Promise: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  A frown settled on his face at the word honor. He grabbed her hand, helping her up the carriage step. “I do not know that it is honor that you see, Talia, but as far as our farce of a love affair goes, this banter will do nicely.”

  Talia settled into the plush velvet seat. “Find my sister, Lord Lockston, and I will banter with you until the end of days.”

  “Then, ‘till the end of days, Talia.” With an incline of his head he closed the carriage door.

  Only at the last second did Talia see his frown deepen. Curious.

  But she meant her words.

  If he found her sister, she would trade her soul—do anything this man demanded of her.

  { Chapter 3 }

  “You look most presentable tonight, Talia.”

  Talia’s eyes shifted from the carriage window to Fletch. Her white-gloved hand ran along her lap, smoothing the rich peach silk of the gown she wore. “I am impressed you produced such a beautiful gown that fits me as well as this does. You did not know my measurements or have much time to do so.”

  He shrugged. “I took note how the earlier dress fit you, and had adjustments made accordingly. Quite simple, truly. You wear it well and look every bit the part.”

  A part. She had to remember that. She was playing a part in a show. She was not back in this world. This world of fine fabric that slid luxuriously across her skin. This world that offered the comfort of travel in a well-sprung, spacious coach. This world that demanded her hair be properly combed and piled high upon her head.

  A part. That was all she was. An actress playing a part. She was still a maid. Still searching for her sister.

  She offered a tight smile. “Did you not know it was this easy?”

  “What is easy?”

  “To transform from maid to lady? A fine dress and artfully weaved hair. It is all that is needed.”

  Fletch’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “I do believe there is a little bit more involved. If not, I could have enticed any young maiden to accompany me before my aunt.” He glanced out the window before looking to her. “Repeat to me how we met. I want to ensure our stories align in case my aunt corners you without me nearby to intervene.”

  “She would hound me?”

  “And not think twice on the matter. You are forewarned—she is a canny one.”

  “It is good to know.” Talia nodded, her bottom lip tucking inward. She wished she had slept more during the day, but the boarders beneath her were pounding about all day, creating what, she could not discern. She knew she wasn’t at her sharpest.

  Taking a breath, she set calmness to her face. “We met a month ago on Bond Street. I was in front of an apple cart, and I slipped on an apple core under my heel. You caught me as I fell, saving me from the mud of recent rain. You then set aside all propriety and offered to walk me to the Western Exchange. We walked, you purchased me an iced lemon, even though it was chilly that day. At the end of our first encounter, we agreed we would like to speak again.”

  “You might want to say you were besotted at first sight. That would play well.” His mouth serious, Fletch’s eyes twinkled in merriment.

  “Do not stretch it.” Talia’s look went to the tight black fabric across the ceiling of the carriage as she held in a chuckle. She didn’t want to encourage him. The man knew he was handsome and didn’t need her verifying that fact. Her look dropped to him. “And must I truly admit to falling? I have excellent balance, and it is a strike against my dignity.”

  “I am afraid that is part of the story I told my aunt of our meeting. So yes, your ego will have to suffer the blow.”

  “It is not my ego. I just would appreciate to not be seen as a clumsy ninny upon our first meeting. Assumptions of my character will be made.”

  “Such as?”

  “That I cannot stand upon my own two feet.” Her gloved hand flew up, fingers waving. “That I am a simpleton that cannot look down to find sure footing. Or that I slipped on purpose to garner your attention.”

  “All that derived from a simple misstep of your foot?”

  “Do you know nothing about how the female side of the ton conducts themselves, Fletch?” Talia leaned forward, her eyes determined. “I worked extremely hard to fit into this world, to adhere to the strictest of bounds when I moved within it. There was not a person that could mar my name or reputation. So I do know of what I speak.”

  Fletch smiled, his hand turning over, palm up to her. “And therein stands my point—not just any maid can become a lady. You, Talia, are the only one for this particular farce.”

