
“What’d it taste like?” she asked, obviously curious.
Like piss, but he didn’t tell her that because she might ask how he knew what piss tasted like, and he sure didn’t want to reveal that sorry aspect of his life. So he settled for, “I’ve tasted better.”
“You’re supposed to take off your hat in a lady’s presence and stand up.”
“You sure care a lot about manners.”
“Everybody does.”
“I don’t.”
“How come?”
“Can’t see that there’s any advantage to ’em.”
“Not getting your backside whupped is an advantage.”
“Who’s gonna whup my backside?”
“Your parents.”
“They’re dead.”
Of all the things he’d said to her, that comment seemed to shock her most of all.
“You’re an orphan?”
He shrugged.
“Where do you live?”
He shrugged again.
“Is that why you steal?”
“You sure ask a lot of questions.” He squinted at her. “What do you know about that marshal?”
“That Mama don’t like him. Or his friends.”
“He talks funny.”
“He’s from England. He and his friends moved here right after the war, to help with the harvesting of the cotton, on account of so many of the menfolk got killed.”
England. He didn’t know anyone from England. He was sure of it. Still, the way the man talked tickled something at the back of his memory. He couldn’t get it out of his head, but then he couldn’t seem to get Lauren out of his head either. He’d been taking her to sleep with him, her and that one unbuttoned button.
“Why do you care about him?” she asked.
“I don’t. Just curious. Something tugging at my memory. Can’t rightly put my finger on it.”
“I’m sorry my mama got you in trouble with him.”
With his thumb, he tipped his hat off his brow. “He let me go as soon as your mama was gone. Didn’t have to spend the night in jail after all.”
She smiled. “I’m glad.”
Lord have mercy. His heart kicked painfully against his ribs. When she smiled, she got downright beautiful. “You still fourteen?”
She laughed lightly, and somehow managed to take his breath away at the same time.
“Course, silly. Why are you asking?”
“’Cuz it’s my birthday, and I wanted to buy me a present.”
Her eyes and smile got brighter. “What are you gonna buy?”
“An unbuttoned bodice.”
She furrowed her brow, narrowed her eyes, and pinched her mouth. “Didn’t think you had any money.”
“Told you I had a bit.”
“Thought you were saving it for an emergency.”
The way his heart was hammering…“It is an emergency.”
“My mama sure was mad—”
“That’s ’cuz I didn’t know that I had to pay.” He scrambled to his feet, removed his hat, and pulled the quarter out of his pocket. “The marshal said it was all right for me to do it if I paid for it.”
“Why are you so set on unbuttoning my bodice?”
“’Cuz I ain’t never seen a bosom before, and I heard fellas talking about what a fine sight it was.”
She took on a mulish expression, so he unfurled his fingers to show her what he was willing to offer this time.
“On the orphan train.”
“You rode on the orphan train?”
He nodded. “All the way from New York. Not to here, of course. I walked here, didn’t much like the family what took me in.”
“How come?”
“Just didn’t. You want this two bits or not?” he asked impatiently. He didn’t want to think about all that had happened after his folks died. He wanted to have a good memory of his sixteenth birthday, something he’d be thinking about if he lived to be a hundred.
She skewed up her face, which he thought should have made her look ugly, but it didn’t. It just made him want to tease her more, to keep her lingering around.
“All you want to do is unbutton my bodice?”
He nodded, his mouth suddenly so dry that he didn’t think he’d be able to talk if he had to.
“You can’t touch nothing,” she said.
“I won’t,” he forced out through the knot forming in his throat as his anticipation built. “I’ll just look.”
“I guess there’s no harm in just looking.”
“None at all.”
She held out her hand. He dropped the coin in it, wishing his didn’t look so dirty to him all of a sudden. After setting his hat aside, he wiped his hands on his trousers and cursed them for starting to tremble again. He hated to think how badly they might be shaking if he got to touch more than buttons. Not that he would touch more than she’d given him permission to. He might be a thief, a liar, a cusser, and—most recently—a drunk, but he wasn’t a scoundrel. Well, maybe he was a little. The unbuttoning might be walking right up to the line, but he wasn’t going to step over it. A man had to have some principles.
Holding his gaze, she lifted her chin. He swallowed hard, wishing she didn’t have so many danged buttons. The first one seemed to take forever to slip through that tiny little loop. It parted to reveal the tiniest bit of her throat. He stopped breathing. Moved his fingers to the next button—
“Lauren Fairfield!”
Before he could make a move to escape, his ear was held in a painful grip, and he was dancing on his toes, trying to stop the agony. How could a woman inflict such torment with a pinch?
Promise me forever - The Lost Lords Trilogy 03 Page 2