Ravenleigh chuckled. “It seems an odd twist of fate for a man who was sent to Texas because of the scandals he created here at home. My brother and his friends have done remarkably well for themselves.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
Ravenleigh studied him for a minute. “Kit and his friends kept me apprised of your various accomplishments. You’ve done extremely well for yourself by all accounts.”
Tom nodded, gazed back at his glass. “Considering the odd journey my life has taken. I’m comfortable in Texas. I can’t say the same for this stretch of the world.”
“You’ll adapt and grow accustomed to it. I have no doubt about that.”
“You gave me a leg up when I needed it. I owe you for that.”
“Yes, well, I owe you for my present family. If not for your misconduct, I might have never met my Elizabeth.”
Tom peered up at him. “She’s changed considerably since I knew her.”
Ravenleigh appeared somber. “They all have, Tom. Adjusting to my way of life was much harder on them than I anticipated it would be. I fully expected Lauren to be more sympathetic with your present plight, but it appears she has her own plans to see to. Samantha might be willing to assist you in learning your way around a ballroom.”
Only Tom didn’t want Samantha helping him. He wanted Lauren, wanted an opportunity to get to know her again, to know the woman she’d become, wanted her to get to know him, the man he’d become. Wanted to see if he could change her mind about remaining in England—at least for a time.
“I haven’t totally given up on Lauren helping me.”
Ravenleigh nodded sagely as though he understood the undercurrent of emotion in Tom’s voice. “It appears I may have not understood fully what it cost Lauren to move here.”
“What it cost us both,” Tom said quietly.
“Do you know what they’re saying about Tom?” Samantha asked.
“That he’s devilishly handsome, frightfully uncivilized, and incredibly wealthy,” Lauren said, looking her gowns over, wondering why she cared so much what she wore to dinner, why she felt an almost uncontrollable need to make a favorable impression on Tom. Tom. The Earl of Sachse. She could hardly wrap her mind around that fact. “Lady Blythe and friends dropped by this afternoon to see what I could reveal about the new lord.”
“Were they here when he arrived?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
She glanced over her shoulder to look at Samantha, who was sitting on her bed with an expectant gleam in her eyes. “And what?”
“What happened?”
“What do you think happened? He was wearing trousers, which was enough to make Lady Blythe begin acting silly.”
“Did Lady Cassandra demonstrate one of her infamous swoons?”
“No, thankfully.”
“Is Lady Blythe going to set her sights on Tom, do you think?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t realize he was Sachse until after they left. Had she known that, I have little doubt that she would have made far more obvious advances than she did.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“About what?”
“Oh, Lauren, don’t be so difficult, echoing my every question. You can’t deny that you’ve always held out a smidgen of hope that he’d come for you. You’ve turned away every lord who has asked for your hand. You either did that because you were waiting for Tom or because you had no wish to marry a lord.”
A little bit of both, perhaps, Lauren thought as she moved away from the wardrobe and stretched out on the fainting couch near the foot of her bed. Her headache was returning with a vengeance. Perhaps she’d stay upstairs for the evening. She certainly had no desire to suffer through her sister’s inquisition, and she had little doubt that once Samantha had taken a turn with her, Amy would be bounding in to ask questions. Or perhaps not. She seemed not to remember Texas nearly as well as her two older sisters.
“Do you love him?” Samantha asked.
She scowled at her sister. “I don’t know him, not really. I see a man who was once a boy whom I liked, but that’s hardly enough to make any sort of judgment regarding my feelings.”
Samantha popped off the bed. “Let me know when you decide. He has all the qualifications I want in a husband, and if you’re not interested…”
“What qualifications?”
“Good looks, charm, money, and a title.”
“That’s incredibly shallow. The looks will fade with the years, the money will diminish over time—”
“But the charm and the title will last forever.”
Lauren stood. “You’re baiting me. Surely you would want to know more than that about a man before you married him.”
“Think what you will,” Samantha said as she opened the door. “But unlike you, dear sister, I’m not opposed to marrying a lord.”
Lauren watched her sister exit the room, her parting words echoing around her. Was Samantha really taking an interest in Tom? And if she was, what did Lauren care?
Unfortunately, she was afraid that she might discover that she cared a great deal.
Lauren’s mother had given Ravenleigh two daughters, Joy and Christine. Joy was nine, Christine six. Fair of complexion, they’d inherited their father’s light blue eyes. They were too young to join the adults for dinner, but they’d come to the library to meet the new earl and had quite effectively charmed Tom. They already seemed like miniature adults. He imagined in a few years they’d be wrapping young men around their little fingers.
A short while later, after the girls had returned upstairs and when Ravenleigh excused himself in order to determine what was keeping the ladies from joining them, Tom took the opportunity to step out onto the veranda. Twilight was moving on, darkness was easing in, but with the help of the gaslights along the pebbled path, he could still make out the elaborate gardens. The lingering scent of roses wafted around him. He wondered if he’d be expected to learn the names of the various flowers and plants that seemed to fill every garden and park that he visited. These people seemed to love their gardens.
