Promise me forever - The Lost Lords Trilogy 03

by Lorraine Heath

  “My lord,” Lady Blythe said, laughing lightly. “How terribly naughty of you not to confirm who you were when I correctly guessed while we were all gathered in Fairfield’s drawing room.”

  “My apologies, darlin’. I’m still not used to being a lord. And since Ravenleigh and his family didn’t yet know…well, I wanted to tell them in private.”

  “I daresay I shall only forgive you if you allow me to ride alongside you.”

  “Well, now, I did promise Fairfield that I’d join her this morning, so I’m obliged to keep that promise.” He winked. “But it would be my pleasure to offer you my other side.”

  Lauren couldn’t help but think how smoothly he’d handled what could have become an awkward moment, and she found herself wondering how many women in Texas he may have practiced his flirtation skills on. He’d certainly developed them beyond what they’d been outside the general store.

  “And my plea sure to take it,” Lady Blythe gushed.

  Lauren wasn’t certain when Lady Blythe had become such an irritant, but she couldn’t deny that she found her to be exactly that as she nudged her horse near Tom’s right side, while Lady Blythe guided her horse around to his other side, where she promptly began to engage Tom in conversation, hoarding his attention like a miser accumulated gold. Lady Cassandra, much to Lauren’s surprise, urged her horse up alongside hers.

  “You know,” Lady Cassandra whispered, “I’m not at all certain it will be as difficult as we’d first surmised for him to find a suitable wife.”

  “I’m not certain he’s looking for a wife,” Lauren said, again surprised by the flare of jealousy that the thought sparked. Of course, Tom would find a wife. He needed an heir, an easing of loneliness, and someone to help him manage his house holds. She couldn’t fault any lady for wanting to fill the position.

  “Why wouldn’t he be?” Lady Cassandra asked. “He needs an heir after all.”

  Maybe it was only that Lauren didn’t want to contemplate that he might be looking. “He has to grow accustomed to life over here.”

  “It appears he’s already adjusted fairly well. Except for the clothing of course.”

  “I rather like his clothing,” Lady Priscilla said, in a conspiratorial whisper from the other side of Lady Cassandra. “I find it quite roguish.”

  Yes, it did seem quite roguish, his shirt molding against his body with no jacket to hide the ripple of his muscles with each of his movements. Lauren dropped her gaze to his bare hands, roughened by hard labor, where they held the reins with ease. She fought not to envision those long, sturdy fingers slipping her buttons free of their moorings, peeling back the cotton…would they tremble now as they had when he was younger? Would she shiver with desire? Would his knuckles graze against the inside swells of her breasts, breasts she’d barely had when he’d made his daring proposition? Would his gaze heat with yearning for what the bargain would deny him—the touch of her flesh?

  She tore her gaze from his hands, wondering when the day had grown so unseasonably warm, when drawing in a breath had become so difficult, as though all air had disappeared.

  Lady Blythe’s delighted laughter echoed through the park, more irritating than her voice. A lady was supposed to laugh with utmost decorum.

  “That’s not fair,” Lady Priscilla said. “We can’t hear what they’re saying.” She called out, “Lady Blythe, what’s so humorous? Do tell.”

  Lady Blythe leaned forward, gazing around Tom’s firm body. “His lordship was explaining that he’s wearing a ten-gallon hat. Hats in Texas are sized by how much water they hold. Can you imagine?”

  “Why would you put water in your hat?” Lady Priscilla asked, but Lady Blythe had already turned her attention back to Tom.

  “They use it as a basin for washing up or watering a horse,” Lauren explained.

  “It’s a strange life they live over there. It is dreadfully uncivilized,” Lady Cassandra said.

  “Frightfully so apparently,” Lady Priscilla said. “It’s hardly fair that Lady Blythe is getting all his attention.” She leaned forward. “My lord, do you enjoy being a cowboy?”