  She sat back, groaning as she slumped against the plump, velvet-covered squabs. Instantly remembering her current clothing, she shot upright, her back straight. A lady’s spine never touched the back of a seat. No matter how tired she was. No matter how aggravated she was by the man across from her.

  Fletch chuckled. “You need not worry on your atrocious sense of balance. My aunt is not your normal matron of society, and she judges by only what she sees before her.”

  “Yet she judges. And therein stands my point.”

  “Understood.” With a smirk, he tilted his head in deference. “We can add to the story that you were shoved by an overzealous pickpocket. It will add both drama and danger to the story.”

  Talia laughed. “Perfect. A pickpocket. That will do nicely and make you appear even more the hero.”

  “If it does, it does.” Fletch smirked with an innocent shrug.

  The carriage slowed, the clomping hooves of the horses ceasing.

  Fletch quickly glanced down at his own attire, smoothing his lapels, and then he looked across to Talia. His grey eyes took in the whole of her, and with a satisfied nod he leaned forward, swiping an errant strand of hair across her brow back into her upsweep.

  He approved, and it was strangely heartening to know that she could still look the lady—that he believed her to be one. His fingers leaving her, her heart started to pound in her chest as he sat back.

  Talia watched Fletch pull on his gloves as they waited for his driver to escort the maid he had commandeered to act as Talia’s companion from her outside seat to the townhouse. Fletch’s trousers, jacket, waistcoat, and cravat were impeccable—the only thing out of control was his slightly unruly hair, which lent a rogue charm to his person. He was completely at ease in his power, completely at ease with his surroundings.

  Talia could not help the spark of jealousy that ran through her—Fletch was not even aware that he enjoyed the luxury of complete control over his own capacity to care—or to not care—on everything in life.

  Glancing out the window, prickly heat started to flood down Talia’s back, her heartbeat flying even more erratic. What was taking the driver so long?

  Time slowed.

  Every movement Fletch made, slow.

  She looked down. Her own fingers moved in a crawl. No, shaking. Her fingers were shaking.

  The carriage door opened and Fletch stood, starting to exit.

  Her arm weighing a thousand stones, Talia reached up to grab his elbow, stopping him.

  He looked back to her and then immediately grabbed the carriage door and swung it closed. He shoved his body next to hers on the bench, crushing the side of her beautifully pressed skirt.

  She stared at his leg. Not her smooth silk. Not now. Not the wrinkles.

  “Talia?”

  The word entered slowly into her head, but she couldn’t lift her eyes to him. She could only stare at the dark threads of his trousers in the dim light of the carriage lantern. “I…I think I am going to be sick.”

  “Talia, a moment ago you were laughing at me. What is it?”

  Her head started to spin. She was losing the threads of his trousers. Spinning. Her head whirling around her eyes. Her trembling fingers lifted, trying to reach her throat but were so heavy they could only make it halfway, falling to rest on her bare chest. “Hot…I am hot…breathe…I cannot breathe…cannot…”

  Air stopped. Not a breath could make it dow
nward to her lungs. Only to her throat. No air.

  His hand went under her chin, lifting her face. “Talia. What is happening? Tell me. Now, Talia.”

  Her head shook, her eyes shutting as she forced what little air she had left from her lungs. “I—I cannot go back to this world. Cannot be in it. It betrayed me. It was my life and then it abandoned me. I cannot—cannot go through it again. The cuts. The pleas that were never answered.”

  She gasped, searching for air. “What we were reduced to. The begging. The fear. Just to have a place to sleep, to have food. It—this killed everything my mother was—once so proud—begging.”

  “Talia—”

  Her eyes flew open, her breath speeding, gulping, as words flew. “You cannot imagine what that did to me, Fletch. I promised to never want this life again. To give these people the kind of power that they had over us. And I cannot—”

  Her words cut as she jerked her chin from his grasp, the last of the air in her lungs gone, even as she panted, trying to breathe. Her eyelids squeezed tight, the heat invading every pore on her body as her stomach flipped.

  “Open your eyes, Talia.”

  The spinning of the blackness in her mind intensified. She shook her head. Or she thought she did. She was going to vomit.

