The Promise

by V J Dunraven

  Cassandra tentatively flicked her tongue at the hard nub and watched as Jeremy closed his eyes with a sigh of pleasure.

  Her confidence grew. If she had felt all those sensations his mouth had aroused when he was suckling her breast, perhaps, for him, the same action would elicit equivalent reaction!

  She parted her lips and drew his nipple in her mouth, sucking and twirling her tongue around it, the way he did to hers.

  Jeremy heaved a deep breath and with skilled hands, swiftly unbuttoned her dress. She began to protest, but he silenced her with a searing kiss as his fingers expertly unlaced her corset in a matter of minutes.

  Both articles of clothing fell with a whoosh on the floor, leaving her exposed, save for her thin chemise.

  He pulled back just enough to rake his eyes over her, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

  “J-jeremy—” She shivered with both fear and anticipation, unable to decide which emotion dominated her more.

  Jeremy had suddenly turned into a man—a real man, before her very eyes. He no longer was the Jeremy she jested around with, the childhood playmate who stole her chocolate bonbons, who connived with her to turn the neighbors’ fountains into bubbling froths and raced horses with her along the shore.

  This Jeremy was certainly not in the mood for jocularity.

  ”Sshh.” He pushed the ribbons holding her chemise off her shoulders.

  She instinctively caught the flimsy fabric to her chest before it slid down to join the rest of her garments on the floor.

  He reached out to move her hands away. “Let me see you.”

  “I-I don’t think—” She suddenly felt unsure of what they were doing and an overpowering urge to go home nagged at the back of her head.

  “If you want to seduce a man, you must be comfortable to show him some skin,” he drawled in that strange, sensual, demonic voice.

  “What do you mean?” She hoped he didn’t notice the anxiety in her tone.

  “A man’s attention is enticed by womanly attributes more so than a pretty face.” His heavy-lidded gaze slid over her from head to toe.

  Cassandra’s heart thudded in her ribcage. He had spoken the magic word. She did indeed need an advantage over the goat lady’s beautiful face. And she knew without a doubt that for her to stand a chance, she would have to show off her obvious blessings—a delicious round bum and a pair of nice titties that she could dangle like melons in front of Richard’s nose.

  She released her hold on the delicate material and watched the fire leap in Jeremy’s dark eyes as her chemise alighted in a white cloud on her feet.

  “My God, you’re beautiful!” He ran his hands from her shoulders, down to the sides of her breasts, to the waistband of her pantalettes, then back up again to cup the soft mounds with ripened peaks in his palms.

  All thoughts of Richard fled when he pressed her ivory globes together, circling her nipples with his thumbs before inserting his tongue into the tight cleft between them.

  “Jeremy—” she gasped, as he tongued her cleavage with languid strokes, dismayed to discover that another, more private part of her body yearned to be touched the same way.

  “Be quiet,” he murmured in between laps and his hands wandered to untie the ribbon sash of her pantalette.

  “J-jeremy, wait—” She grabbed hold of her loosened drawers and pushed his impudent hands away.

  “What?” He raised his head, only to trail more kisses from her shoulder to her neck, to her jaw line.

  “I-I think I have a stomach ache.” she inhaled the clean, lavender scent of his hair, unable to stop herself from caressing the longish dark mane with one hand, which to her surprise felt wonderfully soft between her fingers.

  “Why?” He suddenly stopped his ministrations and looked at her. “Did you have anything that didn’t agree with you?”

  “No.” She felt the color rise up to her cheeks.

  “Do you want me to ring for Barton so he could bring you something to make it go away?”

  “It’s all right. I feel fine now,” she said, wondering why the sickness left as fast as it came.

  “Are you certain?” He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, then dropped a feather-light kiss on the tip of her nose that rapidly progressed into gentle nibbling on her upper lip.

  “Oh, no,” she mumbled, as he began to move his attention to her lower lip. “My tummy ache is back.”

  “Let me have Barton bring some—”

  She vehemently shook her head. “I don’t think that will work.”

  “Why not?” He arched a dark eyebrow and frowned.

  She looked at him for a long moment before saying, “I-I think you’re the one who’s giving me the belly ache.”

  “Me?” He started, pointing at his chest.

  “Yes,” she gulped, hoping she did not make him mad at her again.

  He stared at her with incredulity and then his lips tipped gradually on one side, before he burst into a deep, hearty laughter.

  “What is so funny?” she scowled, missing the jest.

  “Sweetheart,” he reached for her hand and pried open the fingers gripping the sash of her pantalette, “that is not a tummy ache.”

  “Well, what is it then?” She raised both eyebrows.

  “That’s the forbidden fruit in your Garden of Eden.” He undid the sash with a flick of a deft finger and her pantalette slid like water down her legs. “Aching for Adam to partake of its taste.”

  Chapter 25

  Jeremiah Devlin Huntington’s Secret

  Jeremiah Devlin Huntington knew what a lucky devil he was to have the pleasures of heaven within his reach. He longed to bury himself in its soft clouds, savor the sweetness of its early morning dew and listen to the siren song of the angel in his arms as they soared together in divine rapture.