  Grinning, Tom turned his gaze away from Lady Blythe, and Lauren was again struck by how handsome he was. Roguish, yes, but more than that, extremely masculine. He appeared strong and capable. No one looking at him now would suspect he had any doubts about his place in this society. She was suddenly feeling quite humbled that he’d chosen to trust her with his insecurities.

  “Indeed, I do,” he told Lady Priscilla, “but I’m more than a cowboy. I’m a rancher. I’ve got my own land and cattle and men who work for me.”

  “Is that how you became so fabulously wealthy?” Lady Priscilla asked.

  Tom’s deep laughter rang out, the raspy sound shivering along Lauren’s spine and all her nerve endings, wrapping itself around her heart. He didn’t seem at all offended that Lady Priscilla had made an entirely inappropriate inquiry. “Now, darlin’, whose been spreading nasty rumors about me?”

  “There’s nothing nasty about being wealthy.”

  “Speaking about it is nasty, though,” Lady Cassandra affirmed.

  “I was only curious as to how a man might acquire wealth. My father inherited all of his, so I’ve never given any thought to what a man must do if he hasn’t any money.”

  He has to work, hard and long, Lauren thought, working his muscles until they were like bands of steel, remaining beneath the sun until his skin was browned.

  “Cattle got me my start,” Tom acknowledged. “I did a little investing and got lucky.”

  Lauren thought she could see the barest hint of a blush appear beneath his chin, or perhaps it was a reflection of the red bandanna he wore around his neck. She supposed some habits were difficult to break. She contemplated telling him that he was unlikely to encounter any dust storms in London, but then it occurred to her that perhaps he wore the bandanna to hide evidence of his discomfiture.

  She wondered if he were embarrassed speaking of his success. If he was painting a modest portrait of his endeavors. It seemed contradictory for a man who sat so tall and proud in the saddle to show any hint of embarrassment, but then the Tom she’d known had always been short on words. Perhaps he was simply uncomfortable with the inquisition regarding his accomplishments.

  “What do you think of London?” Lady Anne asked.

  “A bit more crowded than I’m used to,” he said.

  Lauren thought she could detect his blush fading. How intriguing.

  “Other than the crowds,” Lady Blythe began, “what do you think of it?”

  “Haven’t seen enough of it to really form an opinion. I was at Sachse Hall until a couple days ago.”

  And he’d almost immediately shown up at her door. She couldn’t help but feel a bit flattered that he’d come to see her family so quickly, and while his original intention might not have been to reacquaint himself with her, she couldn’t deny that he’d strolled into her drawing room long before going to her stepfather’s study.

  They’d reached the end of their journey. As they all brought their horses to a halt, Lauren couldn’t help but think that Lady Blythe looked as though she was anticipating something more.

  “I thought to walk for a bit if you’d care to join me, my lord,” Lady Blythe said.

  “I’d love to, darlin’,” Tom said, “but I promised Ravenleigh I’d escort Fairfield home.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Lady Blythe murmured. “Perhaps another time.”

  Tom tipped his hat to the ladies before turning his attention to Lauren. “Ready, darlin’?”

  Oh, she was more than ready, as she urged her horse forward to fall into step alongside his. He rode with such ease, such command as he sat in a Western saddle rather than an English one, his legs long, his thighs thick.

  He swung his head around, his intense gaze roaming over her face as though he were seeking to familiarize himself with every line, as though he were searching for something she might have hidden. “You’r
e awfully quiet this morning. Did you not sleep well?”

  “What has one got to do with the other?” she asked.

  One side of his mustache twitched. “I just thought maybe you were tired, and that’s the reason you haven’t said anything.”

  “I haven’t said anything because I didn’t have anything to say. Unlike Lady Blythe, I don’t believe in mindless banter.”

  “You’re not jealous that I was giving her attention.”

  “Of course not.” Irritation was not jealousy, and she had every right to be annoyed that Lady Blythe’s intrusion had prevented Lauren from giving Tom a proper lesson. She thought her reasoning sounded quite reasonable.

  He chuckled low, actually had the audacity to wink, reach out, and chuck her under the chin with his bare finger. “Lydia sends her regards.”

