Promise me forever - The Lost Lords Trilogy 03

by Lorraine Heath

  “Better than listening to you not being appreciative of what he done.”

  “I’m appreciative, and I thank the man by tending his land good and proper.”

  “It don’t hurt to say you’re thankful.” She sniffed, huffed. “My lord, would you like some scones? They’re warm, just out of the oven.”

  Tom grinned. “Can we take them with us? I have a schedule to keep.”

  “Of course.” She turned to Lauren. “And you, my lady?”

  Lauren smiled. “I’m not a lady. I’m simply a lady.” It was confusing when the same word carried two different connotations. “I’m Fairfield. And yes, I’d love some scones.”

  “If you’ll come inside the house, I’ll wrap them up for you.”

  Lauren followed her inside while Tom went off with her surly husband. The house was simple, neat, and clean, and had an air of warmth and contentment ringing through it. The woman laid a cloth napkin on the table in the kitchen and began placing scones on it.

  “You mentioned something his lordship did for your sons?” Her curiosity was getting the better of her, and she had a feeling getting the information here would be much easier than getting it from Tom later.

  The woman bobbed her head. “Sent my two boys to his land in Texas, he did. Paid for everything himself. Said he was short on strong men to work his ranch. My boys are plenty strong, I’ll tell you.” She brought the ends of the napkin up and tied them together, then handed the bundle to Lauren. “I swear we were blessed the day his lordship arrived. The other lord, the one who took care of things before this one arrived, he was a good man. We had no complaints, but this one”—she nodded knowingly—“he was born to this.”

  Those words stayed with Lauren as she sat on a crumbling stone wall—the remnants of some ancient fortification—beside a brook, the water leaping over stones near the shore, making a frenzied yet soothing sort of noise. Tom had obviously planned for this morning to include more than visiting his tenants, because he’d brought biscuits filled with strawberry jam and a canteen of coffee. Plus they had the scones.

  Sitting beside her, he looked like a man without a care in the world.

  “ Whipple mentioned that you sent her sons to your land in Texas,” Lauren said, biting into the cool biscuit, chewing slowly.

  Tom turned his attention from the stream to her. “Most of the young men are heading out to work in factories in the cities. Can’t see that it’s much of a life.”

  Licking the jam from her fingers, she smiled. “Because the work takes place indoors?”

  “No sun, no cooling breeze, no ground beneath your feet—”

  “As though you know anything about the ground. You ride every chance you get.”

  “All right. No sun, no breeze, no smell of cattle—”

  “I never considered the odor of cows desirable.”

  “Better than the smell of machinery.”

  “Do you ever think about how different your life would be if you’d been raised here?”

  “Every day.”

  “You’d appreciate different things.”

  “Sleeping late instead of getting up with the sun, sitting behind a desk all day instead of riding across the land”—he shook his head—“I can’t imagine it, Lauren.”

  “And yet you can’t deny that you bring something to your position that many lack: a true understanding of the workingman.”

  She’d removed her gloves in order to eat, and now he trailed his finger over her hand where it rested on the wall, her arm supporting her.

  “You think that’s an advantage?”

  “I think it makes you unique.”

  He gave her one of his slow, sensual grins. “I would be anyway. You can’t tell me that you’ve ever met anyone quite like me before.”

  “No, I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

  Wrapping his hand around her neck, he brought her closer until she could smell the strawberry that laced his breath mingling with hers.

  “No chaperone, Lauren, and I’m behaving, but you know what I’m thinking?”

  She didn’t know how it was possible for eyes as dark as his to seem to darken further, how his touch at her neck seemed to reach down to her toes, how the deep timbre of his voice could cause her nerves to tingle with anticipation, how she could suddenly have an intense desire to nibble on his lips the way she’d just nibbled a scone. She was so distracted by the confusion that his nearness was causing her body that she could barely hold on to the words he’d spoken. What was he thinking? She hadn’t a clue, but she seemed to be robbed of speech and could do little more than shake her head.

  “I think that behaving is boring,” he said.

  “I quite agree,” she somehow managed to rasp. “Why do you think I instructed Lydia to stop watching me so closely?”

  His eyes somehow managed to darken further, his smile to grow even more sensual and provocative, both issuing the invitation before he spoke. “If you want it, darlin’, you’re going to have to come and get it.”

  Want what? she almost whispered. But she knew exactly what he was referring to, what he was tempting her with, what he was withholding to prove his point that a lady had it within her to misbehave as easily as a gentleman did. He’d always corrupted her. She could resist the cigars, the swearing, the whiskey…but resist the lure of his kiss?

  Why in heaven’s name would she want to?

  His satisfied groan was echoing around her before she’d finished melding her mouth against his. And apparently his will to resist wasn’t as strong as he’d indicated. His fingers tightened their hold on her neck, as his tongue swept through her mouth, before darting back to allow her entry into his. In spite of his best efforts, his words, he could be no more passive than a tiger in the jungle when it sighted its prey. The tense quivering of his muscles told her how much he wanted her. That he was taking no more than the offered kiss was a testament to the strength of his upbringing, regardless of how much he questioned every aspect of it. Evidence of his innate goodness that he was always so quick to deny.