  “Talia.”

  The sharp command snapped her eyes open. A hand. She had to force her eyes to focus on it, to understand what it was. Fletch’s bare palm positioned right in front of her eyes.

  “My hand, Talia. Concentrate on this. Trace the lines on my palm. From underneath my pinky to above my thumb. Don’t think about anything else. Only my palm. Nothing else. Start on the right. Go to the left. Yes. Slowly. That is it. Now back and forth on just that one line, Talia. Back and forth.”

  She followed the sharp crease on his palm, across and back again. But then she lost it, her chest tightening. Her eyes slipped closed.

  “Open them, Talia.”

  She cracked her eyelids.

  “The line on my hand, Talia. That is the only thing there is. The only thing to concentrate on. Count the crosshatches along the line. Tell me how many there are. Count them out loud.”

  She gulped a mouthful of air, her eyes finding the line on his palm again. “One…two…three…four.” What started as cracked whispers grew more solid with each expelled breath. “Five.”

  “Trace it back, keep counting.”

  “Six…seven…eight…nine…ten…”

  “And back again.”

  Talia did so. Did it again and again until she had counted to fifty-seven. At fifty-eight, she realized her breath had calmed, her body no longer seized in unyielding panic.

  She leaned back, collapsing against the cushions, every muscle in her body drained. It squished the back of her upsweep, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t about to pretend to be a lady at this point.

  “You are back?”

  Talia looked at Fletch. Concern was evident in his grey eyes, but beyond that, he didn’t look the slightest bit bewildered. She had just acted like a madwoman, and he appeared to have taken it in stride. She exhaled a long breath. “Yes. I think I have recovered. I do not know what just happened to me.”

  He turned from her, drawing the curtain aside to look out the window. She hadn’t even noticed him closing the curtains. “Are you ready to go in?”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t sure that she was, but she didn’t want to add any more to her current mortification by refusing to go into the party.

  Fletch turned back to her. His eyes swept her face. “Good. But we will walk around the block before we enter to make sure you have your proper legs about you first.” He leaned across her lap, grabbing her warm shawl from the opposite side of her and sliding it over her shoulders to wrap her.

  Talia lifted herself from the cushions, eternally grateful for the few extra moments she would have to collect herself.

  The cool evening air settling about her, calming, they walked in silence around half the block before Talia’s fingers tightened on the crook of Fletch’s arm. She looked up at him, watching the night lanterns cast bouncing shadows across his face. “How did you know how to do that for me in the carriage—your palm, the counting?”

  “My sister was always anxious at balls. What happened to you was very similar to what often happened to her. She would be fine, happy one moment, and the next, she would not be able to breathe. Shaking.” Fletch looked down to Talia. “That was what I would do to calm her, give her something tangible and solid to concentrate on. I took the chance it would work with you as well.”

  “It happened to your sister?” Talia scoured her brain. Fletch had mentioned a sister, but Talia didn’t remember her. Had his sister been present at the one ball she had attended at the Lockston townhouse? She couldn’t recall.

  “Yes. Rachel. You are of similar age.” Even in the shadows, she could see how his eyes softened.

  Talia smiled. “It is clear you adore her. She is married now?”

  Fletch’s gaze flew from Talia, his eyes straight ahead. “She was married. She died.”

  His pace quickened, and Talia had to hop an extra step to keep up. Her fingers tightened around his arm. “I am sorry for your loss. Was it long ago?”

  “Two years.”

  His stride went longer, and Talia had to stretch her legs to keep up. Evidently, he was done talking about his sister.

  Minutes later, her breathing now quickened by the rest of the fast walk, they entered the dinner party. In the drawing room, Fletch made a straight line with Talia to his aunt, politely dissuading the many men stopping him for a discussion.

  A bold yellow turban wrapping her head, Fletch’s aunt pounded her cane on the dark wooden floors the moment she saw her great-nephew come into view across the room.

  The banging rose above the general din of the crowd, producing an instant smile on Fletch’s face.

