Promise: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  “Fine, Fletch. Fine.” She turned slowly from him, moving to the fireplace. Her hands gripped the arm of the wide leather chair, her shoulders slumping.

  Fletch stared at her back, at the slight shake in her shoulders with every breath. All fire had left his wife, the shell of her, vulnerable, trembling. He had thought to make her finally face the real possibility of his death, but not this. Not defeat. Not defeat from the one person that unequivocally believed he would cheat death.

  “You don’t think I’ve thought about it, Fletch? Thought about losing you?” She curled forward into herself, words spilling softly, so softly he had to take a step forward to hear her. “I have thought about nothing else since you told me. If you are gone—”

  She gasped a breath, a swallowed sob cutting her words. Her fingernails dug into the leather of the chair. “If you are gone. How my fingers will reach for you without thinking and they will only grasp air. How I will roll over in bed, and instead of the warmth of you, it will only be cold. Cold sheets. That I will have something funny to share and I will immediately want to turn to you to tell you. And you won’t be there. That I will walk by your study, and not see you behind your desk. Not see your indulgent smile when I interrupt you with the most inane request. I won’t watch you bend over to tug your boots on like I like to. I won’t have your arm to lean into. None of it. It will only be a memory. Fading. That I will visit your grave. Tend to your flowers. That I will sit by your gravestone, in the dirt, talking to a slab of granite that I am supposed to be comforted by. That I will have to imagine you below ground, in a box—” Her voice choked off.

  Three sobs shook her body. Shook it so violently Fletch thought she would collapse.

  She swallowed, a garbled moan sending a tremble through her body as she shoved herself from the chair, turning to him. Tears stained her face, but her eyes were clear as they looked at him. Met his gaze with everything in her soul raw, bared to him. “So, yes. Yes, I have thought on it, Fletch. Dwelled on it. But it does not stop me from waking up every morning and needing you. Needing you today. Dreaming of how I will need you tomorrow.”

  She moved toward him, her fingers twisting behind her back, loosening her gown. Three steps and she stopped, her gown dropping off her body. She stepped over the wide puddle of silk, untying her stays. Four more steps, and her stays and shift were on the floor.

  She stopped in front of him, naked, her nipples brushing the dark cut of his jacket. Staring up at him, her hands slipped under the lapels of his jacket, pushing it off his body. “Beyond that…beyond today, I do not care, Fletch. I cannot allow myself to care. I only want today. You. I need you now in this moment.”

  Transfixed, he watched his waistcoat and shirt disappear under her soft fingers, his trousers slipping to the floor as she shuffled him in a circle and then backward. His calves hit the ottoman, and Talia shoved him down to sit, then bent to pull off his boots.

  Her hazel eyes didn’t leave his face as she yanked on the leather. “I choose to believe I will never have to suffer any of those things. I choose to not let a future no one can predict get in the way of my happiness in this moment.”

  She paused, climbing onto his lap, straddling him as she wrapped her hands alongside his face. “I choose to live in today. I choose to love you with every possible spec of my being. That is how I prepare. I prepare by having no regrets on today.”

  She slid onto his shaft slowly, descending, letting him fill her with tortured reserve until he was aching, throbbing to drive fully into her. But he held back. Denying her nothing. And she wanted control.

  A groan rumbled from her chest as she reached his hilt, swiveling her hips. Her hands slid down to grip his upper arms, digging into the muscle.

  Her body circled, playing with him, offering him depth, and then stealing it away. Sending his cock through her folds, making her growl, and then pulling free, only to slide him deep into her again.

  The sheer carnality of her twisting body sent Fletch to an edge he could barely grasp onto. But before he lost all grip, he was determined to take her with him. He would demand no less. He wrapped his hands along her hips, lifting her, setting her down, grinding their bodies together, drawing trembles up and down her body, vibrations she could not control.

  It turned her ravenous and her mouth went onto his neck, prodding him, her teeth running along the line of his shoulder, nipping at him when he slowed the pace. The spasms started pulsating in her core, he could feel them build, and none too soon. His last shred of control was splintering.

