Promise: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  A silver blade flashed past her eyes.

  A flurry of limbs swung around her.

  Talia twisted, the blade searing through flesh along her side. She screamed but heard it only come out as a whimper.

  Her hand dropped from the wall, freed, just as a black cloak wrapped around her, a strong arm along her shoulder propelling her out of the alley and onto the street.

  Her feet stumbling to keep up the speed she was being pushed at, Talia shoved the top of the cloak from her face so she could see.

  “Fletch?”

  “What the hell were you doing walking down that alley, Talia?”

  “You were following me?”

  “Yes. All the way from the Jolly Vassal. Your fool head was down the entire time—you were taking no care at all—what the hell were you doing?”

  “I—I take that alley during the day—but never at night—I didn’t realize I had turned there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was…I was not paying attention.”

  “It is the darkest hour of the night, Talia. Why in the devil were you not paying attention?”

  Her feet stopped.

  Fletch’s arm pushing along the back of her shoulders didn’t halt fast enough, and he dragged her forward. He caught the front of her only a second before she sprawled face-first into the empty street.

  His hands around her ribcage, he righted her. “Damn, Talia. What is this?” He pulled his left hand from her ribcage, holding it close to his face to look at it.

  “What?”

  “Is this blood?” He flipped his fingers to her.

  “I…I don’t know. The blade I saw must have nicked me.”

  Both of his hands went onto her shoulders, his eyes searching her face. “Nicked? If there’s enough blood to get onto my fingers, it was more than a nick, Talia.”

  “It is nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  His forearms next to her jawline, Talia grabbed both of his wrists, meeting his eyes. “I don’t care a whit about the nick, Fletch. I made it to the top floor of the Jolly Vassal.”

  “You what?”

  “I made it to the top floor. I carried a pot and mumbled to the guard and he let me by. I found two rooms with girls in them. Frightened girls. But Louise was not there. They said she was taken away days ago.”

  The words spoken out of her own mouth jarred her—brutal reality she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge slamming into her consciousness. She swayed, her eyes closing.

  Fletch’s hands dropped from her shoulders, catching her around the waist and ushering her further along the street before she could open her eyes.

  “She is gone, Fletch. Gone.” Talia wedged her hands up from the side of him and pushed, shoving at the side of his torso for no other reason than he was right there to shove.

  His grip around her waist tightened, his gait not slowing.

  “If she is gone, there may be record of it somewhere, Talia. Who bought her. They keep some sort of list of men that they invite to the auctions. I know because my name is on that list. That list exists, so it is very possible they also keep record of who bought which girl and when.”

  Talia stumbled. “She was there, Fletch. There and I missed her by two days. Two. Two bloody days. If I had gone to that brothel first I would have found her.”

  Fletch stopped.

  Talia glanced up at the building to her right. They had reached the boarding house.

  She looked to Fletch. He was making no motion to leave her. “You cannot come in with me. Mrs. Beezler will hear two sets of footsteps and come to investigate and I cannot lose my room here. She is very strict. She does not want her boarding house turning into a whorehouse.”

  Fletch looked up at the clapboard building, the front porch at a decided slant that gave evidence to the whole building sinking on the west side. “Where is your room? What is so special about it that you cannot lose it?”

  “It is quiet. In the rafters. The only one at the top of the stairs. I can sleep during the day.”

  He nodded, his arm swooping down and picking her up before she realized his intention.

  Talia swatted at his chest. “Fletch, what of you? Put me down.”

  “You are injured and there can only be one set of footsteps on the stairs, Talia,” he whispered in her ear. “Now hush, or your landlady will hear us and you will be evicted.”

  Her teeth gritting, Talia held in the words she wanted to skewer him with.

  Silently, Talia opened the doorknob and Fletch carried her up the three sets of stairs. She noted he made his toes sound light on the wooden steps. Already abashed at her current position in his arms, it only aggravated Talia more that he did not display even the slightest strain in carrying her weight. Not even a furrow in his brow. High-handed arse.