  He leaned down to Talia’s ear as they weaved through the crowd. “That is the third cane I have gotten for her this year, as she keeps splintering them with all the battering she does. Her knees may be weak, but her arms more than make up for it.”

  Talia swallowed a giggle. She hadn’t even met Aunt Penelope, yet she already liked her.

  They halted in front of Aunt Penelope as she waved away a lady in midsentence sitting at her side on the long sofa. Miffed, her mouth half askew, the woman departed, glaring at Fletch. Aunt Penelope took no mind.

  “This is she?” Aunt Penelope jabbed the air with her cane, almost touching Talia’s belly. A wide swath of piled-upon necklaces sat upon her chest, the jonquil yellow turban matching the bright yellow wrap and gown she wore. Age had set wrinkles deep into her skin, but her eyes were the same lively grey as Fletch’s—even more mischievous, if it was possible.

  “Yes, Aunt Penelope, this is she.” Fletch gently pushed the end of the cane down to the floor as he leaned forward to kiss his aunt’s cheek. He stepped back to set his hand on the small of Talia’s back, sending her a step forward now that the cane had safely been lowered. “May I present to you Lady Natalia Abbingale.”

  Aunt Penelope fished about her many necklaces, finding the blue ribbon attached to her quizzing glass. She squinted, one eye closed as she looked through the glass, her inspection running up and down Talia three times. Talia tried to keep the smile on her face tranquil under the scrutiny.

  With a harrumph, Aunt Penelope leaned forward, the quizzing glass dropping from her eye. “Your cheeks are flush, my dear, and it was repeated to me that you two were in the carriage for quite some time before entering the event.” Her shrewd eyes flew to Fletch. “Do I need to box your ears, Fletcher?”

  He coughed, his hand flying up to mask the chuckle he attempted to cover. “You need do no such thing, Aunt Penelope. A short conversation we had in the carriage, that was all. Not even one unseemly moment was had.”

  “I’ll believe that when I believe man can sprout wings and fly.” Aunt Penelope turned her attention very pointedly to Talia.

/>   Talia watched Fletch’s mouth open with a retort, but then he clamped his lips shut, a wry smile settling on his lips.

  “We are done with you, Fletcher.” Aunt Penelope lifted her cane and poked him in the thigh. “Go. Leave me with Lady Natalia for a moment. I cannot speak to her with you hovering about, ready to muzzle a hand across my mouth.”

  With a nod, Fletch took several steps away, disappearing into the crowd and abandoning Talia to stand in front of Aunt Penelope. A composed smile on her face, Talia forced her hands to remain open, casual at her sides.

  Aunt Penelope watched the back of Fletch until she was satisfied his location was far enough away. Her grey eyes moved to Talia. “I wish to speak plainly, dear. I am too old for anything less. Let me know this instant if you cannot handle what I say, and I will excuse you from my company.”

  Talia’s smile froze in place. “I believe I can endure whatever you have to say. I prefer honesty as well.”

  Her cane hit the floor in a smack, sending vibrations under Talia’s silk slippers. “Excellent, dear. Let us get to it, then. You are much different than the widows my nephew is partial to. I want to know why.”

  “Widows?” Talia glanced to her side, already wishing Fletch hadn’t moved so very far away.

  “Do not look over your shoulder for him.” Her cane pounded onto the floor again. “Come, my dear, you must know of Fletcher’s loose associations with women. He is partial to widows—exclusively, I believe—he likes to brush against death. But now he is not partial to them. He is partial to you. I want to know why.”

  Talia dragged a deep breath in through her nostrils, her smile unwavering. What did it matter what Fletch’s aunt thought of her? She would be leaving London as soon as she found her sister, so she would likely never encounter Fletch’s aunt again. She may as well tell the truth as far as she could. Her smile slipped away. “I am afraid I do not have an answer for you. I have only been back in London for a number of weeks, so I have not been privy to…whispers of Fletch’s associations.”

  “No? Well, that is uncommon.” Aunt Penelope’s head tilted, the turban going slightly askew on her head. “Maybe you are uncommon. Perhaps that is the appeal.”