  His body yearned for the bliss of paradise, for the ecstasy of its wet, warm, welcoming embrace. Every inch of his flesh pulsated with the desperate need for release and the fervent craving to spill his seed in its fertile Elysian Fields.

  He reached down to claim his piece of Eden only to have the gilded gates close on his hand. There were no harps, no solemn hymns playing, no angels singing—nothing but a startled gasp and large green eyes filled with fright.

  “Open your legs for me, sweetheart,” he urged, but she compressed her thighs tightly together and shook her head.

  “Let me touch you,” he persisted, inflamed by the ardent desire to consume the succulent forbidden fruit ripe for the picking within his grasp.

  “J-jeremy, no—” She clamped her fingers on his wrist and recoiled.

  He paused from his advances and searched her face. Though her cheeks were bright pink in color, the rest of her person looked pale. She was shaking, wide eyes pleading—apparently from fear—of him.

  His lust plunged into the depths of hell. He should have known that a devil like him had no place in heaven. What the fuck was he thinking, anyway? Did he truly mean to debauch Cassie, his childhood friend, like a common trollop from the tavern? Had his morals plummeted so low that his behavior imitated that of his father? What kind of madness possessed him to commit such wickedness—to take advantage of the only person who looked at him with genuine fondness regardless of the blackness of his soul, without casting judgment or artifice?

  “God, Cassie, I’m sorry—” He had never hated himself more than this moment. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She bit her lip and tears welled in her eyes. “P-please, Jeremy, don’t be mad at me,” she croaked, and his heart tugged at the corners. Here he was, a devious lecher about to ruin her—and she was more concerned about offending his feelings.

  Her apology was almost his undoing. He should have known better and conducted himself in such a manner worthy
of her trust. And God, how she trusted him! She always forgave him no matter how abominably he behaved and loathed quarrelling with him even for just a day—except for that time when he had embarrassed her in the fountain—Good Lord, did she make him grovel!

  “Of course I’m not mad at you.” he picked up her clothes from the floor and placed them on the dresser. “Here, put these back on.” he handed her the pantalette and tactfully looked away as she dressed.

  She put on her chemise and he tied the ribbons on her shoulders while she held the flimsy fabric in place.

  “Turn around,” he whispered, as she donned her corset, helping her lace the back with capable hands. When he finished, he reached for her dress and slid it over the top of her head with her arms extended, fastening the pearl buttons from behind with the same efficiency.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, cheeks flaming, avoiding his eyes.

  “Cass—look at me.” He lifted her chin. “I’m sorry. I should not have done what I have done. I have no excuse for such incongruous behavior. You should not be here. I may be your friend, but I’m also a man—and not a good one at that. Don’t ever forget that I came from the same vine as my father.”

  Her expression changed. “Don’t say that about yourself. You are not your father. I will not hear of it.”

  “Do you not realize that I could have ruined you?” He could not believe that after all that had happened, she would still defend his detestable self from himself.

  “Of course, I did!” she exclaimed with a frown. “I’m not daft, you know. I do know the difference between a chicken and a snake and a man’s sex.”

  Jeremy twisted his lips. “And yet you still ventured into my nest.”

  “Jeremy.” her face sobered, giving him a look that made him feel like he was the one who was daft. “I know you’ll never do anything to hurt me.”

  Jeremy wondered where on earth she got that line of thinking. God—if she only knew how close he’d come to forgetting himself! “Let me take you home,” he said with a resigned sigh. Cassie’s unconditional trust in him made it all the more difficult to appease his nagging conscience. He dressed quickly, pulled on his boots and rang for Barton to have his coach ready.

  “I’ll have the driver tie your horse to the carriage,” he said, as they waited for his carriage on the driveway when she told him she slipped out of Rose Hill Manor on Apollo. “Don’t come here late at night again—do you hear me, brat?”

  “B-but what about my lessons?” Her fine brows wrinkled.

  “No more lessons,” he snapped, wondering why he could terrify most men with his temper, but no matter what he did or how horrible a fit of pique he threw, it never seriously deterred her.

  “All right,” she mumbled and he thought she agreed a little too easily to be believable.

  “I mean it, brat,” he said in a sterner tone, as their ride arrived and the footman opened the door for them.

  He handed her to the coach and then followed her in, taking his seat across from her.

  “No, sit here.” She yawned, patting the seat cushion next to her.

  He glared at her, but did as she requested, hauling himself to sit by her side.

  With another big yawn, she laid her head on his shoulder and slept all the way to Rose Hill Manor.

  “Cassie,” he whispered, nudging her gently as the carriage pulled up in front of the dark house. “We’re here.”

  Her reply came in the form of a light snore.

  The footman opened the door and pulled down the steps.

  “Miss Carlyle is fast asleep.” Jeremy shifted her weight onto his lap and lifted her towards the door. “Guide my footing while I carry her out.”

  After some maneuvering, he managed to complete the task without dropping Cassie or hitting her head on the doorframe. The footman ran up the door and at his instruction, rapped the knocker lightly. Morton opened the door in a long robe and a sleeping cap.

  “Is everyone asleep?” Jeremy peered inside the gloomy hallway.