  She opened the door to her room at the top of the stairs, and Fletch had to duck his head under the frame to step into the dark space.

  Setting her down lightly, Fletch straightened next to her.

  Thunk.

  The darkness of the room hid her smile at what could only have been his head knocking into a beam. Not that she wanted her smile hidden. She wished he could see her smirk. The man deserved it after barging his way into her room uninvited.

  “Let me light the lantern.” Talia moved across the tiny room to the lantern on top of a small chest of drawers. Her fingers working the flint box nimbly, light flickered into the room as she lit two rushlights.

  “This is a room?” Fletch whispered.

  Talia turned to him. He was still hunched over, his head at an angle and his hair brushing the boards of the roof. “I am not as tall as you, so it suits me fine.” She removed her apron and then unwrapped the long black handkerchief covering her head, her fingers staining black from the coal powder coloring her hair dark.

  “Sit. I am looking at your wound.”

  “I will be fine, Fletch.” Scratching free her hair, Talia set the handkerchief next to the pitcher of water on the chest of drawers. “It is just a gash. I can feel the blood on my skin, and it is not too deep.”

  “Pray tell me I do not need to explain to you the many things wrong with that statement.” He glared at her. “Sit. I will check it. And I will be the judge as to whether or not it is too deep and needs further attention. I will wake my surgeon if necessary.”

  “It is not necessary. None of it.”

  “Sit.” He glared. “Or I will be forced to be extra loud on my exit and wake your landlady.”

  Scowling, she tiptoed past him and sat on the bed. “Not fair.”

  “Nor was you getting sliced in that alley. I should have been quicker on that wastrel. Lift your arm.”

  Talia lifted her right arm, the skin along her side stretching and reopening the wound. She grimaced, searching the room for something else to concentrate upon as her fingers clamped onto the rough wood of a low-angled beam above her.

  She twisted her side toward him. “And you did not need to follow me from the brothel tonight, Fletch.” Her gaze settled on his face. “But I do thank you, in that you did so.”

  His right eyebrow cocked. “That is gracious of you.”

  “Just because I am miffed at you for forcing your way up here, does not mean I cannot be polite, especially when you helped me in the alley.”

  He nodded, dropping to his knees in front of her. His fingers went to the torn wool on the side of her black dress. Tugging at the fabric, he tried to see through the hole. He looked up at her. “The top of your dress, can we pull it down? I can see nothing through the wool and the layers beneath.”

  She jerked away, her right arm clamping down over her bloody side. “No.”

  “No? Shall I get the landlady to assist you instead?”

  “A bloody devil you are,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What was that?”

  “I was remarking upon what a fine gentleman you have turned out to be.”

  “You would not have asked for my help in findin
g your sister if I was a true gentleman, Talia. Fine gentlemen do not frequent brothels, purchasing virgins.” He smirked, flicking his fingers upward. “Off with your dress. Just the top. I swear I will keep my eyes averted from delicate areas.”

  Her cheeks flaming, Talia turned on the bed. “Then unbutton me, please.”

  Fletch’s fingers quickly swept down the line of buttons along her spine.

  Gingerly, she peeled off the right sleeve from her arm and then shrugged the top of the dress off her other arm and down to her waist.

  Sitting in just her chemise, she lifted her right arm again, aiming the area of the wound to him. She stared at the far corner of the room, refusing to acknowledge the fact that she was now sitting half-naked in front of this man.

  Fletch looked at the side of her ribcage, his fingers rustling the fabric. “Your chemise is all bloody, and what is all this cloth?”

  Talia hadn’t thought she could be any more mortified than she had been a second before. She was wrong.

  Her right arm dropped to her side, her elbow shoving his hands away as her left forearm went in front of her breasts. “It is binding. I do not want anyone in the brothel to know I have…”

  “Breasts?”