  He kissed the way that he lived life: with purpose, with determination, with exactitude.

  And his holding himself at bay made her more daring. She swept her hand up into his hair, wondering why he’d chosen not to wear a hat. She felt the heat of passion sluice through her, swirling, stirring to life desire, want, yearning. She thought she might melt through the wall to be absorbed into the earth, might need to run naked into the brook in order not to burst into flames as ardor consumed her.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he blazed a trail along her throat beneath her chin to just below her ear, the path scalding. She could hear his harsh breathing. “You know I can hardly look at you without wanting you.”

  She opened her eyes to see the leaves dancing overhead. “We could be discovered here at any moment.”

  “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

  And if she didn’t issue that order, how far would he go? Would he remove her clothes and his? Would he take her there with the sun beating down on them? Turning her head slightly, she could read in his eyes the disappointment because she would stop this from going further. It was a heady sensation to have so much power, to know her opinion, her wants, her desires mattered to him. That he would give what she was willing to take and that he would hold back what she wasn’t yet ready to receive.

  Reaching out, cupping his chin in her palm, she brushed her thumb over his mustache. “I’m sorry I’m not as wild as you’d like me to be.” She flung her hand out. “But I just can’t…outdoors.”

  “You’re as wild as I need you to be, Lauren.”

  The days that followed gave her an appreciation of him as a lord, managing his tenants. One of the houses had suffered damage during the storm, the roof collapsing. Tom and Rhys had gone to work, helping to nail a new roof into place while Lauren and Lydia had helped to prepare food for the workers. Tom knew livestock like he knew the back of his hand, hard work like he knew the calluse
s on his palms.

  The nights were heaven. Tom was an attentive lover, generous and giving. She actually began to dread the passage of the days, because it would mean that her time with him would soon be over. Oh, he made promises. He would return to Texas, he would seek her out when he did, but she knew the only promises he could possibly keep were those that could be kept immediately. She thought she had missed him when she left Texas, but the feelings she’d held for him then were paltry compared with what she felt toward him now.

  It would have been easier if she’d never gone to him that first night, easier still if she’d never come to his estate, if they hadn’t renewed their acquaintance to the great extent that they had. She couldn’t imagine a day or a night without him in it. Didn’t know how she would survive when they were no longer together.

  And so she hoarded all the moments, all the little details of their time together.

  The way his unruly hair would fall across his brow. At some point in his life he must have reconciled himself to the fact that it couldn’t be controlled because he never swept it back. So she took to doing it for him. Often, simply for the plea sure it gave her to touch him, and in public, it seemed such an innocent touching. Yet intimate as well, because his dark eyes would darken further and she would know that he was remembering when she brushed it back after they made love.

  The way he buttoned his shirt, from the bottom up. The way he unbuttoned it, loosening just enough buttons so he could pull it off over his head, as though that got him out of his clothes more quickly and into bed with her.

  His impatience at getting her out of her clothes. His patience with her once he had. The way he held her as he slept, always touching her, until it was time to return her to her bedchamber.

  The way she would wake up to find him standing at the window, staring out at the night sky. The way he would grin and come back to bed once he realized she was awake.

  Their whispers in the dark, their murmurings in the moonlight. The many smiles, the abundant laughter, the joy, the absolute joy that had been absent from her life for so long, that she’d despaired ever again finding…

  She found it long before she left for Texas.

  And she wondered how she would survive when he was no longer sharing her days and nights.

  Their time at Sachse Hall was coming to a close, and as they all sat at a round table on the veranda, enjoying afternoon tea and nibbling on cucumber sandwiches, Lauren couldn’t help but wish that they had one more day, one more night, away from London. But then tomorrow she would wish for the same thing yet again. And the day after.

  It was strange that in the last few days, she’d not once thought of Texas or longed for it. She’d been content simply to be with Tom. To watch him at work and at play. To enjoy the evening and the days and the nights.

  “So tomorrow we leave this idyllic sanctuary and return to the reality of the Season,” Rhys said.

  “You’re going to make me start to feel guilty for subjecting you to the rigors of the Season,” Lydia said.

  He took her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and smiled. “As long as I’m with you, I can endure anything.”

  The way he looked at her, Lauren didn’t think he was enduring much at all. Had Lydia been right? Was Lauren’s unhappiness a result of the fact that her heart had never been in England? Was it possible that now it was?

  “I suppose we shall have to leave early in the morning so we’ll have plenty of time to ready ourselves for Aunt Elizabeth’s ball,” Lydia said.

  “Mama always gets so nervous,” Lauren confessed.

  “You wouldn’t know it by looking at her.”

  “Do we ever know what anyone truly thinks simply by looking at them?”

  “I suspect we shall know what Whithaven thinks,” Lydia said.

  “I’ll take care of Whithaven,” Tom said.

  “Have it all planned out, do you?” Rhys asked.

  “Down to the smallest detail.”

  “What are you going to do?” Lauren asked.

  Tom winked. “Trust me. I seriously doubt it’s something my father would have done.”

