Promise: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  Breath ragged, his chest heaved, but no words fell from his mouth.

  His eyes of steel cracked to her, his tortured soul clear. “Talia…I would fight a thousand hells for you. But my death, it is not a fight I can win. I accepted that long ago.”

  “Or maybe you’ve always accepted death because you never truly wanted to fight for life.”

  “Talia—”

  Her fingers went to the back of his head, digging into his hair. “I am asking you, Fletch, right now. Fight for it. Fight for us. Fight for the life we deserve to have together. Fight for it when the time comes.”

  His eyes closed. “I cannot fight what I cannot change, Talia.”

  For a moment, the world stilled.

  Stilled until her next breath. In that breath, devastation rolled up from her toes, stealing all feeling, crumpling her body.

  He would not fight for her.

  Did he want death?

  The possibility struck her, shattering her air, a thousand tiny blades attacking her chest.

  Her hands dropped from him, her vision muddied by a wall of tears that would not leave her eyes. She stumbled from his grasp, staggering down the long hall. Blinded, she disappeared into the bowels of the castle.

  Run.

  It was all she could do.

  Run away from the possibility that Fletch wanted death.

  Run from what she could not accept.

  ~~~

  It was minutes—eons in what had become Talia’s garbled mind—before she found the great hall in all the corridors she had immediately gotten lost in. Around every corner she had had to stop and listen, peek around the stone walls, and pray Fletch was not in her path.

  She couldn’t face him again. Not now.

  She had asked for nothing, except for the very thing that meant the most—that he would want to live—and he had denied her.

  She loved him. But if he could not do that one thing for her—fight death—she wasn’t sure if she could look at him and not be crushed every single time she touched him.

  All she wanted was hope.

  All she wanted was for him to try and live.

  Stumbling into the great hall, she realized too late what a walking mess she was, tears streaming, her gait not solid. More than fifty pairs of eyes turned to her, snide curiosity obvious. Perfect fodder for the gossips.

  She considered turning and disappearing back into the corridor she had just exited at the exact moment she saw Lord Reggard.

  Standing by the sideboard, chatting with two men, he looked past the tops of their heads, seeing her almost immediately. He was to her side before she could commit to skulking back the way she had come.

  Grabbing her hand, he set it in the crook of his elbow as he steered her across the length of the long hall, blocking her from the many gaping eyes of people at the tables. He leaned down, his voice low. “That did not go well?”

  Talia had to swallow three lumps before she could manage words. “No. I would like to leave.”

  “Of course. It will take a few minutes to prepare the horses on the carriage.” He pointed to the balcony at the top of the curved staircase along the end of the hall. “There is a drawing room we passed on the way inward that appeared to be empty earlier. Perhaps you would like to wait in there.”

  Talia nodded.

  They made their way up the stairs, walking past the minstrels’ gallery they had surveyed the room from earlier. A footman passed them, and Lord Reggard halted, stepping aside to request the carriage be readied. Talia turned to the edge of the balcony, looking down at the far tables.

  Whatever scene she had just created, it had already passed, as not a person looked up in her direction, the throng of them going about their conversations and concocting plans for the day.

  Aside from a few men at the sideboard filling plates, only one lady moved through the tables, the widow, the dark-haired beauty that had been seated earlier with Fletch.

  Talia looked over her shoulder to Lord Reggard, silently encouraging him to hurry with his conversation. She needed to be rid of this place. Needed to remove herself from Fletch’s vicinity before she did the very thing he feared. Agreed to something she would only regret.

  And watching Fletch die without a fight was a regret she wasn’t willing to live with.

  She looked back down the hall, her fingers tapping on the grey stone railing of the balustrade.