  If it weren’t for his finger supporting her jaw, it would have dropped open. “You saw Lydia?”

  “Yep, bright and early this morning. Not as early as you did apparently. She and her husband joined me for breakfast. I like Harrington.”

  She lifted her chin slightly to get it away from the unsettling touch of his finger. The way rumors flew around London, she could only imagine what part of her person they’d have him touching by nightfall. “I’m not at all surprised that you two hit it off. He was quite the scoundrel before Lydia reformed him.”

  “Do you think I’m a scoundrel?”

  “You can’t deny that you had your moments, but you seem to have put away your rapscallion ways, at least where these ladies are concerned. You handled yourself very well.”

  “I would have preferred just riding with you,” Tom said, knowing the words he spoke were truer than any he’d shared with Lady Blythe. She was pleasant enough, but there was a fake quality to her that Lauren never exhibited.

  She wore a dark blue riding suit, buttoned clear to her throat, where a light blue cravat completed the picture of maidenly virtue. A gauze veil of the same light blue shade was wound around her dark blue hat. Her hair was piled up beneath it. She looked elegant, composed, not at all as casual as she had the night before, while lying with him beside the Thames.

  He couldn’t claim to prefer one aspect of her over the other. He found all facets of her just as intriguing as he had in his youth. Truthfully, more so. At sixteen what he’d felt for her, he was coming to realize, was as strong as a boy could feel. What a man felt could be much more intense, run more deeply, and he was beginning to think that he might have barely touched the surface regarding what he was capable of feeling for her. He had a powerful hunger where she was concerned, and he wasn’t certain he could do anything to alleviate it.

  “It was a nice touch, sending my mother flowers this morning,” she said.

  Tom felt the heat of embarrassment warm his neck. “I’m trying to get on her good side.”

  “Why?” Lauren asked.

  “She’s been mad at me since the moment our paths crossed, and with you helping me, I figure we’re bound to run into each other.” He shrugged. “So I sent her some flowers to pave the way for a bit more compassion.”

  “If you decide that you’d rather not run into her, she and Ravenleigh have made it possible for me to return to Texas without your assistance.”

  Tom felt his gut clench so hard he was in danger of tumbling from his saddle. “We made a bargain you and me.”

  He fought back the grimace because his voice came out sounding rougher than he’d intended.

  “I’m aware of that, and I plan to see it through to the end of the Season. But I wanted you to know that if you wanted to hire someone else—”

  “I don’t.”

  She smiled. “Tom, in the light of day, your offer is far too generous—”

  “I’m content with it.”

  She nodded. “All right. We’re having dinner at Lydia’s this evening.”

  “She mentioned that.”

  “We’ll part company here,” she said. “Bring your carriage around for me at seven.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Lydia said dinner was at seven.”

  Lauren’s smile grew. “Well, yes, of course. But one must always arrive fashionably late. I’ll see you this evening.”

  She set her horse into a canter. Tom was tempted to follow, but instead he drew his horse to a halt and simply watched her ride away. He wondered if a time would ever come when it wouldn’t hurt to see her increasing the distance that separated them.

  Chapter 10

  “I can’t believe you’re going out this evening with a gentleman, without a chaperone. Papa will no doubt be waiting in the entry hallway with a dueling pistol—”

  “No, he won’t,” Lauren said, cutting off Amy’s diatribe, critically studying her reflection in the cheval glass. Her dress was white with a modest neckline, the skirt following the line of her legs, pleated in the back with a short train. Pink satin trim added a bit of color.

  It was the third dress she’d changed into. Molly had begun to lose patience with her, so Lauren had given her leave to go, but now she wondered if the neckline was too low or not low enough. No buttons in the front. That was a blessing. At least Tom wouldn’t have his attention on buttons and, therefore, would be able to concentrate on the lessons she planned to deliver. And perhaps her mind wouldn’t wander to the possibilities of what might happen if he went beyond unfastening buttons to unlace her corset or loosen the ribbon on her chemise. She did wish he hadn’t reminded her that something remained unfinished between them.