  Shattering, her body jerked, the muscles all along her torso contracting, welling into a scream that vibrated into his neck.

  It was all he needed.

  He plunged upward, reaching a depth in her he hadn’t fathomed existed.

  He came. He came deep within her.

  His seed so hard and fast from him, it belonged in no place but the center of his wife. His hands gripped her body tight to his as wave after wave ravaged every nerve, every muscle. Complete abandon.

  Her body still shuddering, she pulled her head free from his neck to look into his face. Tears were streaming from her wide eyes.

  “You are crying.” Fletch licked the line of salty tears from her left cheek. “I would hope for a better reaction after my performance.”

  “You silly man.” She laughed, swatting his back. “You came in me.”

  A smile slowly carved his face. A smile set so deep, it hurt his cheeks. “I did. I love you, Talia. And I am living for this day alone. The future will be what it will be.”

  She drew a deep breath, her smile not stopping the fresh flow of tears from escaping her wondrous hazel eyes. “You know this means more than anything?”

  “I do, my love. I do.”

  He stretched up to catch her lips, dragging her down into a kiss. Devouring her very essence.

  Not the slightest regret entered his mind.

  Today was a fine day, indeed.

  { Chapter 20 }

  Talia entered Fletch’s room through the door to her chambers. His wife nearly floated, a silk concoction, primrose yellow and trimmed in a delicate lace of silver at the bodice and sleeves, flowed about her body, her face beaming. A vision. A vision that was his. He turned fully to her, buttoning his waistcoat. “Is your sister ready to get married?”

  Talia’s nose scrunched up. “She is currently in the bath, taking an inordinate amount of time. Mother is so frenzied, she set the maid to work on Louise’s hair at the edge of the tub.”

  “So you are in here for escape?” Fletch smirked.

  “Possibly.” Her look turned worried. “Mr. Flemstone is not already here, is he? I will go and rush Louise if need be.”

  “No. He sent word he will be here in an hour. Several of our guests are already in the upper drawing room, though.”

  “Who? Do I need to rush?”

  “Caine and Ara. Aunt Penelope. A few of your mother’s friends.” Fletch slid his arms into his dark jacket, pulling the sleeves taut. His valet would sigh at the sight of him already dressed, but it wouldn’t be the first time Fletch had foregone the man’s attentions. He looked to Talia. “But I understand your mother has moved below and already has the room well within her palm.”

  “We never should have reintroduced Aunt Penelope to her.” Talia shook her head. “Those two are conspirators of the first order. I am not sure if mother is becoming one of Aunt Penelope’s dragons, or it is the other way around.”

  Fletch moved to her, unable to resist wrapping his arms around her waist, wrinkles in her silk be damned. “Well, they were either going to love each other or hate each other. And this current state does make our lives much calmer.” He kissed her forehead. “Though I do believe I will go down and rescue Caine from the room.”

  She poked his chest. “And leave Ara to the lot of them—shame on you.”

  Fletch chuckled. After Lord and Lady Newdale had come back into London weeks ago, Talia and Caine’s wife had taken an extreme l
iking to each other, much to Fletch’s satisfaction. He was managing to expand Talia’s family of genuine, loyal people that she would always be able to depend upon. It eased the tremendous worry in his soul. “I am glad you now have a partner in the art of dodging social occasions. And as such, do not fear on Ara’s fate. If I know her, she will find her way out of the drawing room soon enough.”

  A knock on the door cut their conversation.

  “Yes?”

  His valet poked his head into the room. “My lord, there is a slight disturbance.”

  “Disturbance?” Fletch dropped his arms from Talia, turning to his man.

  “A Lord Roserton. He walked in behind Lord and Lady Evanton. Horace did not see him in time to not make a scene, and he thought it better to be handled quietly. Though Lord Roserton became quite belligerent when Horace would not allow him up the stairs to the upper drawing room. The man insists he has every right to give his cousin away in marriage.”

  Instant fury ran up Fletch’s neck. “Where is Roserton now?”