  The swish of the widow’s black skirts drew Talia’s attention to the arched entrance the woman walked through. It was the same corridor Fletch had steered Talia through earlier when they left the hall.

  Talia’s fingers froze in mid-tap above the railing. The beauty had stopped in front of someone. From her angle, Talia couldn’t see the other person until the beauty moved to the side.

  Fletch. She was chatting with Fletch.

  Reaching up, the beauty wrapped her hand behind his neck, and she went to her toes, setting her mouth on his, her dark head tilting and blocking Talia’s view of her husband.

  Talia’s knees went to jelly. For a breath, she thought she would sink. Become a puddle right under the vaulted ceiling. Instead, her mind went blank as her legs sent her spinning, running down the hallway.

  “Lady Lockston? Talia?” Lord Reggard yelled after her. “Talia?”

  She didn’t stop. Didn’t slow her feet.

  She wasn’t about to wait another second.

  She was leaving this place.

  ~~

  “What just happened?” Reggard looked to the footman. “Where is Lady Lockston going?”

  The man looked just as puzzled. “I do not know, m’lord. I just heard the gasp and then she ran. Mayhap she is sick?”

  Reggard looked down the empty hallway, Talia already out of view. He glanced down into the great hall. “Bloody hell.”

  Reggard was down the stairs and to the far end of the hall in seconds, his large frame a force of fury. He snatched Fletch’s arm, ripping him from the woman who still had her talons wrapped around his neck. “Bloody blasted hell, you bastard.”

  Fletch yanked his arm free from Reggard’s grasp. “What of you, Reggard?”

  “You just did that.” Reggard flew a finger in the general direction of the dark-haired widow. “In front of your wife.”

  “I what?” Fletch wiped the spit from the woman off his lips. “I was just walking into the hall when…” His eyes narrowed, swinging to Lady Canton.

  “You are a blasted fool, Lockston.” Reggard’s fists ground into his sides. “And you are twisted. You cannot have life, so you want to destroy everyone around you. You bloody well did it with me—I lost Rachel, and then you made sure to take everything else from my life—and I was left with no one. No one. And you have everything—friends, family, a wife—and ass that you are you’re throwing it away.”

  Reggard shook his head, snarl curling his lip. “We were friends once, Lockston. No more. You have gone too far. I always thought you would redeem yourself before the end. Rachel always believed that you had that in you. But now your bloody selfishness and petty cravings are ensuring you are to leave this earth a worthless human being.”

  “Shut your vile mouth, Reggard.” Fletch took a step toward his brother-in-law.

  “You shut yours, Lockston. Did you not hear me? Do you not realize what you just did? Talia saw you kissing that tart from the balcony, you fool.”

  Fletch looked up through the great hall to the far balcony.

  “She saw your repulsive display and she ran. She is the best damn thing that has ever happened to you, Lockston, and you just threw her away.”

  Fletch couldn’t tear his eyes off the empty balcony, his voice still seething. “Why do you even care, Reggard?”

  “I don’t. But I do for Rachel,” Reggard said. “She would not have wanted to see your despicable ass leave the earth in this way.”

  “Rachel’s dead, Reggard. So you can leave me the hell alone.”

  “I should leave. It’s what you deserve after the wa
y you dismantled my life after Rachel’s death.” Reggard rounded Fletch, blocking his view of the balcony. “I should leave you in the sniveling shell you are determined to rot in.”

  “So leave.” Fletch’s lip curled, the words vicious.

  “I will. Do not worry on that, Lockston. There is nothing I would rather do in this moment.” Reggard unclenched his fists, heaving a sigh. “But unlike you, I loved my wife. So I care about your life because of her. Because she would have demanded it of me.”

  “You know nothing of what I feel for Talia.”

  “No. You’re right. I know nothing because I never would have treated my wife—or any woman—like you just did.” Reggard’s eyes narrowed at Fletch. His voice notched downward. “Do you know, Lockston, that even before your sister, I always believed that if anyone could break the curse, it would be you. But now I am beginning to wonder if the curse is exactly what you are meant for. Had your sister just seen what you did, I think she would think the same.”

  “Bloody well stop throwing my sister in my face, Reggard. She is dead.”