  “Mama might—”

  “She won’t,” Lauren interrupted irritatingly. She suddenly felt as though her corset had been laced too tightly, and why in God’s name were they having such a hot summer?

  “Are you blushing?”

  “No, I’m simply warm. And I’ve already spoken to Mama and Papa so we will have no misunderstandings regarding to night.”

  She’d asked them to make themselves scarce, because she didn’t want Tom to begin the night feeling uncomfortable. Most house holds would welcome a lord with plea sure, but she knew her mother had her prejudices against Tom, prejudices that she doubted a bouquet of flowers would have the power to erase.

  Amy scrunched up her mouth. “Are you certain you don’t want me to accompany you?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “It’s scandalous behavior, Lauren.”

  “I’m going to be with Tom, Amy. And we’ll be at Lydia’s.”

  “That’s my point. I know you trust him, but he is a man, and ladies younger than thirty do not travel alone in the company of a man who is not their father or brother. It’s simply not done.”

  “It sounds as though you’re quoting from an etiquette manual.”

  “I had to memorize the blasted thing. Might as well put it to some use even if that use is merely repeating it. Anyway, I’m serious about going with you. For propriety’s sake.”

  “If we’d never left Texas, we would have grown up without chaperones. Do you know that it’s not unheard of, especially in the areas where the people are really scarce, for a woman to travel all day and night with a man who isn’t her husband or brother, just so they can attend a dance? No one thinks anything of it. Here everyone is so damned suspicious.”

  “You swore.”

  “So I did.” Had she spoken a single swear word aloud since arriving in England? Tom could corrupt her with apparently no difficulty simply by being in her company for a short time where his bad habits could rub off on her.

  She turned to face Amy, who was lying on her stomach on Lauren’s bed. Her hands were folded beneath her chin, her blue eyes intent. All her sisters had blue eyes, but those fathered by a Texan had eyes of a dark blue, while the two youngest—fathered by Ravenleigh—had inherited his pale blue eyes.

  “Here it’s as though everyone expects no one to be able to resist engaging in improper behavior and so they guard well against it with chaperones and rules,” Lauren said. “In Texas, men are so respectful of women and hold them in such hi
gh regard that chaperones aren’t needed, rules aren’t required. Common sense prevails. The men aren’t going to take advantage of a woman. So for tonight, I’m pretending that I live in Texas.”

  “A bit of flawed thinking there. Tom may have lived in Texas, but his bloodline is English, and Lady Angelina heard from Lady Caroline who heard from Lady Deborah that the afternoon when he first came to this house he swept you into his arms in an inappropriate manner that had Lady Blythe practically swooning.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes. The gossips of this town were incredible. “I’m surprised the rumors going about have me still wearing my clothes by the time he left the room with Papa.”

  Amy grimaced. “Actually, I’ve heard one where you weren’t.”

  Lauren scoffed. “With an audience of ladies looking on, he removed my clothes?”

  “It does sound rather preposterous, but it does make for a more interesting tale.” Amy sat up. “So did he sweep you into his arms?”

  “No. He did nothing more than say hello.” And remind her of a debt owed.

  “He loves you, you know?”

  “Papa?”

  “Well, he does, of course. But I was talking about Tom.”

  “You should call him Sachse.”

  “He doesn’t look like a Sachse, he looks like a Tom.”

  Lauren went to her vanity, picked up a crystal bottle, and dabbed a few droplets of expensive French perfume behind her ears, and, hoping her sister wasn’t watching too closely, between her breasts. The gown wasn’t low enough to offer more than the barest hint of her upper swells, but its close fit left no doubt that she was no longer flat as a plank of wood. Curiosity getting the better of her, she asked, “Why do you say he loves me?”

  “Because of the way he looks at you. His gaze seldom strayed from you in the library yesterday, and it’s so intense—it’s almost as if he’s trying to memorize every aspect of your appearance as though he suddenly expects you to disappear.”