  Chapter 17

  I t was all madness and mayhem when Lauren arrived home. After she said good-bye to Tom with a promise of the first dance, and the servants had carted her trunks upstairs, she went in search of her mother and found her in the ballroom, overseeing the arrangements of flowers.

  Yellow roses. So many yellow roses.

  She gave her mother a tight hug before glancing all around. “What ever possessed you to choose yellow roses?”

  “Tom made arrangements for their delivery before you left for the country.”

  She looked at her mother. “All of them?”

  Her mother nodded. “He thought you might need a little bit of Texas upon your return. How was your time away?”

  “Confusing.” Lauren walked to a table and pulled a long-stemmed rose from a vase, sniffed the delicate fragrance. “When Ravenleigh asked you to leave Texas, did you have no doubts that you were making the right decision?”

  “Of course I had doubts.”

  She faced her mother. “When you come to a fork in the road, how do you know which path leads to happiness?”

  “You don’t. You simply make the best decision you can make and hope for the best. And sometimes you make very bad decisions, and you live with them.”

  Lauren nodded, sniffed the rose again. “I learned a lot about Tom while I was away. A lot about myself as well.”

  “And what conclusions did you come to?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Standing in the night shadows of a giant tree where the glow from the gaslight didn’t hit him, Tom wished he had a bottle of whiskey to place between his lips instead of an unlit cigar.

  He cursed Lauren for accurately predicting he would face a moment like this, a moment that would require he gather up his courage.

  Tom had arrived in a carriage, one of what seemed like a hundred passing along the cobbled drive, stopping in front of Ravenleigh’s house, before meandering on to park elsewhere. The procession was still going strong.

  Tom observed the people in their fancy clothes alighting from their coaches and carriages. He heard their relaxed laughter. He watched as no one hesitated to walk up the sweeping steps and enter through the doors into what, for him, he was certain was going to be hell.

  Music began to drift out onto the air, and he knew he couldn’t put off the inevitable much longer.

  He withdrew his cigar from his mouth, held it toward the light, and stared at it. He’d almost bitten through the thing, made it too nasty to return to his jacket pocket. With regret for the loss of an expensive cigar, he tossed it into the hedges behind him.

  He thought about the first time he’d faced a stampede, the way he’d trembled in his boots, because he hadn’t known what to do. In the end, he’d let his gut instincts guide him. He figured he just had to do the same at the ball.

  He took as deep a breath as he could—which wasn’t much considering the snug fit of his clothes. Lauren was on the other side of those doors. He was doing this as much for her as for himself.

  The last time he’d attended a ball, he’d acted like a cowboy. This time he intended to act like the nobleman he was.

  Lauren was beginning to think that Tom wasn’t going to come, and she could hardly blame him. She knew what it was to attend a ball where she would be the object of gossip, and while Tom might have done something this afternoon to make things right with Whithaven, he had no guarantees that anyone else would hear of his apology.

  She was standing beside her mother and stepfather at the foot of the sweeping stairs that led down to the glittering ballroom. The ballroom was packed. It had been a while since anyone had arrived and walked down the stairs.

  “Well, I suppose we can begin to mingle,” her mother said.

  “I know Tom was going to come,” Lauren said.

  “I’m sure he’ll find us once he ar
rives.”

  Then Lauren noticed a quieting, a hush falling over the room, the music ceasing to play, people turning. She looked toward the stairs, and there he was standing at the top: proud, bold, regal. His gaze never wavering. He allowed enough time for everyone to notice him before he began his slow descent of the stairs.

  When he arrived at the bottom, he bowed to her stepfather, then took her mother’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her gloved hand. “I appreciate the welcome into your home.”

  “I’m certain I won’t regret it.”

  A corner of his mouth hitched up. “If you do, I’ll hand you the horse whip.”

  He stepped over to Lauren, kissed her hand as well.

  “Tom, if I’d known that you planned to stand up there alone—”

  “I’m not finished yet, darlin’.” He winked. “Save a dance for me.”

  No one had yet to move although Lauren heard the first hint of whispering when Tom turned away from her. People parted in silence as he made his way through the crowd, straight toward the tallest and gangliest lord among them. She halfway expected Whithaven to turn on his heel and run. But he didn’t. To her surprise, he stood his ground, although looking a bit nervous, and at that moment, she thought she might have gained a bit more respect for him. These men lived a much less harsh life than the men she’d known in Texas, and it was often easy to overlook the fact that they had steel in their backbones. She thought she could even detect a bit of admiration for the earl mirrored in Tom’s expression as he came to a halt before him. The poor man’s nose was slightly swollen, and the bruising around his eyes had faded to a ghastly yellow.

  “Whithaven,” Tom said, his deep baritone throwing his voice out for all to hear. “I owe you an apology.”

  “I daresay you do.”

  “I had no call to punch you, but that’s the way we do it in Texas. Cowboys are men of action more than words, and we don’t take well to having our ladies insulted.”

  “Well, I meant no insult, of course; I was simply trying to spare you…I didn’t realize that you considered her…well…already your lady,” he stammered to a stop. “My apologies as well.”