  “So you have forgotten Rachel? What she wanted for you?” His head shook in disgust. “Damn, Fletch, she believed far too much in you.”

  Fletch’s mouth twisted. “Yes, well, she always was misguided when it came to the men she loved.”

  Reggard refused to acknowledge the insult, not allowing so much as a twitch. His finger swung in the air, pointing again at the far balcony. “That woman—Talia. Talia is what Rachel wanted for you. Not this.” Reggard’s look swung to the dark-haired widow that had backed to the wall, making herself small. “Not this wretched harlot.”

  “Watch yourself, Reggard.”

  “No, you watch yourself, Lockston. You need to make a choice, friend. Life—life with meaning. Or whatever sorry state this is.” Reggard’s eyes pointedly ran up and down the widow. He crossed his thick arms over his wide chest, glaring at Fletch. “Now am I going to have to go after your wife, or are you?”

  Fletch’s mouth opened, then he stopped and his lips clamped shut.

  With a shake of his head, he pushed past Reggard, sprinting across the great hall.

  { Chapter 17 }

  Talia paused at a wooden pillar along the entrance to the mews. Dizziness had attacked her three times on her push back to London, and just as she had descended from the mare she had borrowed from Wellfork Castle, another wave had overtaken her.

  Gripping the pillar, she closed her eyes, her chin down until the tilting of the gardens in front of her subsided. Then the fury in her gut propelled her forth.

  Entering the townhouse through the rear, Talia considered for a moment going to the kitchen for food, then realized she wouldn’t be able to choke down anything in her current state. She walked down the hallway, trying to keep her feet from stomping. It had only taken an hour of hard riding to get into London, and then another fifteen minutes of picking her way through London streets to get to the townhouse. Not nearly long enough to quell the rage still ripping through her veins.

  Passing the lower drawing room, she heard voices and glanced in. She skidded to a stop in the open doorway.

  No.

  Not him.

  Not in her house.

  Not Cousin Arnold.

  Her mother flittered about the room, nervous with the glass of port she held in shaking hands. But Talia barely noticed her. She could only stare, stunned, at the man sitting in her drawing room, in her house. Her mother handed the glass of port to the current Earl of Roserton.

  It was him.

  There was no mistaking the stringy grey hair tied into a ponytail off the back of his bald head. The nose that twisted on the end. The beady eyes looking up at her mother. The jowls.

  The bastard sat in the middle of her drawing room, his feet propped on the low rosewood table in front of him, scuffing the gloss. Owning the place.

  Talia’s rage erupted.

  “Get out of my home, Cousin Arnold.” Her words thundered into the room before her feet could get her in front of the bastard.

  She stopped, heaving in front of him. Her arm flew up, shaking as she pointed to the doorway. “Get the hell out of my home, Cousin Arnold.”

  He looked up at her coolly, a slight sneer lifting the left side of his mouth. Still the same. Same sneer. Same greasy grey locks of long hair falling about his face from his ponytail. Same jowls—one, two, three deep down his neck. Same portliness.

  “Cousin Natalia,” Arnold said. “You truly should address me as Lord Roserton. You were mannered, once in time. I think you can be so again.”

  Talia stepped closer, shoving her knee into his shin to knock his foot off the table. “And you would do well to address me as Lady Lockston.”

  He looked down pointedly at her knee, his sneer deepening. “Ah, yes, your marriage. I was disheartened to realize I somehow was neglected to be invited to the nuptials.”

  “Yet you did not take that as the direct cut it was, and instead, you have egregiously erred in inviting yourself into my home.” Talia’s arm did not lower from its point to the door. “Again, I ask that you leave at once. You are not welcome in this home, Cousin.”

  Talia’s mother grabbed Talia’s outstretched arm, pushing downward on it, her voice frantic. “Lord Roserton wishes to marry Louise now that you are married, Talia.”

  Talia’s jaw dropped, her eyes whipping first to her mother, and then falling to skewer her cousin. “What? What lunacy is this?”

  “Your sister is now of marriageable age, and as you are now married, there is nothing unseemly about our union.”