He shook his head. These people, whether it felt right or not, were his people.
Removing a cigar from the inside pocket of his jacket, he wondered if he wouldn’t be better off excusing himself from dinner. He wasn’t exactly dressed for a fancy feast, and the one thing he’d learned while enjoying meals with his father’s second wife was that every meal was fancy, and a man was expected to be buttoned up good and proper. Tom wasn’t wearing a waistcoat or an expensively tailored jacket—the tailor he’d hired had promised to make good on the delivery of those items within the next few days—and so Tom knew he didn’t look like any English gentleman he’d met so far, and he was feeling out of his element. Lauren’s mother would probably hold his inappropriate attire against him, and he found himself wondering why her opinion mattered to him so much.
Maybe because she’d successfully transformed herself into a proper English lady, while he had yet to become the proper English gentleman. Not that his assessment of her transformation was truly fair. His encounters with her years ago had always taken place when she was at her angriest, and, in retrospect, he didn’t blame her for her reactions to his pitiful, inexperienced, and utterly inappropriate attempts at flirting with her oldest daughter.
Not that he’d behaved any better that afternoon. His reunion with Lauren might have gone more successfully if he’d paved the way with a bit more finesse and not brought up the debt, a silly reminder of their childhood that he didn’t truly expect her to pay; but it served to keep her riled, and he’d always enjoyed watching the way a spark of anger could deepen the blue of her eyes. He’d often wondered if passion would do the same, but she’d left before he’d had the opportunity to find out.
He was still enjoying the flavor of his cigar when he heard the light footfalls, and instinctively knew to whom they belonged. He’d sensed her standing just beyond the shadows, watching him. He inhaled deep
ly, absorbing not only the rich aroma of the cigar but the fragrance of the flowery perfume wafting toward him. Underneath it all was the scent of her, like good whiskey, once experienced, never forgotten. He blew out the smoke he’d been holding in his lungs and waited, unmoving, until the feathery gray wisps disappeared into the night. Doing nothing more than extending the cigar slightly to the side, he asked, “Want to give it a try?”
“You always were a creature of bad habits, Tom.”
“That’s not an answer, Lauren. I’ve got a fresh one in my jacket pocket if you’d rather have it.”
She sighed with obvious impatience. “Proper ladies don’t smoke.”
“Proper ladies don’t drink or cuss. That never stopped you before.”
“I was a child then,” she said. “You were always corrupting me, and I was silly enough to let you do it. I’m not a child any longer.”
“That much is obvious, Lauren.”
She moved up until he could see her profile out of the corner of his eye. Limned by the glow of the gaslights, she looked incredibly lovely. She had changed into a blue-gray dress, square at the neck, trimmed in lace. He thought with more light, it would enhance the shade of her eyes. She’d altered the style of her hair as well. With the curls and ribbons slightly different, her hair remained piled on top of her head as it had been earlier, leaving her long, slender neck exposed to his inspection—and he wished available to his mouth as well. The English went to a lot of trouble to prepare themselves simply to eat an ordinary evening meal.
“You had absolutely no idea that all this was over here waiting for you?” she finally asked quietly.
He took a slow drag on his cigar, released the smoke from his lungs. “Nope.”
“It must have been rather a shock—”
“That’s an understatement,” he said.
“You said you don’t remember any of it.”
“I don’t.”
“Your mother must have loved you—”
“Or not loved me at all.”
“Oh, Tom, don’t think that.”
“She left me, Lauren. What am I supposed to think?”
He considered pointing out that Lauren had left him, too, but he didn’t see the point in harping on it. Besides, his mother was gone, Lauren wasn’t. His mother had been given a choice. Lauren hadn’t.
“I didn’t know your father,” she said, “but his cruelty was legendary. I think your mother wanted to spare you suffering what he was capable of inflicting.”
“I can think of better ways to do it.”
“She had no way of knowing you’d be orphaned, or that her letter explaining what she’d done would be left with someone who couldn’t read. It took a great deal of courage for Lady Sachse to admit she was once illiterate…and it will take a great deal of courage for you to accept this burden that’s been thrust upon you.”
He shook his head. “It takes courage to face a cattle stampede. Coming here is just an inconvenience.”
“In a few months, you might feel differently about what defines courage.”
He couldn’t see that it took much courage to attend balls, dinners, and operas. Of course, to night’s dinner would be the first one he would have with company other than the previous Lady Sachse, and her mind had been more centered on Archibald Warner than correcting Tom for his lack of proper manners. Not that he thought his manners were too atrocious. He’d had occasion to dine with businessmen and bankers and cattlemen. Working the cattle empire that was part of the Texas Lady Ventures had also exposed him to the sons of Englishmen. Their polished mannerisms had always appealed to him, and he’d worked hard to emulate them—to appear in control even when he wasn’t. While he didn’t think matters could get to the point that he’d have to show any sort of bravery, he didn’t want to be uncomfortable in his new surroundings. It was evident that all the Texas ladies had worked hard to put away their Texas ways.