  “Horace has him in the lower drawing room, my lord, far from the other guests.” His valet gave a slight cough. “He has mentioned several times the…wretched correspondence from you, my lord.”

  Fletch nodded. “Thank you. I will be down in moments.”

  His valet closed the door.

  Talia grabbed Fletch’s forearm. “Correspondence? What is that about, Fletch? He does not mean to ruin the wedding, does he?”

  “I will allow no such interference from him, Talia. I will go down and speak with him.”

  Her grip didn’t loosen on his arm and she walked across his room with him. “I am coming as well.”

  Fletch stopped, peeling Talia’s fingers from his jacket. “No, you need to see to getting your sister ready. Mr. Flemstone and the clergyman will be here soon. That is the priority. Not the bastard down below. I will remove him from the house, Talia.”

  To his relief, Talia nodded, stepping away from him even as a deep frown set onto her face.

  Fletch was down the stairs and into the lower drawing room within seconds. He slammed the door closed behind him.

  Standing in the middle of the room, Roserton turned to Fletch. “Lord Lockston.”

  “Put my brandy down, Roserton.” Fletch’s fists instantly curled.

  The man smirked, taking a slow swallow of the amber liquid in his glass. He smacked his tongue, exhaling. “So, my dear Cousin Natalia told you of our bargain.”

  “Yes.”

  Roserton took another sip of the brandy, and a sneer lifted the left side of his face. “I did not care for your letter, Lord Lockston. Although I can sympathize with your anger—a dying man knowing exactly who his wife will be sleeping with after his death is an annoyance to come to terms with. So I can understand your anger. Especially with your wife. Natalia is a specimen.”

  Every inch of Fletch’s skin heated, threatening to explode. Yet he had a house full of guests gathered for a wedding to consider. He set his voice to an even level. “I thought my letter was extremely clear, Roserton, on what would happen to you if you so much as walked on the same block as my wife. Or her sister. Or her mother. Leave before I toss you from here once more. And this time, I will not be so gentle in my actions.”

  “That threat, along with every single one of the threats in your letter ring hollow, Lord Lockston. My presence alone should alert you to that fact. It is imperative I am here for this event. It does not do that I am not in attendance at the wedding of my future sister-in-law.” His voice sneered high on the last five words.

  “You will keep your bloody paws off my wife, you bastard.” Fletch advanced on him.

  “Or I can go upstairs and ruin Louise’s life with one simple sentence. Would you rather that, Lockston?”

  Fletch stopped an inch from his portly frame, heaving, his look skewering Roserton with all the fury twisting his skin—fury threatening to unleash and choke the very life from the pitiful creature.

  Roserton looked up at Fletch, his sneer contorting his face into a grotesque gargoyle. “Here is what you have not considered, Lord Lockston—all of your threats—all of your demands—they all ring hollow. If you were alive, maybe I would take heed—but, ha—you will die, and there will be no one to protect Natalia. Not a soul to enforce what you think you can do to me.”

  He stepped away from Fletch and went to the sideboard, setting his glass down. Turning back to Fletch, his face twisted even more monstrous. “So I will take your wife, Lockston, long before it will even be proper of her to shed her widow’s weeds. I will take her, right here on this floor.” He pointed at the maroon threads of the Axminster carpet in front of Fletch’s boots. “Right where you stand now. Because my feet will be master of this house soon enough. And there isn’t a bloody thing you can do about it.”

  Fists rising, Fletch charged across the room.

  “Fletch—no!” Talia slammed open the door of the room.

  “Fletch!” Right behind Talia, Caine and Reggard both screamed his name in unison.