  The heat in her cheeks went hotter, spreading to her forehead. She nodded. “As much as you think me crass and an idiot for going to the depths I do, I do attempt to protect myself from my surroundings. I have made myself as benign as possible. Darkening my hair, wrapping my head, ill-fitting clothes, hiding my bosom, dirt on my face. I have tried to be as unattractive as possible so I am not approached.”

  “How has that worked for you thus far?”

  Talia hedged her reply. “Other than the man behind the brothel and the man tonight in the alleyway, the few times I have been thrust into a situation with a forceful man, I have always escaped without a scratch.”

  His right cheek lifted, disbelief evident. “You do realize you forgot your teeth.”

  “My teeth?”

  “They are far too white, too straight—that they even exist in your mouth is an obvious indicator you are not exactly what you pretend to be.”

  Her fingertips went to her lips, nails tapping her teeth. She had never considered her teeth. She should have been blackening them all along.

  “Do you carry a knife?” Fletch asked.

  “No. But that is a valid idea. I just do not own a knife. I have escaped those other men by acting very interested in what they propose to do to me. I talk fast and loud like a simpleton, and then I tell them I am diseased. They have always instantly dropped their hands from me.”

  “So what happened the other night behind the brothel when I had to remove the brute from you?”

  “He closed off my throat before I could speak.”

  Fletch nodded, looking down at the red-soaked linen along the side of her ribcage. “The binding has to go. I cannot see the wound through all of it.”

  “No.”

  “Talia, you can see how blood-soaked all of this fabric is. I have to remove it. Or I can wait until you faint from lack of blood, and then do so without resistance.”

  He wasn’t going to leave her room until he saw her wound—his grey eyes had hardened, telling her as much.

  She exhaled, giving in, even though the thought of being even more exposed set her nerves on end. Silent, she slipped her arms out of her chemise, letting it drop to her waist and expose the binding wrapped around her chest. She closed her eyes, lifting both of her arms and resting her wrists on the top of her head.

  His knuckles slipping along her skin, he unknotted the tie of the long strip of linen on the side of her chest. Going tall on his knees, his head peeked through the crook of her arm to her back as he began to separate the tangle of the strip. She could feel his breath on her neck as he slowly unwrapped the length of the linen from her body.

  His hands moved gently as they went around her torso again and again with the wrap. Taking care, she supposed, not to jostle her wound.

  Talia wished she hadn’t wrapped it six times around her chest—she barely made it through the first two torturous unfurls by Fletch’s hands without pushing him away. His hot breath stayed even on her neck, his hair tickling her bare arm. The cold of winter was creeping into the room from the small window behind her back, but his heat warmed her against it. A fortress against the chill.

  Her eyes still closed, she managed a shallow breath, but she was too close to him, and the scent of pine, brandy, and a sharp spice she couldn’t name filled her nose. A scent that sent her back. Sent her to years ago, when she would twirl in ball gowns, drink punch laced with giddiness, and clasp hands with handsome men, fluttering her eyelashes. The men had smelled like Fletch. Clean. Crisp. Power. So simple and fun, the game of it all.

  And then her world had imploded, scattering beneath her silk-slippered feet.

  Fletch loosened the fourth layer, and her breasts won the fight against the fabric and stretched plump before her, aching against the submission they had been forced into. The rest of the fabric fell to her waist. His head still over her shoulder, Fletch jerked back slightly as her breasts bumped into his chest.

  Air hit her nipples, and Talia froze, her breath held, her eyes squinting shut.

  But she could feel his continued breath on her neck.

  The binding was off, and he was not pulling away. Her mind screamed at her arm to move. To cover herself. But she couldn’t force even her pinky to twitch.

  His hand moved up, his fingers wrapping around her left wrist on the top of her head. Talia jerked. Gently, Fletch pulled her arm down, setting it between them, her forearm covering her nipples from the air.