“I’ve got a proposition for you,” he said, deciding he might be able to get what he wanted by sweetening the offer.
“I’ve had one of those from you before, Tom. I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“You’re wasting your breath.”
“It’s mine to waste. Teach me what I don’t know, Lauren. I’ll release you from the debt.”
She released a taut self-deprecating laugh. “The debt? You can’t possibly seriously think that I’m going to let you unbutton my bodice.”
“Either that or give me back my two bits.”
She scoffed. “Where do you think I’m going to find a quarter, in this country, after all these years?”
“That’s your problem, darlin’, but I aim to collect what you owe me, one way or another.”
He could see her bristling over his daring declaration. Well, he’d done his own bristling over the years. And even though he knew hers was most likely one debt he’d never collect, he could still hold out hope.
“Surely by now, you’ve unbuttoned a bodice and had your curiosity satisfied,” she said.
He’d unbuttoned his fair share, but he’d never found the experience completely satisfying. He took a puff on his cigar, deciding she didn’t really want her question answered.
“Are you ignoring me?” she asked.
He turned then, facing her, holding her shadowy gaze, trying to figure out exactly what it was he was seeing: fear, disgust, disappointment? He’d had the unrealistic hope that his arrival would have brought her some measure of joy, that she’d share with him some satisfactory explanation for her silence all these years.
“I could never ignore you, Lauren.”
“You did a good imitation for ten years.”
“The hell you say!” His voice rumbled into the night, and he realized he’d tossed his cigar aside and taken a threatening step toward her only when she took a quick step back, her eyes widening and her breath coming in quick little hitches. A gentleman would have retreated, would have given her room, but he’d heard the rumors floating around, knew he was thought to be a savage, and at that moment he felt exactly like what they were claiming he was.
“I wrote you every night,” he said, his rage controlled but seething. “Just like I promised. Every night the first two years you were gone. The third year, I wrote you every week. Then every month. I couldn’t always mail them as soon as they were written because sometimes towns were few and far between when we were trailing cattle, but when I got near enough to a town I took them to the post office. I wrote you, Lauren.”
She was shaking her head, shock evident in her eyes. “I never got them, Tom. Not a single one.”
“I wrote them,” he repeated, his anger dissipating as he began to realize the true reason behind her silence all these years.
“When did you stop writing them?” she asked.
“Never did stop completely. But I did stop mailing them.” Lord, but he wanted to touch her.
“You’re a thief, Tom. And you cuss. And you lie—”
Against his better judgment, he reached out, cupped her cheek, and pressed his thumb against her moist lips. “Never to you, Lauren. I never lied to you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Why didn’t I get them?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, darlin’.”
“I looked every morning. It was years before I gave up. And even when I never heard from you, I kept hoping that you’d come for me. I hung on to that hope because sometimes it was the only thing that would get me through the day. You can’t possibly begin to imagine how miserable I’ve been here, Tom, how much I missed the life we left behind.”
Sometimes a man couldn’t find any words powerful enough to take the tears from a woman’s eyes. And so Tom didn’t even bother to try.
He cradled her precious face between his hands, relishing the silkiness of her skin against his fingertips, doing what he’d wanted to do that afternoon, touch her with tenderness, experience again the softness that had all too often been deni
ed him in his life. The path he’d trudged to this spot hadn’t been an easy one, and he couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t going to get any easier, despite his earlier words of bravado. But for this moment he didn’t want to think about all the challenges that awaited him.
He focused all his attention on Lauren.
The blue of her eyes lost in the shadows, the determined angle of her chin, her pert little nose. In some ways everything about her appearance was foreign to him, and in other ways it was achingly familiar.
As her eyes slowly slid closed, he lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted just as he remembered, and he knew a pang of regret so sharp that it took all his inner strength not to double over. The girl he’d longed for all these years had grown into a woman who could stir a man’s passions with nothing more than her blue-eyed gaze focused on him. She smelled like flowers in the spring and was as warm as the sun-touched earth. He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her farther out into the garden, where privacy could allow them to finish what they’d begun so long ago.
But it wasn’t finishing that he truly wanted. It was starting again, and he didn’t know where to begin. This lady with the occasional faint drawl, the perfect manners, the graceful walk, the poise, the charm, the knowledge to fit perfectly into this society was a direct contrast to Tom, who was still rough enough around the edges that he was in danger of damaging the reputation of any who came too close to him.
Once he’d loved her as much as a sixteen-year-old boy could love. He couldn’t honestly say that he still loved her, if what he felt for her was true affection or merely phantom sensations stirred up from a time long past. The ground beneath his feet seemed as unsteady as it did when a stampede hit. He’d come there not knowing what to expect, and the only thing he knew for sure was that he felt more lost then he’d ever felt in his entire life. And, unfortunately, he’d only recently learned that all his life he’d been lost; he just hadn’t realized it. Until the investigator had shown up at his door, Tom had never comprehended what a lie he’d been living. For all he knew, his time with Lauren had been false as well.
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