  “Everyone was asleep, my Lord.” Morton raised his bushy brows and sighed, oddly unsurprised that his mistress was sleeping soundly in his arms at an ungodly hour.

  “Excellent. I’ll take Miss Carlyle up to her room. You may go back to bed.” Jeremy walked past him, heading straight to the winding staircase.

  He carried Cassie with cautious steps to the second floor where the family resided, not relishing the idea of getting caught—especially by her brother, Allayne. He would take on Richard anytime, but he would have to tread carefully with Allayne. The man might appear generally good-natured, quiet and unassuming, what with that angelic face and dimpled smile of his, but underneath it all, not only was he the most dangerous of the three of them in a fit of temper—he was also a veritable assassin who wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet between your eyes if you crossed him.

  Jeremy cursed under his breath at the thought, pausing to glance around the darkened hallway. He tiptoed to the last door on the left wing, turned the knob carefully and peeked in to make sure Cassie’s maid wasn’t waiting for her before he entered the bedchamber. Then, he headed straight for her bed, stubbing the toe of his boot and hitting his shin twice on some furniture along the way, before he finally deposited her on the mattress. After removing her cloak, shoes, dress, corset, and purposely leaving her chemise on, he tucked her inside the blankets.

  He sat on the edge of her bed for a few moments smiling to himself. The minx slept through the whole ordeal with nary a whimper. Poor thing. She probably was tired and stressed from their encounter more than she cared to admit.

  A twinge of guilt prickled his conscience. Damnation! Where in Hades did that come from? He reached out to brush away a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Since when did he develop some scruples?

  A while ago, a little voice whispered in his thoughts. When you began to see the highlights in her hair, and started to notice the color of her eyes. When the mere scent and nearness of her took your breath away, and when you first realized she was all you needed—yet you would not give in because of your foolish pride.

  Jeremy filled his lungs with air, exhaling slowly in a long breath. He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her forehead, watching her for a while as she slept. His eyes drifted to his mother’s ring on her finger. All at once, everything he’d always known, yet denied ever existed—became clear to him.

  “I love you,” he whispered, as he lifted her hand to his lips. “I’m afraid, Cassie, but I really do.”

  Chapter 26

  Happily Ever After

  (The Words of a Fool)

  Jeremiah Devlin Huntington flexed his long, tapering, cylindrical body alternately to the left and right, as he slithered through the enchanted Garden of Eden. His scaly skin glistened from the bright sun, kissing the diamond patterns on his back. Tufts of grass tickled his belly as he thrust forward, weaving through the vegetation and rocks. He hissed and darted his forked tongue, capturing the scent of his destination. Not far ahead, he could sense the heat radiating from the body of his warm-blooded prey.

  However, prey was not what he encountered. The heat originated from a burning bush, beyond which the cave he had been searching for stretched out its gloomy depths. At its apex, the succulent forbidden fruit beckoned and begged to be partaken.

  Jeremiah braved the flames.

  He was about to flick his forked tongue to savor the forbidden fruit before burrowing himself into the cave beyond, when the voice of a holy man interrupted his perfect plan.

  “My lord.” the holy man invoked the name of the most high as he throttled his neck.

  Jeremiah hissed and bared his fangs. He refused to be deterred from partaking what was his—not when he was this close to the pleasures of immortality.

  “My lord.” the hol
y man throttled his neck some more and added a few slaps in between.

  Jeremiah rattled his tail, pounced and sank his teeth on the offending hand.

  “My lord!” the holy man exclaimed in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Barton’s. “If you could please release my cuff, Miss Carlyle came to see you.”

  Jeremy groaned as he watched the moist, warm cave and sun-ripened forbidden fruit dissipate into thin air, leaving him salivating for its taste. He spat Barton’s cuff from his mouth and buried his head into the pillows. “Tell her to go away.”

  “I did, my lord. But she nonetheless insisted that I tell you she will not be able to ride with you today because she is on her way to visit Grandstone Park and you need not rise to accompany her.”

  “So what the bloody hell are you waking me for?” he snapped in annoyance, burrowing deeper into the covers, wishing he was nestled inside the cave instead.

  “She was adamant that I let you know she intended to practice the lessons you taught her with Lord Sunderland and see if they are indeed effective.”

  Jeremy sat upright on the bed. “What?”

  Barton opened his fob watch and examined the time. “From the time I’ve been trying to wake you, my lord, I imagine she would’ve left more than ten minutes ago.”

  “Fuck!” Jeremy jumped off the bed, heedless of his nakedness. He had not intended to murder anyone and hang by the gallows, but as soon as he found her—he would wring the little twit’s neck. “Prepare a hot bath for me and call Percy. I need a shave. Have him prepare my attire for the day. Was Miss Carlyle riding Apollo?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Then get my horse ready.”

  Several minutes later, Jeremy wandered into the second floor of Grandstone Park, peeking into every room along the hallway. Laughter drifted from a brightly lit room and he peered through the partly open door, recognizing Cassie’s voice.

  He found her practicing the waltz with Richard, both of them humming an off-tune melody accompanying their steps.