  But he was already lunging. Red rage blinding his sight.

  ~~~

  It was happening.

  Time slowed. Seconds stretching into lifetimes.

  The breath into his lungs stilled, his body swaying. Control of every muscle vanishing.

  It was too soon. He still had weeks. A month. He had more time. He needed more time. He and Talia had only had months together. He needed more time. More time. More time with her. More time to protect her. More time.

  His eyes swept the room. Chairs, fireplace, lamps. Caine rushing past him, punching Roserton. Reggard dragging the bastard from the room. Window, curtains, books, tables. Talia.

  Her face. There she was. His look adhered onto her face.

  He wanted nothing more than her in his vision.

  She moved to him in the flurry. Where was the smile that was always on her lips when she looked at him?

  She needed him today.

  Today was the wedding.

  She needed him.

  Her mouth dropped, her hazel eyes panicked.

  She needed him.

  He took one step toward her. The world spun, dragging him down.

  Talia’s face. Find her face.

  She yelled. He couldn’t hear her, but he could see her mouth moving, screaming at her sister.

  Down. Down. Down.

  His body outstretched, he hit the floor—the thud not hurting, only a dull echo in his ears.

  Talia’s face. Where? Where did she go?

  She appeared above him, hovering, gripping his head.

  Still screaming. Screaming at him now.

  His eyes went to darkness.

  One last word from her made it through the silence in his ears.

  “Fight.”

  { Chapter 21 }

  The brutal hit sent his body jerking, folding, and then splaying out. Limp. Inert.

  “Fletch.” The word ripped from Talia’s mouth, her hands shaking his head.

  The next blow slammed down onto his chest. A flop. Nothing more. Her husband flaccid, leaving her. No.

  She tore her eyes off of Fletch’s face to the doctor. “You’re killing him. Killing him.”

  Dr. Terrental glanced up at her, his eyes both commanding and calming. “He will be dead if I do nothing. This is what you wanted.”

  Mr. Flemstone’s hands gripped onto her shoulders. “Dr. Terrental knows what he is doing, Talia.”

  Talia glanced at the white of Fletch’s face, then looked up to Dr. Terrental, steeling herself. Whatever it took. She nodded. “Do what you must. Everything you need to.”

  The doctor clamped his hands together, bringing them down in another brutal blow to her husband’s chest. His body flailed, then stilled.

  She bent, setting her lips next to Fletch’s ear. “Fletch. This is when you fight. It is right now. Fight.”

  Another hit. Another jerk.

  “Dammit, Fletch, come back to me. You swore—you swo
re you would fight.” Talia’s head dropped, her hands gripping her husband, gripping him from death, gripping him from leaving her. He had been right all along. She could not take this. Not him leaving her. Not now. Time. She needed more time.

  She glanced up as the doctor struck again. Fletch’s body flopped.

  Nothing. No breath.

  Her mouth went to his ear, pleading through her tears. “Fletch, you get back to me right now. Fight. I am pregnant and I need you. Need you. Today. Tomorrow. Years from now. I need you. Our child needs his father, so you will come back to me this instant. This instant, Fletch. You will fight your way back to me. Now, Fletch.”

  She heard the blow to Fletch’s chest, and his body jerked, folding in half, ripping from her hands.

  A gasp.

  A long, gargling gasp that sent Fletch’s body doubling over on its side.

  He gasped, again and again, his body convulsing against lack of air.

  Dr. Terrental sat back onto his heels, his hands holding Fletch on his side, holding his body from violent spasms. He looked to Talia, disbelief plain on his face.

  Talia scampered to where Fletch’s head had landed, grabbing him again in her hands. “Fletch, Fletch, keep fighting. You are almost back.”

  Fletch’s arm lifted, his hand landing on the back of her head. Squeezing it.

  And then it fell limp onto the floor.

  ~~~

  His eyes cracked open. Cracked open and found her face.

  Not that there was anywhere else to look.

  Talia scooted closer on the bed to Fletch’s head, hovering above him, her nose almost touching his. Her fingers went to his brow, burying themselves into his hair. Touching him as she had been afraid to for the last nine hours.

  She had only held his hand. Only his hand. Terrified to touch more. Terrified to upset the delicate balance his body was in.

  He was breathing. It was enough. She would press for no more.

  But now, now that his eyes had cracked, she would press for the world.

  She dragged a breath into her lungs, exhaling it before she could find words. She leaned forward, her forehead touching his. “You fought for me.”