  “Nothing unseemly?” Talia’s stomach flipped, bile threatening upward. “No. Absolutely not.”

  Cousin Arnold’s sneer turned into a smile. “Yes. I would like to marry her in four weeks’ time.”

  “No.” Talia’s head shook. “She will never marry you, Cousin.”

  Her mother moved closer to Talia, flanking her side. “We were just preparing Louise for the upcoming season, Lord Roserton.”

  Talia bit her tongue. One battle at a time. And she needed her mother at her side on this one.

  The sneer overtook the smile on Cousin Arnold’s thin lips. “Do not tell me you honestly think to put a girl such as Louise on the marriage mart.”

  “What do you mean, a girl such as Louise?” Talia’s eyebrows furrowed, and she looked to her mother.

  “I mean one that has already been on the open market,” he said.

  Talia’s gaze snapped to him. “What are you speaking of?”

  His head tilted to the side, his sneer deepening. “Perhaps I should be more specific—a girl that has been purchased on the open market.”

  Hand flying to her throat, Talia’s mother gasped and stumbled backward, falling to sit on a side chair.

  Talia took another step closer to Cousin Arnold, staring down at him, her words seething through clenched teeth. “Just what exactly are you insinuating, Cousin?”

  “Your face has turned quite dire, Lady Lockston. Interesting.” Cousin Arnold shrugged. “I was merely referencing a conversation I had at my club with a gentleman that has the most peculiar tastes in young females. Not my sort of thing, but he went to great lengths to explain some of the girls he has recently taken a…liking to. One with an unusual birthmark of a six-pointed star on her left shoulder.”

  Hell.

  He knew. How he knew of Louise’s very specific birthmark, she didn’t want to imagine. But he knew of it. And he knew Louise had been in a brothel, sold for her innocence. Ruined.

  Talia’s hands curled into fists, aching to pound the sneer from his face, consequences be damned. Yet she forced herself a step backward. “Get out of my house, Cousin Arnold.”

  “I would hate for any untoward gossip to taint Lady Louise,” Cousin Arnold said as he stood. “I would prefer she not become my bride with a wave of scandal upon her tail.”

  Talia’s arm swung up again, pointing to the door, her voice vicious. “Out of my house this ins
tant, Cousin Arnold.”

  He gave a slight bow of his head. “You are right, Lady Lockston, it is time for you and your mother to think upon consequences again. Perhaps you will take greater care in consideration this time, than you did the last time we were at this juncture.”

  He stepped past Talia’s arm and exited the drawing room.

  Talia’s shaking arm fell slowly to her side, the true horror of the situation sinking into her mind.

  “You cannot let this happen, Talia,” her mother said from the side chair, her fingers rubbing her brow. “I would not let you marry that odious man, and I will not allow Louise to either. You need to fix this, Talia.”

  Talia’s palms swung up to the ceiling. “I do not know how to, Mother.”

  Her mother gained her feet, moving to stand in front of Talia. “You must figure out a way. Louise has been through far too much. You cannot let him ruin her, nor let him force her into marriage. You need to fix this, Talia.”

  Talia spun from her mother, her throat clenching.

  Fix this. Fix this. Fix this.

  Words that she had heard repeated again and again during the past four years.

  Talia stared out the front window at Cousin Arnold heaving his lumbering form into his carriage. The Roserton carriage. Her family’s carriage.

  She shook her head, failed plan after failed plan flashing through her frantic mind. Each and every plan she contemplated ended in her sister’s utter ruin.

  Talia knew she herself could weather any scandal, but Louise was still in much too delicate of a place to even fathom putting her within striking distance of Cousin Arnold’s threats. She needed to protect Louise. There was nothing more important. And Cousin Arnold’s demand of four weeks’ time was far too short a span to work within.

  Time. She needed more time than four weeks.

  If only…

  With a gasp, Talia sprinted from the townhouse, not stopping for a cloak. Down the front stairs, she searched the street to see Cousin Arnold’s carriage turning at the end of the block. She ran, attempting to not slip on the splotches of ice that lined the sidewalk.