  “May I pull away, look at the wound now?” His words were soft in her ear, his lips almost brushing the skin of her cheek.

  Air still lodged in her chest, she nodded.

  He pulled away, setting himself to her side, his fingers running along the bloody skin over her ribcage. With an incoherent grumble, he shifted to his feet and went to wet a cloth that hung next to the small basin of water on the washstand. Talia cracked her eyes open, watching him.

  He came back to her, dropping to his knees once more to dab at the skin around the wound.

  It stung, but Talia bit the inside of her lip, refusing to loosen from the statue she had coerced her body into.

  In silence, Fletch dabbed at her skin for minutes, cleaning the wound.

  He cleared his throat. “You did not scream when the blade sliced you in the alley.”

  Talia stared at the top of his head, focusing on the haphazard swoop of brown hair near his forehead. “Screaming does me no favors. Not in my life now. Not in my world. Screams announce weakness, and there are too many that prey upon weakness.” She said it without bitterness, just simple acceptance.

  He glanced up to her, his eyes falling quickly back to her side. “Life has reduced you to that viewpoint?”

  “Life has opened my eyes to that viewpoint.”

  His fingertips slightly pulled at the skin aside the cut to see the depth of the wound.

  Pain shot through the nerves to her belly, and Talia closed her eyes, sucking in the sharpness with a hiss.

  Fletch grabbed the edge of the linen wrap, tearing off a clean swath of the fabric. He folded it, holding it over the wound. “The cut is not too deep. It does look like the blood has slowed. But you should lie down and hold this over it until it stops completely.”

  Keeping her forearm in front of her breasts, Talia shifted her left hand under his to clutch the wad of linen to the wound. She stretched out awkwardly onto her left side, still trying to cover her breasts.

  Fletch stood, picking up the bloody linen wrap to set it on the chest of drawers. He swished his fingers in the bowl of water.

  Talia watched the back of him as he rinsed the blood from the linen in the bowl, surprised he bothered to stop to do so. Even in these movements—the smallest task—he was at ease, so sure of himself.

  “Do you know th
at we danced once, long ago, Fletch?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “We did?”

  “Yes. It was at a ball at your home years ago. Your aunt said it had to have been your brother’s engagement celebration. Your name went onto my dance card early in the evening, but by the time the dance came about, your eyes were glazed over and you had settled on a widow—Countess Gillison, I believe it was. She was beautiful. I do not think you looked at me once.”

  He twisted the fabric above the bowl, squeezing the water from it. “I do not remember that.”

  “No. But I do. I liked your eyes, even if they never settled upon me. The grey in them. That was how I recognized you at the Jolly Vassal. Even in that dim light, I recognized the grey. It was why I followed you down the street after you bought the virgin. I could not believe it was you.”

  Fletch opened the top drawer of the chest and draped the linen over it to dry. He turned around to her.

  “Sleep, Talia. We will discuss your sister tomorrow and what the next course of action will be.” He walked over to the foot of the bed, quickly untying her boots and setting them under the bed before grabbing the one thin blanket and setting it over her body, tucking the top edge on her neck.

  “My carriage will be by at four to pick you up for the event you will be attending with me tomorrow evening. I will have a new dress delivered during the day for the occasion, and I will procure the same maid to act as chaperone for you. The last thing I want is to have scandal touch your reputation.”

  She smiled up at him, drowsiness hitting her as the tight hold across her breasts finally loosened now that she was covered below the blanket. “You have thought of everything.”

  “At least as much as I can foresee. Even as you continue to toss mayhem my way.”

  “Mayhem. Generous of you.” A soft chuckle floated from her lips. “Thank you, Fletch, for looking at the wound.”

  He stepped to the doorway, his hand on the doorknob as he looked back and winked at her. “Thank you, Talia, for letting me look at it.”

  He slipped out the door, quietly clicking it closed. She could not even hear his feet creaking the floorboards as he moved down the stairs.